Page 242 of Collided

“Really? Then who’s this fucker?” Dad holds up the Polaroid.

The color drains from my face.

Shivers chase down my spine, then curl toward my stomach and freeze every muscle.

This can’t be happening.

He can’t know.

Oh my God.

He’ll kill me.

My eyes glance at the bathroom door where blue eyes are watching me. Heath is there. I have to protect him.

“He’s a friend,” I mumble, my hands shaking with terror.

It feels like I’m stuck in a nightmare and it’s all part of my imagination. But the ache in my head tells me it’s not. This is happening. This is how everything goes down, crashes, and burns into quick flames.

Dad strides toward me. His hands grip my arms, and he squeezes hard.

“Don’t lie to me you fucking bitch,” he snarls at me with boiling anger.

“You’re hurting me.”

“You think I don’t—”

Dad’s voice fades out as I see Heath opening the door. His face is shadowed with rage and an intense look I’ve never seen on him before. Even from afar, I can see the tremors moving downhis arms. He’s shaking with blind rage that’s consuming him from the inside out.

I shake my head at him and then meet Dad’s dark gaze.

“I knew it! I knew you were whoring around.” He yells at me.

I try freeing myself from his hold and he lets me go. I take a shallow breath of air, only to have it knocked out of me when he slaps me across the face. My balance slips and I fall to the floor holding my cheek that stings with searing heat.

Dad yanks my head up by my hair. His fingers pull my hair, and I wince hard.

“Tell me his name. Tell me his fucking name!” He applies more pressure, and I wail out in excruciating pain.

But it lasts for only a moment.

The pain disappears and my head drops.

Moving on my feet and hands I back away from him and hold my scalp that’s aching with the sensation of a hammer jamming my head.

Then I hear him, “Heath Travon. That’s my fucking name. And now I’ll imprint it on your fucking soul so even your shadow is scared of me.”

Through my blurry vision, I see two figures. One is hunched over the other and landing punch after punch.

I wipe my eyes and watch the scene.

Heath is holding down my father by his throat and his arm is busy punching him.

Dad looks bloody and bruised. His body is trying to flee but Heath isn’t letting him escape. He’s holding him down with his weight and knee that’s rammed in his stomach.

“You're going to be dead by the time I’m done with you,” Heath warns him.

Dad chokes as he flies his hands around.

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