Page 3 of Veiled

Slap!

My head whips to the side so hard my teeth rattle.

He’s taken almost every penny I’ve made doing personal training and teaching fitness classes over the years to pay the bills, but even so, he hates to admit it.

He makes more than enough as the Sheriff of South Hollow, but it all disappears into bottles and backroom bets.

“Don’t you dare disrespect me in my house, you ungrateful bitch!”

Before I can correct myself from the slap, his left fist knots in my hair, yanking my head back while he uses me like his personal punching bag with his right: face, ribs, stomach. I can barely get a breath in between his hits, but I don’t miss the splatters of blood coming out of my mouth as my body reacts to each hit.

Just then, the door crashes open.

“Lee!”

Matt’s here, pulling my dad off of me and shoving him backward.

He shouldn’t have come.

Despite his linebacker build and standing over six feet tall, he’s no match for Dad tonight. Not when he’s wound up like this, and the alcohol keeps him from feeling any of the hits he does take.

My vision is too blurry to see much of their fight, but I can hear their grunts every time a fist connects with flesh. I’d wipe my eyes to try to clear them, but I barely have the strength to stand; there’s no way I can lift my arms that high.

My steps are practically nonexistent as I try to back up to the kitchen counter, needing something to lean against before I crumble to the floor.

My dad’s drunken grunts every time Matt makes contact almost match the number of hits Matt seems to take, but I know better than anyone precisely how hard my dad can give it.

Far too quickly, Matt’s fuzzy silhouette is curled on the floor, groaning, and my dad is coming for me again.

I don’t know how I’ve survived the last twenty years, but as the look of pure rage becomes clearer on his face the closer he gets, I know my time has run out.

I brace for impact, but then I see it, the kitchen knife block is only a foot away. I stumble as I reach for it, but as my fingers graze the first hilt, I'm being yanked backwards, chunks of my hair ripped from my scalp.

There's no time to think as instinct takes over.

I spin, driving the knife into my dad's chest with a strength that should be impossible.

His eyes go wide, his mouth opens, but no sound comes out as his weight barrels into me. Blood soaks through his shirt, and then mine, as he clings onto me like I’m his salvation.

Unsteady from the beating, and teetering under his grip, I steel myself to go down with him, but suddenly his hand releases me. Holding his chest and gasping, he collapses to the ground, small rivulets of blood coming out of his mouth and running down his cheek.

Matt appears at my side, hurt and hobbling, but still he drags me away as my dad bleeds out on the ground behind us, wrapping his jacket around me as we step out into the night.

“Come on,” his voice shakes. “You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

But even in his arms, the only safe place I’ve ever known, neither of us truly believes that.

Back on the riverbank, Matt pulls me against his heaving chest.

“We have to move. You know they’ll want revenge.”

I shake my head, staring at the dark water where I know his pickup should be. “He might still be alive.”

Matt doesn’t answer; he doesn’t have to.

If my father survived, he’ll hunt me until the day he dies.

If he didn’t, every cop in South Hollow will hunt me instead.