Luke laughed. “I only burn them so I could build them and call them my own. That’s how we survive this, Rose. Okay? You just need to hang tight. Play it cool. Yeah?”
“You’re high, Luke. You shouldn’t be on drugs when you’re worrying about business.”
Luke growled and snapped. I should have known he was going to smack me. Maybe I was used to it. Maybe I didn’t care anymore. I felt the pain as I went down to the floor. I put one hand down to catch myself, which only ended up hurting my wrist.
“You’re not Ma,” Luke snapped. “She’s fucking dead, just like Dad. They’re fucking gone and I’m not. I’m carrying all this shit on my own, Rose. You don’t fucking listen you’re going to end up in a hole like them. Goddammit.”
I stared up at Luke. He was the monster. He was evil. I never needed to look under my bed or in my closet to find a monster.
I kept my mouth shut and waited Luke out.
He adjusted his suit, tugged on his tie, and then moved for the door. He left the apartment and I rubbed my cheek. I climbed to my feet and went to the small kitchen. I grabbed a bag of frozen peas and slapped them against my cheek.
I wanted to run away. For real. That’s what I had tried to do before and that ended bad. So fucking bad. I was trapped. The saddest part of it all… the pain from Luke was far less than the pain that waited if I really tried to leave.
What I truly wanted… what I needed… was someone to come save me. To take me. To keep me their secret.
~
“Are you okay?”
He started to turn around.
Holy fuck, he’s turning around.
The beautifully built back and arms soon became a chiseled chest and stomach. Black hair hiding his face, his head down a little. Veins throbbing from his hands all the way up through his biceps and into his shoulders. A man built through giving and taking punches. A man built through facing fear and death, always coming out on top. Always surviving. Always ready for the next battle.
“You can talk to me,” I said. “It’s okay. I promise.”
I stepped toward him. My hands reached out and touched his stomach. He was sweaty, my fingertips twitching. The ripples of muscle that went up and up to a well defined chest. But I kept going. I touched his neck. Then his face. The roughness of his facial hair was like sandpaper to my palms. I kept going even more. My fingers touched his wet hair, pushing it up and out of his face.
His hands then grabbed my waist. A second later, he spun me around and put me against the wall.
“What do you want?” he asked, that growly voice shooting through my heart.
“You,” I whispered. “You to save me. To take me away.”
I started to move his hair back even more. I needed to see his face. To stare into his eyes. To look at his lips before I tasted them.
“You have no idea…”
My phone started to ring. I turned my head and saw a nightstand. An alarm clock. A lamp. My phone glowing and vibrating. I looked forward again, wanting to apologize, but he was gone again.
Duh, Rose! You’re awake!
I blinked fast and I realized I was in the dark. I was in bed, my left hand dangerously close to my inner thigh.
Was I really just about to…?
My phone kept ringing and vibrating.
“Okay, okay,” I grumbled.
Of course, it was Luke calling.
I grabbed the phone, yawning, and answered it.
“Luke… it’s the mid-”
“Don’t you even leave the fucking room, Rose! You understand me?”
“What are you talking about? I’m in bed.”
“Get under the bed. In the closet. Something. You understand?”
“No, I don’t! I’m tired of this Luke!”
The phone went silent for a few seconds. I could hear my brother breathing. He was angry. Very angry. He wanted to hurt me, I could sense it through the phone. Yet at the same time he protected me because I was something of a prize to him.
“Rose, listen to me carefully. You hide in that fucking room until I tell you not to.”
“Give me one good reason,” I said, tired and cocky.
Luke did just that…
“Because they’re coming to kill you, Rose. Tonight.”
4.
(Wes)
I drank myself drunk for days after the fight. Each time I shut my eyes or tried to sleep, all I could see was Shane. Except Shane was Johnny, or Johnny was Shane. It was Shane’s face but the giant eagle tattoo from Johnny on his body. Shane on the ground, begging for his life. Reaching back into his own head, pulling out his brains, showing them to me. Then he’d ask me why, over and over until I woke up.
I put a bucket next to my bed because each time I woke up, I puked my guts out. I wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the dream of brains.
Thinking about it made my fingers tingle.
I had put one mission on my life and that was to find the guy who killed Shane and get revenge. All I knew - and all Aton told me - was that the fighter was called the assassin. He didn’t fight under a name, simply called the assassin. He always wore a black mask when he fought. Rumor had it that the fight - the fucking murder - with Shane had been his last one.
I licked my lips and reached for the bottle.
It was empty.