Page 92 of The Bonds We Break
As I get close, I pull my beanie down and my scarf up. I’m not wearing my cut or anything that would be easily identifiable.
The joy of these kinda homes is they’re a little more lax about security. I’m into the kitchen in record time. The house is quiet.
Quickly, I pull the skillet I stole from the clubhouse kitchen from my bag and light the gas ring on the stove. The pan makes a little noise when I place it over the flames. Placing my gloved hands on the edge of the counter, I think of Rae the day I caught her practicing her swing.
She can’t do this, but I sure as fuck can.
I remember everything I’ve been told about this man. How he fleeces his congregation, how he beat Rae and Ryker for not remembering Bible verses. I think about what it must have felt like to grow up in a house where every moment was filled with active or passive violence.
My mum made the house feel special.
Dad tried his fucking hardest to do the same after she left, even though he failed as often as he succeeded.
There is a haze above the pan, which means it’s hot enough. I grab the cloth I brought from my bag, and I wrap it around the handle.
“Hello? Who’s there? I’m calling the police.”
I grin. In the middle of the boonies like this, it’ll take the police a hot minute to get here, even if they care. And given I’ve already looked at where the station is and which road they’ll likely use to send cars out, I’ll be out of the way in the opposite direction before Miller Senior can finish his sentence.
I remain quiet, waiting for him to turn the corner.
When he does, with a face matching the photograph Vex sent me, I take one deep breath. Then, with a strength I wasn’t even aware of, I deliver the vengeance Rae couldn’t.
33
RAE
I’ve been driving for ten hours. I’m tired. Have a pretty chronic case of the hangries. And I’m pissed.
When I got the call this morning from mom about three hours after Ryker and Rose had left, I initially struggled with my emotions. The fact someone had broken into my parents’ house had concerned me. My mom is vulnerable and utterly under my dad’s control. I’d hate to see something happen to her.
My father? I don’t give a shit about him.
But her frantic call telling me someone had broken into their home and beaten my father shifted from concern to internalized anger right at the moment she told me someone had smashed the side of his face with a hot frying pan.
King.
The man Iknowwas falling for me as much as I fell for him.
The man who left me with a letter explaining why he, without any discussion of my own wants and needs, had decided his world was more than I could handle.
The man I miss with every heartbeat.
The man who knew I would never get over my childhood trauma without some kind of action had gone and done it for me.
Which is why it’s the turn to the clubhouse I take now, not the turn to the hospital my father is currently in.
Perhaps I should have called my brother and narrowed down where King was. Running the idea past Ryker before I do what I’m about to do would also be a good idea in case of any repercussions. Jesus, perhaps I’ll even show up and find himin flagrante delictowith a club girl.
If that’s the case, he can take his hot skillet and shove it up his ass.
But anything other than that, and I am fighting for the man I love.
When I pull up to the gate of the clubhouse, it’s locked. Two young men stand behind it, and they walk forward as I get out of my car. “Open the gate,” I instruct.
“Need to know what business you’re here for,” one of them says.
I fold my arms. “First, you can’t have a sentence without a subject. It’sIneed to know what business you’re here for. And second, I’m here to kick your president’s ass from here to next week. So let me in or present him. Now. I’ll wait.”
