Page 86 of Penance

“The way I see it, you’re just some dried up, useless cunt,” he huffs half a laugh, his breath in my ear.

I struggle to laugh, it’s quiet and raspy, strained, but he hears it.

“Summin’ funny, darlin’?” he snickers in my ear, his teeth against my lobe.

“Yeah,” I rasp out.

“What’s that then?”

“You,” I deadpan the whisper.

Opening my mouth as wide as I can, I bite into his throat, sinking my teeth in. He grabs hold of my head, frantically trying to pull me off. I lock my jaw. My teeth sinking in deeper, blood gurgles in the back of my throat as he thrashes against me, his fist hitting me everywhere he can reach. I’ve been trained to ignore the pain, channel it into rage, doesn’t mean I don’t feel it, just means I can push past it,usually.

I am good for something.

Violence.

My good arm comes up sluggishly, my hand latching around the back of his neck, pulling him flush to me with all the strength I have left. Stopping him from punching me in the head without catching himself in the process. I swallow the mouthful of blood, my stomach rolling. Biting down harder, my teeth deep in his flesh like sharp, little barbs. He stops struggling so hard, blood overflowing between my teeth, I choke on it, feeling it in the back of my nose.

Swallowing as I keep biting, I don’t let go, even when he goes completely limp above me, his huge weight slumping into me. I bite harder, swallowing and swallowing, gagging on the hot liquid as it runs down the sides of my face, blurring one of my eyes. My teeth still locked in his flesh I throw my head to the right with everything I have. My cheek smashes into the tarmac, my teeth taking part of his throat with me. I spit the chunk of flesh out, my head lolling to the side, my eyes blinking hard as his body is torn off me.

Big hands slide beneath my limp body. They’re warm and wet, but I don’t struggle because I recognise them. Even in this state, I’d know him anywhere. His smell overpowering the pungent copper filling my nostrils. Flooding me with that undercurrent of raw earth, bergamot, a hint of mint. I groan, letting my head loll in the crook of his elbow, knowing I’m safe. Drawing me into his bare chest, his skin cool beneath my hot cheek. My head spinning, ears ringing, he murmurs something to me,an apology.I wince as he starts to run, jostling my aching body. I splutter a cough, blood backing up my throat, I spit it down my chin, unable to turn my head the other way. My nose burns, making me snort, so much blood, I gag, I can’t help it.

Doors slam, sirens screech, the sound piercing through me.

I’m passed into different hands, long fingers wiping my blood-filled eye, the scent of oranges overwhelmed by something sulphuric and musty. Lots of talking, too much noise. I groan as the rumble of the engine reverberates through me. A rough hand cupping my aching cheek, tobacco,something sickly sweet.

And then it’s lights out.

Chapter18

Kyla-Rose

“Why were there no weapons in the car?” I start, late that afternoon.

Boxing Day, the family gathered around the long breakfast table in Uncle Dee’s sunroom. Snow beyond the glass walls, we knew it was coming, the clouds were heavy and low all day yesterday. We woke up not even an hour ago to half a foot of the stuff. It’s five-pm now, a feast spread out before us. Platters of fruits, sandwiches, soups, and cheeses, there’s even milk and cereals. A huge variety of juices and waters, sparkling and still, some with lime, some with lemon. It’s really just a big brunch, but at teatime.

“Who the fuck disarms a family vehicle?” I spit out again.

Unsure where the fuck I should be directing my anger, it’s not even really anger, I’m just, I don’t know.

“I don’t know,” Dee sighs, echoing my thoughts, his voice sounds exhausted.

It’s an unusual thing to hear from him. He pushes his hand through his slightly greying hair. Trimmed to perfection, styled just the same. Everything about him impeccable as always, even in casual clothing, dark blue jeans, and a white polo shirt. Him at the head of the long rectangular table, Violet on his left, Jacob to his right. Bone china plates and polished silver cutlery sit empty before him. Even his usually filled glass is dry.

“We’ve got someone on the inside,” Jacob growls.

His white-blonde hair cropped short, those emerald eyes, the centre circled blue, so different to the rest of us, glistening with anger. Jacob slams his palms down on the table, the jugs of water clinking with the force. Violet jumps, her hand flying to her chest.

“Elijah!” he barks. “You said we were fucking solid!” he roars, spit flying over the croissants.

Leaning over the table, one hand still splayed against the tablecloth. The other now outstretched, his finger pointed at his youngest brother down the table. A blue vein jumping in his temple, he grinds his jaw, veins poking through his neck. I watch his pulse hammer, my head tilting in fascination. Jacob never does this. He’s the calm one. The detached one. From this life, anyway.

“Seriously, I- I don’t understand.” Elijah shakes his head, blows out a breath. “The cars were all checked, the boards were fucking signed.” He sighs, referring to the stock checks that happen wherever we have weaponry anywhere, a signing in and out sheet if you will. “It’s impossible.”

“Well, it’s clearly not fuckingimpossible,is it, Elijah! Fuck me, LOOK AT HER!” he screams, gesturing wildly at me.

Bellowing so loudly that even I visibly shrink back. His fists coming back down on the table, water sloshing over the side of his glass. His entire body trembles, the muscles in his exposed forearms straining, the colour of his tattoos looking too bright for his temper. His face reddening the longer he stares down the table at his brother.

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