Page 11 of Dirty Big Sins

Like in the ring earlier that night, I jumped on top of him and rained down blow after blow, only here there was no referee to stop me. Eventually he stopped struggling and lay there in an unmoving heap, and still I punched into his face, neck and ribs. Blood once again coated my hands as the red haze of rage stored up from all the times Henry had taken out his pain and frustrations on me took over.

“You mother fucker. You are never going to hurt me again. You got that?” I didn’t stop for an answer. I already knew he wouldn’t. I was making sure of it.

“Please stop.” His words came out on a barely audible gurgling wheeze, but the sound was enough to get through my violence-soaked brain.

“What?” I peered down at my unrecognizable stepfather to see tears tracking from his eyes. For a moment the hate fueled side of me warred with the softer side that regrettably still lived, clinging to hope. He didn’t deserve to live. I knew deep down that his kind of violence would forever need an outlet and if it wasn’t me then there was a good chance someone else could get hurt.

“I can’t stop because you never will.”

“I promise,” he croaked out.

“You’re a miserable bastard with a dark side so twisted it can never be fixed.”

Unlike him, I wasn’t heartless. I still remembered the hope that used to live in my young heart. The one that hoped this piece of shit would be the father I’d always wanted.

The rush of adrenaline that had given me the strength to fight off his attack was quickly waning. And underneath the blood, my hands were swollen to nearly double their normal size. Between three different fights in one night, it was entirely possible I’d broken a bone or two of my own.

I dropped down on my haunches and fell back against the wall. I was so tired I could barely fight the fatigue stealing over me, let alone deal with this bastard anymore.

I had to get out of here. With a deep breath and a little more of a struggle than I wanted to admit, I pushed back to my feet. If I stayed here and looked at his pathetic attempt to prey on my misguided need for hope any longer, his life would end sooner rather than later.

“I don’t know if you deserve to die or not, but I think anything short of a life of pain and constant fear is too good for you, old man. If you ever try to touch me again or hurt anyone else, I’ll make you pay. And next time I won’t stop. Is that understood?”

I was pretty sure I had just quoted some cheesy movie to make my point, but I never professed to be a poet or even that good with words. Either way, by the tears streaming harder from his eyes I figured he’d gotten the message.

I climbed over his body and walked straight out the door. I’d have to return eventually because I had nowhere else to go, and I sure as hell wasn’t going into the system. But my days in this house were numbered and I had learned more that night about myself then I’d ever wanted to.

Now I had to decide what came next. Because all those years ago, he’d made my mother leave and one day, I would have to kill him for it.

One year later

I remembered the day my stepfather had brought home his new wife as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

Over the years, after my mother’s departure, his drinking had gotten worse and along with that our lives had gone downhill. The woman, however, had complicated our life more than my young mind thought possible. That she had gotten under my skin the moment she walked through the door was an understatement as her cheap perfume surrounded me in a cloud of pipe dreams.

“Well, aren’t you the strapping young man?” She cooed as she leaned forward and squeezed my shoulder.

I’d thought the smoke and perfume were enough to choke on—I was wrong. With her head a few inches from mine, I also got the scent of fetid breath unable to cover the sickly sweet odor of voluminous alcohol consumption.

That unique scent triggered my self preservation instinct, making my entire body go rigid as an overload of adrenaline flooded into my blood. I immediately wanted to escape. It was a clear sign something bad was about to happen.

“You and little Heather are going to get along great.”

“Who’s Heather?” I asked as I tried pulling from the ever increasing grip she managed to maintain on my shoulder.

“My daughter. She’s a few years younger than you.”

I blinked at her words. Was she serious? I peered around her to find the girl she spoke of.

“Oh, she’s not here right now. She spends weekends with mymother.” Her mouth had tightened at the word mother and I didn’t comprehend why. “That bitch is a pain in my ass. But if I don’t let her see Heather every single week, she threatens to take me to court. I don’t see what the big deal is. The child is hard to be around. She has uh—issues.”

I still didn’t understand half of what she said, but I hated this woman instantly. She called her mother a bitch and straight up implied she didn’t want to be around her own daughter. Where the fuck had Henry found such a horrible person? And why bring her here? My winnings barely kept a roof over our head. Wasn’t our life complicated enough?

That had ended up the understatement of my life.

Heather wasn’t a complication. A complication I could have handled. A twelve-year-old girl who barely spoke but looked like a budding bombshell, I definitely couldn’t deal with.

Not with Henry all over her the minute she walked in the door two days later. My skin had crawled when he invited her to sit on his lap, but it was the look in his eyes that scared the ever loving shit out of me.

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