Page 26 of Brood
Chapter Twenty-One
I force air into my lungs after I reach the room, shutting the door behind me. Flashbacks of Butch’s tyranny come rolling back at full force, making me relive the horrors of the night he grabbed me and tossed me into the back of his truck.
Mom told me to stay hidden here and not to come out unless her or dad came to the door. The little cupboard that I used to hide in as a child is stacked with cans of soup and boxes of pasta. I stare at them as the noise from outside gets louder. I can’t tell what it is, but then it suddenly clicks. Bikes. At first, I think it is just some of their friends visiting, then why would mom make me hide if that were true? I’m only sixteen, but I’m not stupid. The rumbling of the bikes comes to a stop, and all goes quiet, so quiet I almost think that mom will be coming back any minute to get me. I’m about to push open the door and peek out when a popping noise comes from outside. It almost sounds like the fireworks we light off for the fourth of July. Screaming comes right after. My hand clamps over my mouth, forcing back the scream of my own that tries to escape. Stay quiet. Mom’s voice rings in my ears as tears roll down my cheeks.
I stay there for what seems like an eternity before the noises finally stop. I still don’t move. Not until the sound of the bikes leaving will I get up and out of this small hiding. I don’t get that chance though. Heavy footsteps come pounding into our house as the sloshing of liquid starts splashing on the floor. My nose crinkles at the smell of gasoline as it drifts through the cupboard door. “Hurry the fuck up and light it. We’ve been here too long,” someone shouts, then the front door slams.
“Rest in peace, Saints,” another voice says right before sudden warmth spreads along the confines of my hiding place. They just lit the place on fire! Panic rises through me, and I know I can’t wait any longer, or I will for sure be dead. Flinging open the door I do my best to avoid the flames, but they are everywhere. I run as fast as I can right through them. I don’t even see any of the men standing outside as I burst through the front door of the only home I have ever known and drop down onto the ground to roll. The stop, drop and roll my parents taught me as a child comes back instantly, something I thought I would never have to use.
“Son of a bitch!” someone calls out, and suddenly I’m being patted down, the heat from the flames slowly starting to fade as something else creeps across me. Fear. When the person helping me to extinguish the small flames that clung to my clothes is satisfied they got them all, I’m dragged to my feet. It’s then I fully notice what has happened to my family.
There is blood everywhere. So much that I can’t even tell which puddle belongs to who. My teeth capture my bottom lip between them stifling the cry the tries to escape when my eyes land on my parents. Both of them are still barely breathing. My dad trying his best to reach my mother. “Well now.” A deep sinister voice draws my attention from my parents, and my eyes are met with the devil himself. “You must be the Princess of the Saints. My name is Butch.” His attention goes back to my parents. “I thought you said she wasn’t here.” His booted foot comes out and kicks my dad in the side, causing him to cry out in agony.
“Jordyn, run!” my dad yells, trying in vain to get to his feet.
“Run, he says!” Butch laughs. “Didn’t you hear him, Princess? Run!” The other men join in laughing as Butch pulls a gun from his blood spattered jeans. He points it right at my dad’s head and fires a bullet into his skull. The scream that tears through my throat burns its way out as I try and do what I was told. Only I don’t try to run away, I try to go toward my parents. I can’t. The man who helped put out the flames takes me into his strong hold. That’s when my mother’s head turns my way as if she just realized I was out here. A soft, bloodied smile forms on her face when she sees me. She is so far gone I’m not even sure she knows what’s happening. It doesn’t matter though because the next shot that rings out ends her completely. A hand slaps over my mouth to keep me from screaming.
“Burn ‘em.” I watch, sagging in a stranger’s arms as my parents are doused in gasoline and lit on fire. “Let her go, Miguel.” I’m suddenly dropped to the ground, staring at my burning parents. My home. Everything I’ve ever known.
“Kill me.” I find myself saying. Reining in all of the strength I have left I stand to my feet. I repeat, “Kill me too.”
“Kill you?” Butch’s eyebrows rise. “Oh, my little princess, I have no desire to kill you.” He steps closer, bringing his hand out to my raised chin, gripping it between his thumb and forefinger. “You’re a little orphan now. What kind of man would I be if I killed an orphan?” Defiantly, I jerk myself away. “Boys, this little girl here is in need of a new family. I think an adoption is in order.” He reaches out and grips my arm, tugging me along with him. “Come on Princess, Daddy will show you your new home.”
* * *
I don’t even know where I am when the memory finally leaves me. The cold wind whips in my face, and I find myself walking down the road, my bag firmly strapped to my back. I’m almost to the clubhouse.
I have only one thought, and it’s to get far away from these people I have come to care about, so I don’t bring them any pain. I won’t let them end up like my parents did.
I spot my car outside, parked right under a street lamp. No one is around, so I make a mad dash for it, getting to the door and flinging myself in. I quickly reach into my bag for the spare only to have knocking on my window scare the hell out of me, causing me to drop the key onto the seat. The door flings open, and Show is standing there, looming over the car and me.
“Going somewhere?” he asks with a smile.
“Ah yeah. Parking the car at Brood’s—”
“No lying Red,” he tells me as my hand feels around for the key, trying to keep perfectly still in the process.
“Please Show. I really need to hit the road. You know, get ahead of the traffic.” I cringe at the joke as my fingers find the key. I hold back jumping for joy and slowly– very slowly– bring the key to the ignition. I will need to be fast. Show is a big guy, but I’m sure he can be quick if he needs to be. Please start, please start.
“Still Brood said—” the engine comes to life in one turn, and Show’s hand reaches for me as I bring my hand down to the shifter. I flick it into reverse and floor it. The door knocks poor Show off balance, and he falls to the ground with a thump.
“I’m so sorry, Show!” I shout as I look back and see he is getting up from the pavement. Then I’m slamming the door closed and putting the car in drive as I speed away from the town of Rhino.
* * *
Knocking pulls me from sleep, and I wake with a start to find someone standing outside my car door. Hat placed firmly on their head and sunglasses over their eyes. My blurry eyes clear and then widen when the golden badge on their uniform glints in the sunlight. A cop, crap! “Can you roll the window down, miss?” the man says, making a rolling gesture with his finger. Slowly I sit up and engage the battery to do as he says, bringing the only barrier between us down.
“Is there a problem?” I ask, trying to keep my voice from cracking.
“You mind telling me where you are coming from?” he asks, leaning in a bit closer, making me pull back.
“South Carolina.”
“License and registration, please.” I pale and look over to the glove box, knowing that I won’t find anything like that in there. I don’t even have a license.
“I don’t have that. My wallet was stolen—”
“How about the registration?” I shake my head, trying to keep myself from bursting out of my skin. “Step out of the car, please,” he snaps, stepping away from my door then pulls it open, waiting for me to get out. With shaking hands, I do as he says and step outside. “Do you have any sharp objects on you I need to be aware of?” he asks me coming to pat me down. I freeze when his hands start gliding along my body. Not in a sexual way at least, though he is still touching me.
“What have I done, please I’m only—”
“It’s illegal to park your car and sleep here overnight,” he tells me, bringing my hands behind my back and slapping cuffs around my wrists.
“So, you are arresting me?”
“Detaining. Until I can find out who this car belongs to and who you are,” he conveys, and my stomach drops.
