I wasn’t interested in that life. I wasn’t interested in having my world prescribed and inscribed, explained in detail and written out like a long novel outline.
I wanted my own life.
Which was why feeling trapped in Mack’s place stung, and stung doubly when he treated me like some annoying stray he didn’t want anymore.
My fists clenched hard. The smell of my father’s living room, beer and air freshener. The sound of leather against flesh.
My days spent in anger and my nights lost in terror.
I didn’t hear the door at first. Just a banging in the distance that I chalked up to the music. The song changed to the next one on the album: “Surrounded by Heads and Bodies.”
I heard the banging then. Someone pounding on the door.
I stood up, not sure what was happening. Nobody showed up at my place like this. I checked my phone, but no missed calls, no texts, no nothing—of course not.
I was invisible to my family, at least until they needed me.
“Go away, Mack. I’m still pissed at you.”
But the pounding kept coming. I cursed and took one earbud out. The knocking sounded violent and desperate, like someone trying to escape a predator. I lingered in the hallway, staring at the bolt—
I forgot to lock it.
I reached forward, thinking I could slam it home and tell Mack to fuck off—
When the door exploded inward.
I screamed as little shards of wood scattered all around, some of them smashing against my chest and face and falling to the floor. I ripped my other earbud out and threw them down as I staggered backwards.
A man stepped into the room.
My first thought was, oh my god, he’s a giant.
He was enormous. His arms were as thick as fire hydrants, his neck was like a monster truck tire. His nostrils flared. His head was bald.
He held a gun in his hand. It looked like a toy.
“Fiona?” he asked, his voice like a supersonic boom.
I ran.
It wasn’t even a question. I’d been through too much lately, and I knew the look on that guy’s face.
He wasn’t there to have a friendly chat.
Gunshots cracked behind me. A bullet lodged in the wall as I sprinted toward my bedroom, breathing hard and desperate. I heard the giant’s footsteps behind me pounding on the floorboards and I had one wild and giddy thought—maybe he’d fall through and crash down into the basement—but when I reached my room and slammed the door, it instantly flexed against his weight. I locked the knob, but what the hell was that going to do?
I backed up, scrambling for the window. I was on the second story, but the drop wouldn’t be so bad—
The door broke open and banged against the wall.
“Fiona?” the giant asked again. He held the gun pointed at me chest.
I turned slowly, hands raised up.
Like that would matter.
I opened my mouth to say something—
Then Mack exploded into the room.
He smashed into the giant like a wrecking ball. The gun went off and I screamed, flinching away. The bullet broke the window behind me, a scream of glass.
Mack was shockingly large and muscular. He was a killing machine, a beast made to slaughter—
But the giant was even bigger.
Mack struggled with the man, cursing in Russian, and the giant cursed back. Mack managed to smash his forehead into the giant’s nose and ripped the gun away, but the giant backhanded the weapon, sending it careening away.
The giant grabbed Mack by the skull and squeezed.
Mack shouted in pain. It looked like his skull might snap right there, but Mack jammed his thumbs into the giant’s eyes. The giant screamed and threw Mack aside.
Mack hit the floor and bounced before climbing slowly to his feet.
The giant rose up like a mountain.
“You don’t need to do this, Peter,” Mack said, breathing hard. He wiped a trickle of blood from his mouth.
“Since when did you help some Doyle bitch?” Peter rumbled and gestured at me. “What is wrong with you, traitor fuck?” Peter’s words were heavily accented and slurred through his shattered nose.
“The girl’s mine.” Mack took a step forward. The giant, Peter, bristled and growled like a lion. “Go home, Peter. I don’t want to hurt you.”
Peter laughed and banged his chest. “You little shit. Pakhan loves you, but you do not deserve his respect. Come now, I will show you a man.”
Peter lunged at Mack, but Mack was faster. He ducked sideways, punched Peter in the gut, then neck, then face, but Peter smashed his forearms into Mack’s face. Mack staggered, hit the wall, and Peter grabbed him with a roar.
I was in the closet again. Trapped toward the back. Hyperventilating like a little girl. My brother, screaming in pain. He had Mack’s voice now. I was in that closet, listening to my father beat my brother until his back bled in long ruddy rivulets.