Page 2 of Desperate Needs

He should be home with Mom. Not here with me.

“Hey, it’s not your fault, Honey. Tell me how it happened,” he said.

“I was two blocks away from school when a van pulled up next to me. They put a bag over my head and took me away. I’m sorry, Pop. I shouldn’t have left without calling. It’s my fault they got me,” I whispered.

“You did nothing wrong, Clementine. This is my fault. Not yours,” he said, but I shook my head. “Listen to me, baby. It is my fault. Now, let’s go see the doctor.”

“No!” I yelled, and Pop narrowed his eyes.

But it was too late. All those feelings I’d been feeling ever since the bad men took me just bubbled up until I couldn’t hold them back anymore.

They just spilled out of me. Not tears. No, I wouldn’t cry about this again.

It was rage that came rocketing from my lips.

Anger.

Fury.

And a thirst for vengeance.

Just like Mt. Vesuvius all over again.

“No! I don’t need a doctor,” I repeated.

I was breathing heavily, and I pushed against my father’s hold. He released me and nodded.

“Okay. Tell me what you need, Clementine,” Pop said.

I noticed my uncles had gathered behind him. Uncles Adrik, Marat, Andres, Nico, Luc, and Angel were all waiting to hear what I had to say.

Their heads were canted, and their gazes were steady as I opened my mouth and told them all what I needed more than anything else in the world.

Whatever innocence I’d still possessed at twelve, even after learning about my mother’s battle with illness, was wiped out the second those bad men took me.

I understood then, there was no going back to being that little girl safely ensconced in the protective bubble my parents had built for me.

I’d witnessed too much for that. So, I met my father’s unwavering stare, and I told him.

“I need to learn how to fight and how to shoot a gun.”

Prologue 2-Connor

Also fifteen years ago.

I walked into the kitchen to see my mother and sister weeping on the floor and my father shouting at them with a belt in his hand.

“Where’s my fucking money?!” he shouted, but I caught the hard leather before it could reach them and shoved him away.

“Get away from them, you bastard!”

That was when he turned his evil attention on me. His face was a ruddy mask of desperation and rage, and he stunk like cheap whiskey.

“It’s too late for you, old man. They're coming,” I growled.

“Sonovabitch!” he screamed and came at me.

But for the first time, I was ready.

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