Page 4 of Bake the Town Red

“Know why you’ll go to hell, Valentine?” Al doesn’t call Ian or me by our names. For Ian, he uses our last name. I’mshe,her,the girl. A nameless punching bag. “That’s where boys who fuck their sisters end up. And that’s what you’ll do. Fuck your sister, right here, right now.”

Bile rises in my throat. Ian has always been the most dedicated, loving brother. Walked me to school. Read me bedtime stories when Mom and Dad would get held up at the shop.

Never in the history of fucking ever has he looked at my tits like this sick fuck does.

“Go to hell,” my brother repeats, his eyes blazing. He makes a human fortress around me. “I’m not fucking her.”

It’s clear to both of us what Al is going to tell him.

Same as he always does.

“If you won’t do it, I will.”

Something snaps in Ian’s gaze. Nothing I can pinpoint. No widening or narrowing eyes. No light flickering in them like it does when he’s happy.

Something just snaps.

“No one will touch you,” are the last words he offers.

The rest happens in a blur. He jumps to his feet, bolting for the kitchen. He doesn’t leave me. Ian would never.

I’m not hanging around to find out what his plan is. Al has already lowered the zipper of his jeans. Hand inside his old, blue boxers. Blue, drunk, and ugly eyes aimed at me.

I get up on my elbows, shuffling far, far away from him.

“I’m gonna be a good uncle, Dahlia. Give you a choice.” He wields the vodka bottle in his other hand, the clear liquid sloshing around. “Who’ll take your precious virginity? My cock or the bott—”

“Motherfucker,” Ian screams. His voice is scary. Scares even me.

So much so that I freeze in place and stare. Stare as Ian jumps on our uncle’s back, sinking the knife in his shoulder.

The vodka bottle falls onto the floor. Its contents spill out, reaching my toes.

I still don’t move. Still captivated by my hero brother. The Green Goblin that’s here to save me. The Thanos of my story. My own version of Michael Myers.

At this moment, Ian doesn’t care about the law anymore. Doesn’t care if he’ll serve time for this and be taken away from me. He’s a rabid dog, the fingers of his free hand latching onto Al’s cheeks, frantically searching for his eyes.

“Goddammit,” Al grunts, pulling the knife out and tearing my brother off him.

My hopes crash much like my brother as he drops to the floor.

I should’ve known better. Our lives aren’t one of those feel-good movies. There’ll be no happy ending for us.

Al goes for my brother. He’s going to kill him.

He lands kick after kick to Ian’s ribs, stomach, chin. Blood splatters all around him. My brother curses, tries to rise, and is kicked back down as soon as he does.

While blood in general interests me, I hate seeing it on my brother. Hate how rough his voice sounds when he tells me, “Run, Dahlia.”

Hate that I’m still shocked and stuck in place.

Wake the fuck up, a voice shouts inside my head.

“Leave him alone.” Surging to my feet, I sprint and launch myself on Al’s back, mimicking my brother. Digging my fingers into the open wound Ian put there. Digging deeper, deeper, deeper. “Leave my brother alone.”

“No, Dahlia,” Ian breathes. Reaches an arm out for me. “Go! Run!”

Al screams. Kicks Ian. Flings me off him.

---