“That’s not the issue, and you know it.”
Brock nudged me, so I shifted, facing him and my dad at the same time. My back was now mostly turned toward the door.
“He’s here to keep tabs on us.” Brock raised his voice, more speaking to my dad than me. “Red Demons know that we’re closing in on where the big wigs are hiding, and they want all eyes on us that they can get. It ain’t going to happen. You have to leave, Mr. Monroe.”
I closed my eyes, memories assaulting me.
“…we’re charging Mr. Monroe with the assault and murder of …”
It washed over me, with the feels, the smells. The stale beer assaulting my nose. The dried sweat. The metallic smell of the blood. How blood could have a smell was beyond me, but it did.
I could feel the knife in my hand again.
The sound of his footsteps.
“Honey?”
My eyes snapped open. I was jarred back to reality, and I stared hard at my dad. “You have to leave.”
“But, Bren—”
“NOW!”
I didn’t want to go back there. If him being here was bringing memories from that first night, I didn’t want to endure what else I’d go through, again. The longer he stayed, the more I’d have to fight through.
“Bren—” He started to slide out of the booth.
It wasn’t fast enough. None of it was fast enough.
I needed Brock off of my back.
I needed my dad out of my life.
I needed all of it gone.
I grabbed his computer, snapping it shut, and was out the door in two steps. Heaving it over my head, I threw it as far as I could. Vehicles were pulling into the parking lot. I heard the crumble of the dirt under their tires, and I knew others had come out to watch what was going on, but I ignored all of them.
I had to.
My heart was pounding.
My hands were sweaty.
I felt like I was having a panic attack right then and there. No. I was having a panic attack.
Going back inside, my dad hadn’t moved. Brock too. Both were still in place, and I bent, sweeping the rest of his papers into my hands. Those followed behind his laptop. I tossed it all as hard as I could, but some flew back in the wind. A few even sailed right back inside.
I stepped on one, and I was almost dry heaving looking at what else he had there.
His phone.
His glasses.
I reached for both, but he jerked forward. Grabbing his phone, he stepped into me and wrapped his arms around me. “Sweetheart—”
“I’m not your sweetheart!” I ripped myself from his arms.
Another man in a matter of minutes who decided to touch me. He didn’t have that right. Brock hadn’t either. I was going feral again, the need to teach them both a lesson.
I waited, my hand ready, and I glared at him. “Get out. Get. Out. GET OUT!”
“Hon—!” he tried to yell at me, and he reached.
He shouldn’t have reached for me.
My arm moved back. My hand pulled out my knife, and I embedded it in his arm, right in the fleshiest part. His eyes went wide, staring at it. His face paled. “Bren!”
Someone else gasped behind me.
I felt hands on my shoulders, and I growled, whirling around.
It was Hawk. She stepped back, releasing me immediately. “Bren.”
God.
I hated that tone. Soft. Soothing. Like I was a fucking animal that needed to be tamed. Domesticated.
Fuck that. Fuck her. Fuck my dad. Fuck everyone.
My phone was ringing.
I heard it jarring, and then I felt it, and I pulled it out.
Channing calling.
I answered it, “I just stabbed Dad.”
There was total and complete silence on his end. Then, a soft, “Bren?”
“I want him gone. Now.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
He exhaled sharply on his end. “Walk to the bathroom. Wash up, and then go and sit in a cool office. Okay? Can you do that for me?”
My brother would do what he always did. He’d take care of it, and I knew he’d be sending Cross my way. So, because of that, because I trusted my brother, I nodded. “Their air-conditioner doesn’t work.”
“Bathroom. Wash. Sit in front of a large fan then.”
I repeated his words, and I felt Hawk hovering over me.
“Bren.”
“What?”
“Give the phone to Dad, then go to the bathroom. You have someone there with you? Where’s Cross?”
“He’s at the house.”
“Okay. Anyone else there with you?”
I looked and said, “Everyone.”
“Okay.” I heard him bite off a slight laugh. And he repeated, “Let someone go with you to the bathroom, and give the phone to Dad. Okay? I’ll make sure you’ll get your phone back. I promise.”
I had no argument. I trusted my brother.
I turned to Hawk, knowing I was speaking like a zombie, knowing I wished I were feeling like one. “I need you to go to the bathroom with me.”
She was nodding before I started speaking. “I will. I’ll do that.”