Page 4 of Petrichor

“What are you still doing here? Go!” I order him. He stays put, eyes down. Damn it! “Hey, look at me!”

“He fucking can’t!” An angry voice precedes the appearance of a kid. An older boy. Blood cakes his hair and cheek. His eyes are light blue, and they are glaring at me. Same dirty hair as the first kid, pale skin, skinny, loose, old clothes. Brothers? He’s holding a steel pipe as he grabs the little kid’s arm and pulls him close. “He’s blind.”

Cazzo! What’s with this fucking day?

“You’re fine! I thought you were dead!” the little kid cries. His eyes quickly darting left and right, head tilted to the side toward the boy. His small hand has turned white for how hard he is grabbing the boy’s shirt.

“I’m okay, lil’ bro,” the boy tells him as he looks at the dead woman on the sofa. I can hear his teeth grinding, body shivering. I won’t kill him, but if he comes at me with that pipe, I’ll have to knock him out. This situation is quickly turning into a shitshow. Where the fuck is Luca?

“You can have them.” I can hardly hear Joseph’s gasping words asI'm squeezing his neck harder than I thought. I loosen the grip only a little as I turn my glower to him.

“What?”

“If they weren’t mine, I’d have given them away long ago. But they can be pretty useful. They’re used to hard work.”

I cut him off. “Another exchange? For what exactly? Your pathetic life?”

“You bastard!” the boy screams, taking a step toward us. I stop his advance by unholstering my gun.

“Stay,” I order him, keeping the metal muzzle down, but letting him know I can shoot him before he reaches us. I have no patience left. My gaze is on Joseph again. “You think I’m a fucking charity?” My growl makes him whimper as I force his mouth open and push the muzzle of the gun inside.

“Do you have anywhere to go?” I ask the boy.

He hesitates for a moment before nodding.

“Then scram!” I need Joseph to tell me what he knows about Delia. Only thinking about her makes the bile in my stomach boil. Is it really possible? Did she really fool me?

“No. He’s mine!” the boy yells, pointing at Joseph. I stare at his face. He has a bruise on his jaw and more cuts on the skin I can see through the long tear in the shoulder of his t-shirt. He wants revenge, since clearly this is not the first time they’ve both suffered their father’s hands on them. The hatred in the boy’s eyes is the same I felt when I was younger than him and beaten regularly at the group home.

“Go before I change my mind and take care of you as well,” I threaten him, just as I catch Joesph’s knee lifting toward my groin. I dodge it, pulling back while sliding my gun out of his mouth.The boy appears next to me and hits the side of his father’s face with the pipe. Joseph’s head turns sharply to the right, spraying blood on the floor and my leather shoes. Fuck, I just waxed them.

“Riv!” the small kid screams, his face twisted with worry for his brother, eyes narrowing at us as he moves hesitantly in our direction.

“The bastard needs to pay!” the boy growls as he continues swinging the pipe at the fucker’s head. Joseph’s arm is taking the brunt of it, as he uses it to protect his face—limp hand and all.

“Enough!” I holster my gun and grab the pipe as he lifts it again. I yank it out of his hands. “I need him to talk.”

“Give it back!” the kid screams furiously at me, just as his little brother heads toward us.

I open my mouth to stop both of them when I see Joseph, knife in his bloody fingers, coming at me, letting out a battle cry—he must have somehow gotten his impaled hand free. The small kid is suddenly in front of me, and without a thought I wrap my arm around him and yank him out of the way as I grip Joseph’s wrist, but not quickly enough. A burning pain pierces my shoulder where the blade spears through the shirt and into my skin. I let out an angry fucking roar and let my gold-knuckled hand fall down, back-handing him right in the face. A yellow tooth flies as more blood is sprayed and more bone cracks.

The boy kicks him in the guts, and Joseph stumbles back, and slips hitting his head hard against the corner of the kitchen counter. His body drops to the floor, eyes empty, blood forming a puddle around his face.

No! Fuck! I wanted him to tell me about Delia. I raise my gun and send three bullets into his dead body. I’m so fucking furious, I feel theurge to unload the whole mag in his corpse until I turn him into a piece of unrecognizable flesh.

Cazzo, my shoulder fucking hurts. The knife is still sticking out from it. I realize I’m still holding the kid against my chest. His body trembling, whimpering face plastered to my shirt. I drop my arm from around his shoulders and holster my gun while I try to find a smidge of sympathy. The kid isn’t trying to get away. His body against mine feels so tiny and weak.

Why the fuck did he move in front of me? If my reflexes weren’t fast he could have gotten hurt. He’s blind that’s why I’m cutting him some slack and not ripping him a new one.

“Lil’ bro?” I hear worry dripping from the older boy’s voice.

The kid tilts his head back, and with his big watery eyes on me he says, “Riv?”

“I’m here. I’m okay,” he reassures his little brother.

The kid lets go of me and walks toward his brother, lips moving, mouthing something. I think he’s counting his steps while treading hesitantly. He’s favoring his left foot, limping slightly. He stumbles as the tip of his shoe gets stuck on a piece of uneven carpet, and for a moment, I feel the odd urge to help him.

“One more step,” the boy tells him before his little brother reaches him. Their closeness reminds me of Luca and I when we were kids. Now we usually communicate with each other through cusses and grunts.

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