Page 53 of Beautifully Shattered
He holds his hands up in surrender, but his jaw is tight, and his eyes stormy. He hates this. Every second of it.
For a moment I wonder if this is it.
The moment he stops loving me.
The moment he realises I’m too far gone. That I’m not worth the trouble.
“Help…” Wendy’s gurgled plea floats up to us, and I spin, dropping to my knees, gun still in my left hand as I slam another flesh-tearing punch into her already mangled face with my right.
Ringo and JD curse behind me, but they don’t move. Not when I stand, my fists bloodied, and start dragging Wendy’s limp body across the floor.
Not even when I grab her under the arms and start hauling her up the stairs.
My lungs burn, and muscles scream from the effort, and fuck, my gut aches, a round of cramps clawing at me, reminding me that my little girl is no longer growing inside me.
I drop Wendy at least half a dozen times, cursing myself, because shit… I didn’t think this through.
I’m not strong. Not like this. Maybe it’s the adrenaline making my muscles work harder. Or maybe it’s the weight she’s lost, making her lighter. But eventually, I get her to the top of the stairs, dropping her with a thud as I heave in air, staring down the stairs at Ringo and JD at the bottom, staring up at me like I’m something holy. Or monstrous.
Probably the latter.
“Please… Don’t…” Wendy starts to beg, weakly struggling as I lift under her arms again, and drag her across the filthy floor of the shipping container.
She’s too weak to put up a fight, still, I punch her again, just to shut her up.
“Shut up,” I snarl, dragging her again. “You don’t get to speak or beg for your shitty life.”
I kickthe container doors open with one boot, the night air hitting me like a slap as I haul her out into the flood-lit yard with JD and Ringo slowly following.
“Do you think those men stopped raping me when I begged them to stop?” I hiss, dragging her through the gravelly sand, her skin scraping raw as her blood-soaked eyes blink up at me. “Do you think theycaredwhen I fell and went into premature labour?”
Gasps ripple through the air like a wave, the Southern Sadists’ and Doxies’ attention now turning to me before the music cuts off, leaving only the sound of the crackling bonfire and Wendy’s gurgled breaths.
“Do you think anyone could save my daughter when I begged them to? Even when I begged a god I don’t believe in to saveherinstead ofME!”
My scream echoes up into the night sky as I keep dragging her into the centre of the yard, beneath a tall light pole that illuminates us for everyone to see.
Then I let her go.
Her body hits the ground with a sick thud, her skull bouncing off the dirt.
“Maybe…” Wendy rasps, coughing, the sound horrid and wet, “maybe you deserve… everything you get.”
I scream again, pure unleashed fury ripping out of me.
Even now, knowing she’s about to die, Wendy can’t stop being a spiteful bitch.
I hit her again.
And again, blood spraying across the sandy ground, soaking in like a stain as tears stream from my eyes, hot and fast.
Then, I spin, facing everyone watching on. Their eyes wide. Their bodies frozen.
Including my husband.
“She’s responsible for their deaths!” I yell, my voice cracking as I jab a finger towards the row of motorcycles, and the eight leather vests. “And she’s responsible for the death of MY BABY!” I cry as the unbearable pain shatters my heart. “Bobbi Cameron Musgrove!”
They need to hear her name. I want the world to remember it. Remember her even though she never got a chance at life.
