Tortured Souls (Rebels of Sandland 2)

“We can’t prove that. They can’t prove that. Harper, I know you want justice for Brodie, but he wouldn’t want this.” Dad looked over at Mum as he spoke. “I think as a family we need to face up to the fact that he stepped into that ring, he agreed to the fight, and now we have to deal with the consequences of his actions.”

“We face the consequences, but his murderer gets off scot-free? What kind of fucking consequences is he facing, huh?”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Every day there were hurdles appearing in front of us, like potholes in a retro platform computer game ready to trick us and call game over. It was a

fucking joke. We didn’t stand a chance. All the odds were stacked against us.

“He’s probably suffering in his own hell,” Dad said. “I’m damned if I know. I hope he is. The police still have no clue as to his whereabouts, and I hope he never shows his face in Sandland again. But we need to accept there won’t be a trial. There’ll be no one we can pin our grief and anger onto. Not publicly, anyway.”

I slammed my fist down on the table, making my parents jump at my outburst. I couldn’t believe Dad was giving up so easily. Where was the hunger to fight back? Brodie was a fighter, and so was I. So, why were my parents lying down and taking this?

“There is someone to blame and he needs to answer for what he’s done. He can’t get away with it.”

“Harper.” Mum squeezed my hand to get me to look at her. “It’s not healthy to think like that. You have to let this go, or at least try, for all our sakes. It’ll be hard for me and your dad too, but as a family, we have to. For our sanity.”

I shook my head vehemently.

“No. No, I won’t. I can’t, Mum. I can’t just get on with my life and pretend that fight never happened. Pretend Brodie wasn’t killed at the hands of someone else.”

Mum glanced across at Dad and he ran his hands over his face in exasperation.

“We aren’t saying to forget,” he said quietly. “We know it’s harder for you. You were there. You saw it all. We can’t begin to imagine how awful that was for you. But if you keep that anger inside, then ultimately, it’ll destroy you. I won’t let that happen.”

“I wasn’t the only one there. What about Jensen, Chase, and the others? Weren’t their statements taken into account? They saw it exactly the same as I did.”

The Lockwoods held a lot of power, even I knew that. Surely their word meant something in this case?

My parents looked at each other again, exchanging a strange glance that I couldn’t read.

“They retracted their statements,” my dad admitted, not able to look me in the eye.

“What? But that’s insane. Why would they do that?”

This wasn’t making any sense.

“We’ve got no idea. Maybe they felt differently afterwards. They could’ve felt under duress or had drunk too much to know what they were saying. We don’t know. Their solicitor dealt with it, apparently. We couldn’t get a straight answer out of Don Lockwood when we called him last night. Not that we expected to. He’d always put his family name before anything else.”

I wasn’t used to hearing my dad speak like that about someone he considered a friend. Don Lockwood, Jensen and Chase’s dad, was an aloof, hard-faced man, but I’d never taken him for a coward. Dad was right though. The Lockwoods looked after their own, but before all this, that’d included Brodie.

What had happened to change that?

“I’m gonna go see Jensen. I need to hear him tell me exactly why he’s protecting that piece of shit. Why he’s not standing up for his best friend when he needs him the most. Brodie would never have done this if the tables were turned. He always stood by his friends.”

I went to stand up, but my mum grabbed my arm, making me stop and sink back down into my chair.

“I don’t think you should be going out today, Harper. Not after everything. You’re vulnerable.”

I gave a low laugh and then looked at my dad for back up. I didn’t find it. He was as stubborn about all this as she was.

“Your mum’s right. You need to stay here and focus on your well-being.”

“I’m not about to do a Britney; shave my head and start attacking people, Dad. If I want to go out, I will.”

I wasn’t being totally truthful. If a Britney-style meltdown were required, I’d probably have done it, just to get my voice heard. I wasn’t ruling anything out at this point.

“Fine. We won’t lock you in your room. Not yet, anyway.” He gave me a smile to try and show he was being jovial, but I didn’t return it. I didn’t doubt for a second that padlocks and chains would come into play if they had to. I’d still fight it, though. Bring it on. I’d lost my twin, my other half. I felt manic and unstable, and somebody needed to pay. Right then, anything was possible, and I was starting to realise that in this quest for justice, I was on my own.

Thirty minutes later, and I was banging my fist like a mad woman on the black, highly polished double front doors of the Lockwood house, blowing blonde wisps of hair out of my face and hoping I didn’t look as savage as I felt. I say house, but this place was a bloody mansion. The upkeep for the topiary in the front garden alone probably cost more than most people made in a month. We weren’t poor, but the Lockwoods were real money; old money.