Page 3 of Secrets

The three men started to walk back to the truck, and Millicent felt her stomach roil at the sight of the blood and tissue on their bodies. She could already smell it, and she knew she would have trouble breathing in the car.

When her father sat behind the wheel, he grabbed a towel and wiped off his face and hands, tossing the towel to his son. He looked in the rear-view mirror and saw his daughter’s terrified face.

“He had to die, Millie. Man who doesn’t keep his word is someone who needs to die.”

“Yes, Daddy,” she whispered.

“You’re a good girl. You’re learning, but sooner or later, you’re gonna have to help us out more.”

“I’m not big like you,” she said quietly.

“I know. Not yet. But you are bigger, we’ll have to show you what you need to do. Men, and women, who don’t pay their debts and fulfill their promises will have to be taught lessons.”

“Yes, sir.” Her brother Tick nudged her, smiling at her.

“It’s okay, kid. I’ll hold your hand all the way through it. You’ll figure it out one day.”

Millicent never figured it out. She knew that her father and brothers were enforcers, doing the dirty work of men who didn’t want to get their hands soiled. Crime bosses from all walks of life, drug dealers, bank robbers, anyone who wanted witnesses or those who owed them money to be taught a lesson, they sent in her father and brothers.

Then one day, she became the next person on their list.

It wasn’t quite that easy, but it didn’t matter. She was on the list. It started when a man came to her high school, pulling her into the office and questioning her for two hours about her father and brothers.

“I don’t know what they do for work. I don’t know where they go when I’m not there. I don’t know where my father gets his money.”

Question after question, she answered with “I don’t know.” But that didn’t seem to satisfy the man.

Seventeen years old, and they laid out a dozen photos of her father’s latest victims. And one very old photo. Her mother.

“He killed her,” said the man, staring at her, hoping for a reaction.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “She died in a car wreck.”

“No. She died because he beat her to death with a stapler. A stapler, Millicent. He was pissed at her because of something she did.”

“You’re lying,” said Millicent, shaking in the seat, ringing her hands in her lap.

“I never lie, Millicent. I’ve been trying to put your father and brothers behind bars for nearly a decade. I need your help. If you don’t help me, you’ll be their next victim. I need for you to come with me.”

The door to the small meeting room flew open, and the principal stood, trying to hold back her family. Millicent stared at her father and brothers, terror written on her face. Her father looked at the table of photos and then back at her.

“Let’s go home, Millie,” he said, holding out his hand.

“I’m not done speaking with your daughter,” said the man, grinning at the males of the family.

“You’re speaking to my daughter without counsel or parental permission,” said her father. “You won’t make that mistake again.”

“Is that a threat, Mr. Fraser?” he grinned.

“No.It’s a promise.Millie?Let’s go.”

She stood and walked toward her family, hoping to leave quickly. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the photo of her mother again and felt the bile rise in her throat. Her brother shoved the back of her head.

“You touch that girl again, and I’ll charge you with assault,” smiled the man.

“Fuck you,” muttered Jay. The man laughed at them, shaking his head. Then he signed Millicent’s death warrant.

“Remember what I said, Millicent. You call me if you ever want to talk again.”

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