Page 52 of Praying for Thunder

As fate would have it, there would be two ghosts that would reappear. One just as deadly as the first.

The shock of this ‘dead’ man, not in a grave, had Ani motionless. She could only stare at him.

I hadn’t had the wits to notice his gloved hands until one was lifting and placing a dark ballcap over his disheveled hair. “After all this time, nothing to say, my pearl?”

Something in that nickname spurred Anita back to life. She scrambled for her nightstand drawer, where a gun lay waiting, but a different gun clicking a bullet into its chamber had her freezing again.

Absolutely shuddering, Anita peered over her shoulder from her stomach. “No,” she whispered, seeing a gun pointed… at me.

Her empty hands rose into the air, making her body arch slightly.

Reverting to Spanish, the man asked, “Is this Rosa’s child?”

My mouth parted. This man knew my mother.

All his clothing looked like a burglar’s, but not his shoes. They were like other leather boots I knew well. This man was a biker in disguise.

“No.” As nonthreatening as possible, Ani slowly moved, attempting to sit in front of me.

Ani only lied when she was protecting me. Inside my head, I silently promised to not spill the beans.

As he observed her movements, his chuckle held no humor like Dio’s did. It vibrated malice. “No, no, Pearl. Let’s not play these games and get the boy killed.”

Riveted with nerves, “Okay. Okay,” she nodded, then sat next to me.

The gun lowered.

His eyes were so dark I couldn’t detect pupils as he studied me. “Blonde hair… Blue eyes.”

Ani licked her drying lips. “The baby died.”

Expressions can say a lot. His said he didn’t believe Anita. Not for a second. “You didn’t teach Rosa’s child to speak our language?”

“He’s not hers—”

The barrel of the gun now scratched at the man’s hat in an annoyed manner.

Surrender was her only option. “No, I did not teach him to speak Spanish.”

His gloved free hand ran down his mangy dark beard. “What would my brother do to see his son, I wonder?”

My lungs deflated—closed, of their own accord. He was the reason I’d been hidden away for most of my life.

Piercer proclaimed, “He will definitely want to raise him.”

Anita broke into a dry heave. “Please—”

“Spanish!” roared the man, now looming in the doorway, his chest puffing as if no longer capable of restraining his rage.

An unanswered question was no more. I now understood why not to speak Spanish outside of my home.

“Okay. Okay.” Anita cowered.

He roared again, “I looked everywhere for you!”

“I’m sorry—”

“Only to see you on the news! A fucking stripper?”