Page 108 of Blue-Eyed Jacks
Zoe rejoined us.She stood to the side of the door with her back to the wall.
Cara pointed to the art on the wall.“Have at it.”
The painting was new.It used to be a hunting scene with ducks.Now, it was an abstract splash of neutrals with bright red slashing through the plain, as if it were a bucket of blood captured mid-toss in a torture chamber.
I flicked through the numbers.The handle turned easily.
Inside were stacks of leather binders.Most of them were from his firm.I put them on the desk while Cara stood back, gun casually held at her side.A threat, but disguised as an afterthought.It was top of mind as I pulled out the stuffed bank bag under the heavy binders.The lock clanked against the metal rim of the safe.
I almost dropped it.“This is heavy.”
It thunked as I placed it on the desk.
I scanned the walls of the now-empty safe, searching for any indication there were hidden panels or a false back.But it was seamless.“That’s it.”
Cara flicked open a few of the binders, barely glancing at them before flicking another open.
Reading upside-down was never a talent of mine.These were legal documents, therefore they were a lot of words in very little space.Undecipherable at a glance.If she searched for the deed or a Will, they were likely right there.But I couldn’t be certain.I shifted my attention to Cara’s actions instead.She shuffled through the stacks quickly.
And summarily dismissed each binder.She was after something else.
Cara flipped the last book on the pile shut.“Where’s the other safe?”
I wanted to play dumb.But she turned the gun on Zoe.“I know he has a second safe.”
Shit.Of course she knew about it.She’d survived at least sixteen years around Shock and my father.That was more than enough time to hear the rumors about Dad’s treasure trove.It wasn’t gold or money or even property deeds.It was information.That’s the main reason he and Shock gravitated toward each other.They were both snakes who’d sell out their own flesh and blood to gain leverage on someone.
“It’s upstairs.”
Her brow furrowed.“In the bedroom?I’ve checked everywhere for it.”
I shook my head, sick to my stomach.“My bedroom.”I’d asked for it when we moved in here.So I could be like dear old Dad.
Her jaw dropped.“No wonder I couldn’t find it.”She motioned with the end of the gun.“Show me.”
I led her up the stairs and to the right.The hall carpet was new.
My room, however, wasn’t.
It was still puke pink with scarred patches where the tape from my posters tore the surface color away.The holes revealed the light yellow paint that the wall had been originally.The room was hollow and smelled like old nightmares.My bed and furniture were gone, but the white carpet reminded me of that night.There was a stain just there where I’d scrubbed at my own blood to erase the awful events these walls had witnessed.
Unbidden, memories resurfaced of that night.Not the pain, nor the humiliation, but the aftermath.Shock smiled as he buckled his belt.His club leered at my bare ass and legs.
It was horrific to realize they took as much delight in the sight of blood that trickled down and stained the carpet as my exposed flesh.I ran into my bathroom and grabbed a washcloth.Wetted it with cold water, ran back to the carpet, and scrubbed.Then found another drop, scrubbed there, leaving a trail of smeared, browning pink from the bed to the bathroom and back as it finally sunk in.I should take care of myself before trying to clean the damn carpet.By that point, his men were laughing and joking as they tore down the posters on my wall.They picked up the dresser, clothes and all, knocking my collected nicknacks off and crushing them under their heavy boots.
My bed was dismantled and taken away as I grabbed the first thing I could from my closet to cover my legs.It was a skirt that was a dumb distressed denim I’d been fond of…before.But it was too short.
Shock commented on how it hugged my ass.
Then slapped it.
He uttered four words I learned to hate over the next few months.“That ass is mine.”Worse were the nine words that usually followed his declaration, “and I can do whatever I want with it.”
I swallowed down the vomit that threatened to stain my carpet.
Notmycarpet, I reminded myself.My father’s.Cara’s now.Not mine.Never mine.Not even my ass was mine.
Zoe made a noise.Just a faint questioning note that broke my fugue.She was mine.And, more importantly, she was untainted by all this.And I intended to keep her that way.If it meant handing over the collected refuse Dad dug up on his enemies, so be it.Cara could deal with the filth.I wanted nothing to do with it.
