Runaway (Wolfes of Manhattan 3)

I can finally see what the shiny thing is. It’s a knife. A big silver knife like Cook uses in the kitchen. She chops onions into tiny pieces with a knife like that.

“Watch out, Miss Riley,” she always says to me when I watch her chop. “This knife is sharp. Don’t you ever touch it.”

“Be careful, Rock!” I cry out. “Cook says that’s sharp!”

Still he comes closer, and Daddy stands.

“Give it to me, Rock,” Daddy says.

“You leave her alone.” Rock’s voice cracks and squeaks. Even shakes a little. His voice is lower now, but it still cracks sometimes.

“You little piece of shit,” Daddy says.

I don’t know what that word means. I don’t know the F word either—the one Rock said. The one Daddy and Mommy say a lot when they fight.

Rock still walks toward Daddy, and then…

The knife. It’s touching Daddy. Blood trickles through his white shirt.

“No, Rock, no!” I scream. “Don’t hurt Daddy!”I jerked upward.

I was back at my place. The limo driver dropped me off first. Rock wasn’t in the limo. Lacey said he stayed to have a drink in the bar with a friend. Why? There’d been plenty to drink at that stupid wake. Did Rock even have any friends here?

I rose from my couch where I’d been sitting in a daze.

Sitting. Thinking. Remembering.

Remembering how it all began. How Rock got sent away.

Funny. Until Rock told us the truth, I’d forgotten that night. That night so long ago had been buried inside my mind, making room for much more horrific things.

The bloody white sheets.

The new dark-brown ones that I hated.

“Damn it!”

I hurried to my bedroom, threw the blankets off my bed, and then tore off the sheets. “I hate you!” I screamed as I ripped the sheets down the middle.

These sheets weren’t brown. They weren’t white.

They were lavender, actually.

But I didn’t care. I ripped and I ripped and I ripped until I’d torn the entire sheet into two separate pieces.

My breath came rapidly. From exertion or rage, I wasn’t sure.

I threw myself on my naked mattress then, and I sobbed.

I sobbed and I sobbed and I sobbed.

I cursed my father. I cursed my life. I cursed Matt for coming here and making me want him even more.

I cursed everything I could never have.

And then I cursed my mother.

Nothing is happening to you that isn’t happening to a hundred other girls, Riley. Just close your eyes and think of diamonds.

Diamonds.

Right.

I never wore diamonds. The few I owned were locked up in a safe deposit box.

Thinking of diamonds never helped, Mom, thank you very much.

Weren’t mothers supposed to protect their children?

For that matter, weren’t fathers?

Rock. The only person who ever tried to protect me. I’d never forgive myself for telling him to stop. If I could go back in time, back to that innocent little girl I’d been, I’d tell my brother to plunge that knife into the bastard’s heart.

Then I’d be a different woman today.

My brother might have gotten a few years in juvie, but he’d be fine now. He was strong. So strong.

I sat up.

No.

I didn’t actually want that at all. Rock had already paid for trying to help me, and Roy and Reid honestly hadn’t known. In fact, they’d been envious of the time Dad spent with me.

They didn’t know…

They didn’t—

Someone pounded on my door.

I was a mess. The tattered pieces of my sheet lay strewn on the floor along with the rest of my bedding. I glanced in the mirror quickly. My face was streaked with tears, my eyes red and my nose runny.

Well, of course. I was mourning dear old Dad.

Might as well answer the door. I could put on a good show right now. One devoted daughter coming up.

I sniffled and walked to my door, still wearing my black dress. I’d kicked off the uncomfortable Louboutin pumps as soon as I got home.

I opened the door.

And I melted.

Matteo Rossi stood there, his arms open.

I fell into them.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured against the top of my head. “It’s all going to be okay.”

He was wrong, of course. My life would never be okay. But maybe I could play make-believe for a few moments, much like I did in Sumter Falls only days ago.

Yes, make-believe.

Pretend.

Let’s play house, Daddy.

I pulled away from Matt and grabbed two fistfuls of my hair. “Get out of my head!”

Matt maneuvered himself into my apartment, pushing me gently inside and closing the door.

“I’m not trying to get in your head,” he said soothingly.

“No, no, no!”

“Baby, please.”

“Not you. Not you. Him!”

“Easy.” He touched my arm gently and led me to the couch where I’d been sitting earlier. “Sit. Come on. I’m going to get you a drink.”

“Don’t want it.”

“Just water, baby. You’re dehydrated.”

“I’m not.”

“Of course you are. You’ve been crying all day.”

He wasn’t wrong. I had been crying all day. Just not for the reasons he thought.