Page 56 of The Boy from Half Moon

“So,” Franklin hissed. “You are in here, boy.”

I grabbed the back of my head, reeling from the severe whack I’d taken. My hiding spot had given me up and now my goose was cooked big time.

“Show yourself, Luke.”

I stepped from the shadows, fear flooding my veins with adrenaline and dread. Franklin moved across the dirt floor, the spurs on his cowboy boots clinking with each step. I’d heard this sound many a time. Visions of horror, like tiny movie reels, played through my mind. He is here to hurt me again.

“Head up to the loft, boy,” he growled. “You had some nerve showing up in my office the other day and pulling that stunt. I’m going to remind you who’s in charge.”

“I’d like you to leave me alone, sir,” I stated, standing my ground instead of heeding his order.

Franklin kept moving closer, step by step. “Oh, you would, would you? Isn’t that a novel idea coming from a sinner like you, Luke?”

“I mean it, sir. You will never touch me again,” I asserted, fighting to keep my voice level. My arms lengthened down my sides, my fists curled into balls. My entire body was sprung tighter than a jack-in-the-box before surprising a three-year-old.

“‘You mean it, do you?’” he ridiculed. “And then what, punk? You’re going to force me to suck your cock again? I’ll admit it; I liked your chutzpah, but it’s your turn this time. I’m going to enjoy tying your hands behind your back and fucking your filthy mouth, boy.”

His words were shocking. He was a horrible person who did awful things, but he had never used words like that before. “I’m serious, sir. You will regret it if you lay one hand on me today, or any day going forward.”

“Who you going to tell, boy? It sure won’t be your daddy, being he had that awful accident,” he said. “A damn shame about that, truly.”

Franklin was three feet away from me now and his eyes were as icy as a winter creek. The man was dead inside, his posture unnerving. “Do not take another step,” I warned. “I really mean it too. Your time hurting me has ended.”

“We’ll see about that boy,” he hissed, reaching a hand toward the side of my neck.

I swatted his hand away and shoved him hard on his chest. He lurched backward but managed to stay standing, his eyes saucer-sized at my infraction.

“I warned you, Franklin.”

He inhaled quickly, the use of his first name stunning him. “You dare to call me by my first name, boy? A big mistake on your part,” he growled, lunging toward me.

I grabbed his shoulder and pulled him toward me before side-stepping and slamming him into the wall behind me. He hit it hard, but he didn’t fall. He turned to face me, anger apparent on his face as his mouth tightened. He removed his cowboy hat and tossed it on the ground.

“You really want to do this, Luke?”

“No, sir, I do not.”

“Then on your knees, faggot.” He brought his hand to his zipper and grinned like a madman. “This time it’s your turn, so get on your knees and open wide, boy.”

“Not a chance, Franklin,” I spat, saying his name with disdain. “You’re gonna have to make me this time, and I don’t think you’re going to like the result.”

He took one step forward, his head shaking slowly back and forth, his hands positioned in front of him like he intended to strike me. “You little fucker,” he hissed, lunging at me once again. But he missed.

I ducked out of his way and waited until he went by me, my leg kicking him square in the backside and sending him head over heel. I made my way to where he sat crumpled in a heap and stood over him.

“What else you got?” I asked. He was sitting up, but clearly surprised by how quick I was. “Get up and give me another excuse to beat you to a pulp.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” he snarled, trying to get to his feet. “I will make your fucking life miserable, boy.”

“Too late,” I replied. “You’ve made my life miserable since I was thirteen, but guess what? Not anymore.”

I watched as he got to his feet, swiping at his forehead and then his clothes. He looked angrier than a bucket of wasps, but once again he came toward me, his fist raised.

“I warned you,” I muttered. He took his best shot, but I caught his fist mid-air, twisting it until I was able to grip his wrist, stopping him dead in his tracks. Once secure, I wrenched his arm behind his back and lifted it toward his mid-shoulders. I heard a cracking sound, and he cried out like a stuck pig. Moving closer to the back of his head, I hissed my next question. “What are you gonna do now?”

Franklin struggled, and he was a huge man, a man with substantial power, but I was running on adrenaline and a lifetime of pain. He’d underestimated my six-foot-four frame for the very last time. I think he was stunned that I had him under complete control with my own strength.

He turned his head to the side and revealed half of a nasty smile, sweat dripping from the end of his nose. “I suggest you release me, boy. Accidents tend to happen on farms, and I figured you, of all people, would remember that.”

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