Page 27 of Ripped Lace (Ripped Bratva)
Is it pathetic that I kind of wish it was?
I decide not to dwell as I get up and gather the clothes that Leona has picked out for me. Once I’ve visited the bathroom and changed, I follow her downstairs where there’s a flurry of activity brewing.
A line of huge, armored trucks are parked just outside the mansion. Groups of Sanctuary residents are being herded into each one in single file lines.
“Oh my God…everyoneis going to Mexico?” I ask.
Leona pushes Theo’s stroller down the narrow ramp. “Apparently.”
The moment I emerge, I feel everyone’s eyes on me. I recognize most of the faces. They’re all people I grew up around. Friends and cousins and family members.
At least, that’s what they used to be—a lifetime ago. What are they to me now? Enemies? Strangers? Anything? Nothing?
They look at me as if I’m a monster birthed from a nightmare. Like I’m the beast who’s unleashed hell into their idyllic lives.
Then I spot my parents. They stand in the center line leading to the third armored truck. No one is chained or cuffed, but they might as well be. The men ushering them into the trucks are all armed and grim. Their faces each bear the latent promise of violence.
I start striding towards my parents, ignoring the looks I’m getting from everyone else. “Mama! Papa!”
I catch a glimpse of my father’s fury before he pointedly turns away from me. My mother, on the other hand, pretends like she doesn’t even hear me.
My heart hurts, but I continue anyway. Someone behind me calls out my name. I don’t know who, but I ignore them all the same.
“Mama,” I try again. “Papa, please… look at me.”
“What have you done?!” Mama hisses when I’m too close for her to keep overlooking.
“Me? I did nothing! I’m not responsible for any of this!”
“You’ve destroyed our Sanctuary. You brought evil here.” Tears sparkle in my mother’s eyes as she turns from me again.
My lip is quivering. “Papa, please believe me—I had nothing to do with any of this. I’m just as much a prisoner as—”
“Enough!” he barks, causing me to jump back in alarm.
My father’s the kind of man whose anger burns low and quiet. He doesn’t scream. He never yells. But the sound of his voice raised in anger frightens me into silence as I stare at the naked accusation in his eyes.
“You are no longer my daughter,” he seethes. “You are nothing to me.”
Those words are a knife in the chest. They root themselves into my heart and stay there. Naïve though it may be, I never expected it to hurt so much.
As I pirouette slowly in place, I realize why he shouted. It wasn’t solely to hurt me. It was for the benefit of the entire community.
Everyone is shuffling backwards. Looking up, down, left, and right—anywhere but straight at me.
I’m a pariah.
I’m a curse.
I’m dead to all of them.
Fighting tears, I walk back to where Leona is standing. “Come on,” she says in a soft voice. It’s clear she’s seen the whole exchange. “Let’s get going.”
“Which truck am I being herded into?” I ask bitterly.
“You’re the wife of the boss,” she says. “You get a proper car.”
I cringe as I follow her to the shiny car that pulls up just beyond the line of trucks. Only once I’m inside do my tears come freely and easily.
