Page 39 of Brutal Heir

The criminal’s evil grin…the laughter that still haunts me…

Then, my partner turns and offers himself up as a sacrifice…no, he offers me.

“Come here, you fat bitch.” The brute’s guttural voice echoes in my head again. He pushes my partner aside and reaches for me as I struggle to free myself from the nightmare’s grasp. Thetaste of bile rises in my throat as I confront the danger.

His fist comes down, again and again. The pain. My shirt rips. His hand squeezes my breast so hard he leaves bruises.

The laughter.

My heart breaks as I watch Lyle run away, leaving me to suffer at the hands of the attacker. He was someone Lyle had put away. Now that he was out of prison, he’d come for revenge. He’d stalked Lyle and found out about us.

“Come here, you fat bitch.” The words are still echoing in my head.

The gun goes off. A body slams into the ground as the acrid smell of gunpowder fills the air. I can’t breathe…

I shoot up in bed, heart racing.

Even as I wake up, panting and sweating, the image of the criminal’s sinister smile remains burned into my mind. Stringy hair, dirty ball cap, a black mole on the tip of his nose. The stench of rotting teeth and an unwashed body surrounds me.

I had to make a split-second decision and prioritize the safety of everyone involved. Guilt washes over me again. If I’d found a way to protect my partner, he’d still be alive, and none of the rest would have happened. It’s a heavy burden to bear, but it’s the responsibility that comes with being a law enforcement officer. And I failed.

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down. The nightmare may be over, but the memory of it will linger, haunting my thoughts for hours to come. It’s what always happened before I got a prescription to help me through.

Wrung out, I climb out of bed and head to the bathroom.I open the cabinet, looking at the brown bottle sent by the pharmacy. My gaze immediately goes to the writing at the bottom of the label. No refills remaining. And I lost two pills. I have to wait until Monday to talk to my doctor.

What are you on? I can still hear the anger in Ezequiel’s voice. I don’t know what happened there, but I inadvertently hit a sore spot with him. That doesn’t mean he’s wrong…

My stomach roils. Am I addicted to the stuff?

Part of me feels justified in saying I’m not an addict. I just can’t bear another night of this.

I didn’t take my pill tonight because I wanted to prove he was wrong. Now, I’m not so sure. I’m scared about what tomorrow will bring. I can manage during the day by keeping busy. But, at night, when I’m asleep, my barriers fall away.

I’m wrung out, emotionally and physically. And for once, I feel the inexplicable need to share—with him.

It seems a little disloyal to dad. As a former small-town cop turned business owner, he kept pushing me to accept that having a record doesn’t mean a person’s bad.

He’s been trying to convince me that what I went through was an isolated incident, with a particular individual.

It’s the middle of the night, but I have a desperate need to say something.

I stumble back to the tiny bedroom that’s part of my bleak existence and pick up my phone from beside my pillow. I scroll to Ezequiel’s number.

I’m not hooked on the pills. I’m afraid of the nightmares that come when I don’t take them.

Tears stream down my face as I admit my weakness. I hit the button to send my message then drop to my pillow. The scent of my shampoo fills my nostrils, replacing what filtered in from my dream.

Seconds later, my phone dings. I push myself up to check the screen, because I wasn’t really expecting a response.

The two words leave me weak with relief.

Come here.

Chapter 23

Ezequiel

I’m not hooked on the pills. I’m afraid of the nightmares that come when I don’t take them.

---