Page 57 of Relentles
“I-I’m covered in poop!” she cried, gagging.
The putrid scent swirled around them and watered CJ’s eyes. Lifting the collar of his shirt over his mouth and nose, he started forward again, but his foot caught. Above his head something teetered and he glanced up. A slop bucket teetered from an open panel on the drop ceiling, dripping…
A shit dollop landed on CJ’s cheek, and he screamed, recoiling. He reared against the wall, trying to wipe his cheek but catching his elbow in thin, almost invisible wiring dangling from an exposed pipe.
“What the fuck…?” CJ started, attempting to disentangle himself.
He worsened the situation because the wire gave way and the bucket crashed the ground. If he hadn’t scrambled back, the bucket would’ve covered his head, along with the last dredges of shit.
It all happened so fast, CJ was still reeling as Dad removed his cut, hung it on a doorknob, then took off his T-shirt and swiped it over Mom’s face.
Blubbering incoherent threats, CJ crawled to the French door closest to them and threw it open, hanging his head and drawing in deep drafts of clean air.
Staggering to his feet, CJ made his way back to his mother. One side of her face was visible, but she’d made shit tracks from where she ran into the booby trap to the middle of the breezeway.
Thankfully, Dad had opened the other door on the far end. Shit was everywhere there. Spattered against the wall. In little clumps surrounding Mom. On Dad’s hands. On CJ’s…
His stomach turned.
“I’ll get you towels, Momma,” Rebel volunteered, stomping past CJ toward the nearest hallway, dripping flour. It rained white powder over the pools of shit.
“What the fuck happened toyou, Reb?” Dad asked, beyond pissed.
“Ask your sons,” she snarled as Mom snatched Dad’s T-shirt. “While they are still able to fucking talk.”
Dad finally noticed CJ and his eyes flared. “You full of fuckin’ ketchup, too?”
“CJ?” Axel whispered, fear shining in his eyes. “I need your white T-shirt.”
“I need to beat your fucking ass,” CJ snarled.
“Get in line,” Rebel said, stalking back to their mother and glaring at their little brothers.
Axel tugged at CJ’s shirt.
“What?” he gritted, in no mood to placate the little asshole.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “We didn’t want Mom full of shit. We wanted it to get on Reb. That bitch wouldn’t bake cookies for us.”
Growling, CJ snatched Axel off his feet.
“Please!” Axel sniffled. “Her cookies are good. She could’ve made us some.”
“She’s on her period,” Ransom announced. “Or that’s what we think. She’s more of a mean bitch then.”
CJ dropped his little brother. “I’m going to letherkill you.”
They’d probably tried to fight her. In retaliation, she’d refused to bake cookies.
Axel tugged on him again. “Your shirt? Please!”
“You got shit on your cheek, CJ,” Ryder said.
As hellish as it was, CJ was adjusting to the smell. He could think again. He swiped his arm across his cheek, cringing at the brown slop.
“Please, CJ?”
Fuck, they’d gone this far. Let their bad asses hang themselves with their chaotic creativity. He handed Axel his stained T-shirt and folded his arms.
