Page 144 of Wildest Dreams

“He will be,” I reassured her.

“How do you know?”

“Because it would be his better option. The alternative is being killed by me.”

We got there in record time. It was a warehouse on the outskirts of Brooklyn, a two-story redbrick square, with arched black doors. Night had fallen over the city, and the wide, pebbled road was empty of cars. It appeared to be abandoned, and themere thought of Gravity—so tiny, so precious, so innocent—somewhere so nefarious made my skin crawl.

There were also no police cars anywhere in sight. Though to be fair, I’d gotten here faster than expected on account of not following traffic laws.

I pushed the driver’s door open and rounded the car, opening Dylan’s door. “You’re going to walk in behind me,” I instructed, rolling up my sleeves and making my way in through the arched, rusty door. It felt like today had stretched into an entire century, and I was ready for it to end with Gravity safe and sound, Dylan’s forgiveness, and Tucker twelve feet under.

Dylan nodded briefly. This was one of the first times she hadn’t sassed back.

I shoved the door open with my shoulder. It was heavy but unlocked. Abandoned, just like I’d thought.

The minute I stepped inside, the stench of cigarettes, alcohol, piss, and decayed human flesh filled my nostrils. The scent was unbearable. I tugged my shirt over my nose, grabbed Dylan’s hand from behind, and proceeded into the dimly lit open space.

Inside, there were exposed brick walls, sleeping bags scattered on the dirty floor, and needles on the ground. Shadowed silhouettes of people danced across the windows and the walls, created by the pale, filtered light borrowed from streetlamps outside. Dylan clenched my arm, fingers digging into my wrist, as we both moved slowly, peering into people’s faces to try to find Tucker and Gravity. It felt like swimming against a stream.

This was no place to take a child. Little stinker was in great danger. Dylan understood it just as well. Her body rocked and trembled next to mine as she bit down on her sobs.

I studied faces through squinted eyes, searching for Tucker and Gravity. Some people cursed at the invasion of their privacy. Others were asleep, half-dead, or too far gone to care. And then,in the far corner of the hayloft, nestled under a ladder to shield them from view, was a very small, weepy girl clinging onto her pink Mr. Mushroom and Tuckwad.

The relief I felt was immediate. She was here. And she was okay.

I tugged on Dylan’s arm and pointed at them, pressing my finger to my lips to signal for her to stay quiet. Dylan gasped, her eyes veiled behind a curtain of unshed tears.

Tucker was shushing and berating Gravity. “You have to be quiet,” he whisper-shouted, pressing his phone to his ear as he tried to call someone. “I can’t fucking think straight.”

Gravity flinched.

And there went the remainder of my goddamn self-control.

I pounced on Tucker like a panther, separating him from Gravity and pinning him to the ground with my thighs. His head crashed against the sodden concrete, his pupils dilating in the dark. Any measly self-control I still had left deserted me completely at the sight of his face.

My fists began to pound him without rhyme or rhythm, raining down on his jaw, his neck, his forehead, his cheeks, and his temples like a vicious storm. Blood splattered across the walls, on the ground, on my face, and still, I couldn’t stop. The sound of bones breaking and blood sloshing filled my ears. I was too far gone to hear the voices begging me to stop. Gravity’s cries. The sound of sirens and police officers and shrieks of horror. My sole focus was him. Tucker. The shitty dad who’d triggered me into facing my own reality.

That you could be an abusive parent without even being present in your child’s life.

That, in fact, your very absence was the cruelest form of punishment.

Tucker may not be my father, but he represented everything I hated about humans who did not step up to their responsibilities.

Tucker’s blood burned my eyes and itched my face by the time two burly policemen managed to peel me away from him. He’d been unresponsive for a while by then, so I was entirely unsure whether he was dead or alive. Frankly, I didn’t care. I did feel a little sorry that Gravity had to witness it, though.

Reality drip-drip-dripped its way back into my conscience, and I felt guiltier.

I was held by two uniformed men, escorted outside the warehouse. Dylan was holding Gravity tightly to her chest, following them briskly. Her red dress—and Grav’s pj’s with the little lemons—were both stained with Tucker’s blood.

“Please don’t arrest him!” Dylan begged, and I realized she was referring to me. The woman never failed to amaze me. “He didn’t do anything.”

Okay, that was a blatant lie, but I certainly appreciated the notion.

“It’s okay, Cosmos.” I smirked. “I’ve always wanted to be handcuffed.” I winked, trying to make light of it.

“My ex tried to kidnap my baby!” Dylan screeched, ignoring me. “Call your station or whatever!” She was running after them.

They burst open the door of the warehouse, and we all poured into the humid summer night. Red and blue swirls of police lights danced across the buildings and the pavement.

---