“I understand, Sir,” I allow my lips to stretch into what I hope is some sort of smile.
Sylas chuckles before letting me go. “That still needs some work there, son.”
When I start to say something, my phone vibrates in my pocket. Pulling it out, I look down and don’t even try to hide the sneer that takes over my face. These are some motherfucking odds that the man himself would call me right now.
“Is there a fucking reason that you’re calling me right now?” I growl, moving to the door of the house and my office.
“I want more fucking money to keep doing what I’m fucking doing,” the slimy fucker seems to whine down the line.
“You’re not getting any fucking thing from us.” Stepping into my office, I close the door before taking a seat at my desk. “Unless you want to discuss how fucking sloppy you’ve gotten. We’venearly had three shipments seized at the state line. Can you fucking explain that to me?”
“I-I-I … that has nothing to fucking do with me,” he starts.
“Tsk, tsk. As assistant chief of the county, it is the sole reason you are still exactly where you are.” Sighing in exasperation, I continue, “Unless we need to find someone else to do the job. Is that what needs to happen?”
“I’m done fucking talking to you, Vito. Get Andre on the phone until then I’m not covering a fucking thing. If your shit gets taken, then that’s on you, and what do you think the family will do about that?”
“Well, it appears we’re at an impasse,” I give as if conceding to his demands. “We’ll be in touch before the next shipment.”
“Don’t you fucking forget that without me you boys would have nothing,” he snaps.
This man has lost his fucking mind if he really believes he can make demands like this and still get to continue breathing. Looks like I’ll have to do exactly what Andre has requested. The only issue is, how am I going to be sure this shit doesn’t fall back on the family?
Reaching out to my secret in the department, I have them pull Mister Assistant Chief’s professional and personal record. It’s time to see exactly who this man is.
Loretta
I read over the letter in my hands. Joy and excitement fill my chest like they haven’t since before my mother’s suspicious death eight years ago.
Dear Ms. Wagner
It is with great excitement and pride that I write to congratulate you on your admission to the spring semester at theUniversity of Floridafollowing your high school graduation.
Your application stood out among a highly competitive pool of candidates, and the Admissions Committee was deeply impressed by your academic excellence, leadership, and commitment to service. We believe you will make an outstanding contribution to our campus and beyond.
In recognition of your exceptional accomplishments, we are pleased to award you theAcademic Merit Scholarshipcovering the full cost of tuition, room and board, student fees, and books for four years of undergraduate study at the University of Florida. This scholarship reflects our confidence in your potential and our investment in your future.
I stop reading after that, my vision getting too blurry to continue.I did it!I’m going to get out of this town that always believes what my stepdad says.
“She’s just having another moment. It’s all going to be okay,” he would tell people about my mom. Everyone believed him back then, believed him when her death was ruled self-inflicted, and believed him when he cried over her grave. The town even praised him for keeping her unruly, ungrateful daughter.
What this shitty little town never saw was the fact that he would double or triple dose her mental health meds, making herunstable. Nor did they know how he would throw her around and put hands on her, leaving her broken and bruised.
The way that his eyes would roam over my body in a way no man’s should have an underage child. It’s been the longest seven years of my life, and now I’m so close to leaving this town and never returning.
With this letter, I will be at least six hours away from my creepy, handsy, murdering stepfather, Stephen Amandas, Assistant Chief. His purpose in keeping me here was to preserve appearances, ensuring others would never question things regarding my mother's fate. If I can get through the next eight months of school to graduation and my eighteenth birthday without losing it, I’ll finally be far, far away from here—never to return.
“Loretta, where are you?” The man himself hollers as he comes through the door.
“Shoot, shoot, shoot,” I whisper over and over, shoving the paperwork in my book bag.
I wipe the tears off my face and slide my mask back in place. I open the door just as he is going to punch a fist against it, and he is unable to pull his hand back, slamming it into my nose. Pain explodes over the bridge of my nose, causing it to instantly spray blood. I quickly bring my hands up to cup my face, trying to stanch the flow.
“Oh shit. Loretta, what the hell?” he snaps, taking several large steps back. “I didn’t mean to. Fuck, can this day get any fucking worse?”
I don’t answer him or even try to move. I just stand there, still too stunned to do much else. The blood starts to ooze from between my fingers, finally breaking Stephen out of his stupor.He reaches out, grabbing hold of my arm and dragging me behind him down the hallway toward the bathroom.
“Don’t just fucking stand there bleeding on the floor,” he snaps as he shoves me into the bathroom. “You're as useless as your mother. Get your ass cleaned up.”
