Page 6 of Riot's Thorn
“Parker,” he snaps, his tone making my mouth clamp shut. “My time is up, but yours isn’t, so please, shut up and don’t make a sound, no matter what you hear.”
Realizing I can’t change what’s about to happen, I rest my cheek on my knees and sniffle. “Okay.”
I’m shrouded in darkness as the cabinet door closes. It’s not long before I hear heavy boots crunching through the shot-out glass. It’s silent for long seconds before my ears perk at the sound of Dad’s voice.
“What do you want? Who are you?” Dad asks, his voice quaking.
“What do you think I want?” a deep voice rumbles, lacking any emotion.
I want to fling the door open and stick up for the man who raised me, but I promised I’d stay here and be quiet.
“Who sent?—”
“The hundreds of lives you ruined.”
What?Did Dad get pulled into a Ponzi scheme or something? No, he wouldn’t do that.
“What do you want? Money? I’ll give you everything I have in the house. Get me a piece of paper, and I’ll write down the combination to my—” This time, Dad’s words are halted by a much louderpopbefore athud.
“Your money means shit to me.”
My mind vacillates wildly as I struggle to grasp what just occurred. Why is Dad quiet? Of course I know why, yet it feels so implausible, I can’t fully accept it. Surely, no one would actually want to. . . . The understanding gradually seeps in, and I slap my hands over my mouth, battling the urge to let out the scream that threatens to erupt from deep within me.
No, no, no, no. Not him. Not my daddy.
“Burn in hell, motherfucker,” the man says before I hear one lastpop. Whispering, he adds, “I’ll see you there.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Someone else must be in the room now, a woman, judging by her exasperated tone.
“You weren’t here,” the man says.
“The entire reason we do this is so I can get revenge, but I can’t do that if you go around shooting our targets.” She huffs, and I hear a thud like she’s kicking something. “He’s dead-dead, huh?”
Acid burns its way up my throat, a warning of what’s to come. Oh, no. No, no, no. I can’t be sick, not now. Seconds later, mybody betrays me as I frantically swing open the cupboard door, instinctually not wanting to get sick all over myself.
I heave and retch onto the floor until my insides feel like they’re tearing apart. It doesn’t take long before I register my mistake, and panic sets in. How could I have been so stupid? The fear of throwing up all over myself pales compared to the terror of coming face-to-face with my father’s killers.
The two intruders look like every horror film come true, dressed in all black, not a sliver of skin showing, save for narrowed eyes through black balaclavas. But it’s the sinister skeleton face on the fabric that makes my head go light and my vision tunnel. My hands shake and my teeth chatter as their looming figures crouch in front of me, not caring when they step in the puddle of vomit. I don’t look up anymore. I can’t. If these are my final moments, I’d rather not see it coming.
I suck in a sharp breath when a gloved finger tilts my chin up, and I meet the calm midnight eyes of a man who doesn’t look at all concerned he just killed the only person who means anything to me. His head tilts to the side as if he’s reading me. I should kick and scream and wail and fight, but I’m frozen, staring into the most callous gaze I’ve ever seen.
His thumb gently glides over my lower lip, and I realize he’s cleaning the sick off me. What kind of twisted, sadistic asshole toys with their victims like this? He’s going to kill me, I know it. Even if I don’t recognize him, criminals don’t leave witnesses behind. His thumb tugs down on my lip, watching as it bounces back into place.
I wish he’d just do it already. The barrel of his gun at my temple would be preferable to the terror of the suspense he’s building.
Not wanting to look at him for one more second, I shift my gaze to the side, which is a mistake because my father’s body is a mere foot away. I could almost believe he was just passedout if not for the flat expression and unseeing eyes trained on me. There’s also the massive puddle of blood under him that’s growing by the second.
My breaths pick up, and my heart feels as if it’s trying to beat through my ribcage as I try to make sense of the last five minutes. Realizing that’s impossible, my mind retreats somewhere safe, deep within my subconscious, while my body does the opposite. I flail, windmilling my arms and kicking out at the man as he pulls me from my hiding spot.
“What the fuck?” he curses, yanking me up onto my feet with minimal effort. In one swift movement, he has my back pressed against his front, his strong arms pinning mine down. “Knock it off. You’ll hurt yourself.”
Hurt myself? How can I possibly hurt any worse than this? My heart has been shattered beyond repair. My dad. My person. He’s dead, and the monster who killed him is worried I’ll, what? Break a nail?
My head lolls forward as tears stream down my face. My broken heart begs me to scream and cry, but there’s no reaching me as exhaustion settles in and my mind finds peace. I don’t care what happens anymore because this body is now just a shell of what it once was.
The place I’ve gone to is beyond his reach. I win.
CHAPTER TWO
