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  Half way through his story, I began to shake. I remembered that night. I hadn't heard about Lil's brother yet, but I remembered Carl's sudden shift, from overbearing and protective to—something else.

  He hadn't been afraid of anything. Not that I could tell. He'd been so horny he couldn't wait to get back to his place before getting his cock into me for the first round. He'd started in the car, and the entire night had been wild, forceful, and pushed just to edge of scary. An edge that blurred and disintegrated before long and ended with me tied to my own bed.

  “He did it.” The accusation fell off my lips, unstoppable. Horrifying. But undeniable.

  “But I can't prove it.” Vic hung his head. “In my gut I know it, but I can't prove a damn thing.”

  “How many?”

  Vic dropped his head into his hand. “Paul—”

  “How many!”

  “Six. As far as I can tell.”

  “I need to—”

  He raised his head, finally, and I found I couldn't look him in the eye. “I'm sorry. I didn't do this right.”

  “I—” My gut churned. “Get me out of here.” I struggled to get my feet free of the car and shirked past him.

  He was up and grabbing for me in two strides, and too fucking bad I puked all over his shoes. If he thought I'd been about to run, it served him right. Where the hell was I going to go? It left me shaking and helpless to even wipe my mouth.

  “Here.” Vic lifted my chin, used the tail of his own shirt to wipe the corner of my lips.

  “Don't.” I pulled away, tilting my head from his touch.

  “I'm sorry. Paul, I dropped that on you—”

  “Like a ton of bricks.” I couldn't stop shaking.

  “This whole thing is cocked up.” His hand had slid from my chin to my shoulder where it rested, a warm, solid mass that I shouldn't have been taking comfort in. “You shouldn't be here. Not like this.”

  For one, delirious moment, I was sure he was going to reach around and release me. His hand grazed from my shoulder down my arm and stopped just above the cuffs.

  “I should get you in there.”

  I might have actually whimpered. I couldn't make my feet move, though, and the slight tug Vic initiated on my arm eased.

  “You don't have any reason to trust me.”

  I kept my head down and my mouth shut.

  “I'll walk you through every step. I promise. You just tell the truth, and nothing bad can happen.”

  Something else Carl said a lot, only bruises proved otherwise.

  Vic's fingers twitched on my wrist, trailed up my arm. His body heat intensified as he stepped closer. “I believe you, Paul. I'm going to keep you safe. I'm going to get you out of this.”

  My teeth clenched. “You're the one getting me into it. Just let me go.”

  “And what will you do? Disappear? If you do, it will only look worse.”

  “Please.” I risked raising my head, looking into his eyes, and braced for the impact. “Just let me go?”

  He didn't do what I expected. He pulled me to him, and the hand on my arm snuck around to the small of my back. I was pressed to his side, cheek flat against his broad chest, his breath wafting across my hair.

  “The best way to keep you safe right now is to keep you where he can't get at you, where I can stay close, and we can prove you're innocent.”

  “Why?” Too many questions swirled through my head for me to get any of them out properly.

  “I'll explain it all, I promise.” He stepped away, and a chill breeze brought goose bumps up on my arms. “Right now, before anyone wonders what's going on, I have to take you inside. You'll have to answer questions. Lots of them. Over and over. Just tell the truth. I won't be far. I know it seems contradictory, but the only way I can help you is to protect my job.”

  “And Carl?”

  “He can't hurt you now.”

  “He always finds a way.”

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  * * * *

  Carl had abandoned the woman's car and now drove a battered blue pickup truck he'd acquired at a service station. The driver had sat inside the rundown cafe there, scoffing down bacon, eggs, and hash browns. Music blared from hidden speakers, the sound tinny and thin. Carl spied a set of keys beside the man's plate and faked tripping, banging his hip into the table. Pain throbbed, and he cursed, apologizing to the greasy-haired fucker for disturbing him.

  “Jesus, sorry about that, pal.” Carl laid his hands on the tabletop, one curved over the keys. “Damn near sent your food flying.”

  The man stared at him, cheeks ruddy, nostrils flared in anger. He reminded Carl of his father, and he bit down the urge to uppercut the bastard's nose so the bone jabbed into his brain.

  “You'd better watch what you're doing in future, pal,” the man grumbled, shaking his head and turning back to his meal.

  “Like I said, sorry.” Carl coughed and swiped the keys at the same time, clutching them in his fist so they didn't jingle. He strode away from the table and out the door, eyeing the vehicles parked outside. Which one belonged to the guy?

  He tried several, slipping the key into door locks until he found the right one. Scoping the area then peering toward the cafe, Carl huffed out a laugh and climbed inside the truck. Damn fool man hadn't parked right outside the joint anyway, and this shit-hole of a place had no security cameras. Carl drove over to the woman's car, grabbed the grocery sacks, and transferred them to the pickup. With a full tank of gas, he hightailed it out of there, adrenaline spiking at what he'd done and what he was about to do.

  Now, he gritted his teeth, mind going over the next few hours. He'd reach the town of Hidcup in about an hour. Someone he needed to see lived there, though the motherfucker wouldn't live there for much longer. No, Carl had anger boiling through him, pervading his whole goddamn body to the point he lost his breath. He inhaled deeply then released the air, coaching himself to calm the hell down. If he wanted closure, if he wanted some semblance of a normal life, he had to see this through to its conclusion.

  The deserted road stretched ahead, fields spread out either side, and Carl jabbed at the radio button to switch it on. Country music filtered out of the speakers, and he smiled wryly. Figures. Matches that hick guy. He fiddled with the tuning dial until he found a classical station. The music soothed his rattled nerves, infusing him with the strength he needed. Calm stole over him, bleeding into every part of his body, and his shoulders relaxed.

  He drove the remainder of the journey in contemplation of the past. Scenes that usually disturbed him flickered through his mind, but he watched them with detachment, as though he didn't star in every scenario. The kitchen of his youth came into view, and he knew then what he'd see.

  * * * *

  “Say what?” his father said, eyes wide, mouth agape. He planted meaty hands on his hips, his paunch hanging over his jeans waistband, poking out from beneath his too-small vest like a pouch of bread dough.

  “I said I'm leaving.” Carl bunched his fists—fists the same size as his father's, his shoulders just as broad. “No reason to stay around here now.” He picked up his holdall and slung it over his shoulder.

  Kevin narrowed his eyes, and red splotches spread from small to large on his cheeks. “You tellin’ me you don't need me now? Is that it? Like, I've brought you up on my own, and now you're eighteen you're just gonna fuck off?” He harrumphed, and spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth. “Well, that's just damn ungrateful, kid. I mean, is that all the thanks I get?”

  Carl fought the frown itching to line his brow. Is he for real? “Am I meant to thank you for belting my ass, is that it? D'you want thanks for bringing me up? Is that what it'll take to make you happy?”

  Kevin scrubbed his palm over his chin and paced the floor, his lengths limited, what with the narrow floor space between a wall of cabinets and the sink unit. “You need to watch your mouth.”

  “Watch my
mouth? Didn't you ever think forward to this day? Did you really reckon I'd stick around?” Carl took his car keys off the hook on the wall and stuffed them in his pocket.

  “You needn't think you're taking that fuckin’ car!” Kevin lunged forward, hand outstretched for the keys.

  “And you needn't think I'm not.” Carl shoved him backward. “You don't give gifts then take them away. Fuck off, old man.” He left the kitchen, left his father standing there bunching and unbunching his fists, arm muscles flexing along with his jaw. Outside, he tossed his holdall in the back seat of his car and slid into the driver's seat.

  “Hey you! Fuckin’ wait a goddamn minute!” Kevin ambled out of the house, feet planted a foot apart on the slatted wooden porch, his arms curved at his sides as though he was ready to fight. He stepped off the porch and into the yard, heading for the car. “If you've gotta go, just you remember what I taught you, you hear me?”

  “What's that, then?” Carl asked, knowing full well what he'd meant. He slammed the door closed and wound down the window.

  “About keeping those you love in line. Teaching them how it goes. How it's gotta be.”

  Carl laughed and shook his head. “Like I could ever forget.” He paused. “From what you told me, it applies to every relationship, right?”

  Kevin beamed, his dirty teeth peeking from between wet lips. “You're goddamn right it does!”

  Carl slid the key in the ignition and started the car. He raised his voice. “So you won't mind me coming back in a few years and applying it to you, right?” He gripped the steering wheel, palms sweating, heartbeat racing at the thought of his return.

  “I'd like to see you try!” Kevin's hearty laughter burst out of him, his dough belly juddering.

  Bile burned the back of Carl's tongue, and he swallowed it down. “You would?” He winked. “That's good, then, because I'll be coming back for you.”

  Kevin blinked, and his mouth worked. He moved closer to the car, fist poised to strike through the open window. “You what? You what?”

  “You heard me, old man. Now fuck off inside and enjoy the time you've got left.”

  Carl reversed down the short driveway at speed, missing the gate post by a whisper. Out on the road, he smiled. It turned into laughter—that of someone who had found freedom from a lifetime of constraints, rules, and abuse—and drove with no destination in mind, uncaring where he ended up. Anywhere was better than there.

  * * * *

  WELCOME TO HIDCUP! The weathered wooden sign had Carl's stomach rolling. The familiar landscape on the outskirts, all scrubland and old-fashioned houses dating back to the 1920s, brought back a rush of memories, nostalgia for the happy times he'd spent in his youth. There weren't many, he'd admit that, but summers spent climbing trees and playing war with his school buddies brought on a sad smile. Only home held bad memories, and there were too many of those for him to count. He grimaced and cleared his mind, turning down a right-hand road that led to his childhood home. A wave of sadness enveloped him at the sight of the two-story situated halfway down the street. It looked the same, as though time had stopped and he'd only left yesterday. He parked up on the opposite side of the road and killed the engine, chuckling at the irony, for wasn't that what he'd come to do? Kill the engine, the one thing that had kept him going since he'd been away? Hell yeah, he'd returned to take his life back, to douse out the life of the one person who prevented him moving on.

  Carl rubbed his sweaty palms up and down his thighs then leaned into the back seat for a grocery bag. Hunger griped his stomach, and he dumped the sack on his lap and rifled through the contents. He pulled out a package of sliced cheese and ripped it open, ramming two pieces into his mouth. It tasted good, so he finished the lot then dug into the bag again, bringing out a deli bag of salami. After eating it all, he rested his head back and stared at his old home through half-lidded eyes. His old man would be at work, if his past habits were anything to go by. Getting out of the truck, Carl locked up and strode across the road. He walked up the driveway and onto the porch, his guts clenching and his heart ticking way too fast for his liking. It seemed as though he'd been transported back to his younger days, when coming home meant fear and admonishment. And the belt.

  Breathing deeply, he took a set of keys out of his pocket, surprised to find his father hadn't changed the locks in all this time. He obviously hadn't taken Carl's threat seriously. Anger at Kevin's lack of belief burned in Carl's gut, and he stepped inside. Stale air smacked into him, the same aroma he'd smelled as a kid, the same dusty, moldy stench he'd vowed would never seep into his own home. He bit back a retch and closed the door. As he stood in the hallway, he felt like an intruder, yet at the same time it was like he belonged. The walls held memories, which bled out now, taking him back to places he didn't want to go. His eyes stung, and he angrily swiped away the tears.

  No. He's not going to affect me like this. Fucking jerk.

  He prowled the house, noting everything remained the same. The kitchen still bore evidence of neglect, of a man who didn't know how to clean. Teabags, dried and yellowed, sat in a pile on the countertop. Sugar grains from an obvious spill hadn't been wiped up. Dirty dishes stood piled in the sink, and the tap dripped, just like it always had, a steady plop-plip-plop, although those droplets seemed fatter now.

  A damn washer change, that's all it'd take. Jesus.

  Carl shook his head and turned from the squalor, making his way through the living room. Newspapers in a haphazard pile looked on the verge of slewing off the coffee table, down onto a floor in sore need of vacuuming. Dirt, food particles, and dust bunnies covered the beige carpet. The sofa sagged in the middle, the old spring that used to jab Carl's ass a little more exposed now. A thick layer of dust covered the wooden sideboard, a circle of less-thick dust showing something had been recently moved. A cup, maybe.

  Nothing's changed. Not a goddamn thing.

  Upstairs, he pushed open his bedroom door, steeling himself for what he'd see.

  Jesus Christ!

  His bed remained exactly as he'd left it, the quilt bunched into a ball, the sheet and pillow bearing the shape of his body and head. A musky scent lingered, one of filth and corruption, of a kid growing up with no mother to clean the house or stroke a fevered brow. He swallowed the lump in his throat and blinked several times, determined to remain focused. His mind had other ideas. Where was his mother now? Did she ever think of the little boy she'd abandoned to a life of depravity and unhappiness? Had she moved on to a new relationship, with kids she'd baked cookies with and ensured were clean and well-fed? If she had, how did he feel about that? He didn't know, didn't want to entertain the thought of discovering half siblings that reveled in the care he'd missed out on. It wasn't their fault, but shit, they were lucky bastards.

  A phlegm-filled cough sounded, as though out in the back yard, and Carl moved to the window. He gazed down on the sandy, grotty area, at the old beige hammock he used to swing on with his eyes closed, the summer breeze tickling his tear-stained face. At Kevin, who now swung on that seat, hand-rolled cigarette in hand, smoke oozing out of his mouth.

  What the fuck is he doing out there in this weather?

  Though the sun shone, it was hardly warm enough to be outside, especially not in jogging bottoms and his customary stained vest. Carl studied his father. Not everything had remained the same, then. The old man had aged, his stubble tinted with grey, his hair peppered with it at the temples. He looked haggard and weak, and Carl smiled, pleased at the bastard's decline.

  Taking in a deep breath, he left his bedroom and walked downstairs to the kitchen, standing at the closed back door. He regarded Kevin again through the dirty square of glass, the wrinkles on the old man's face evident at this closer vantage point. Did the guy have any remorse? Was he sitting there now, thinking of what he should have done? What he could have done differently? Would it matter if he was sorry for the past?

  No. It doesn't matter. What's done is done.

  Carl sw
ung open the door, the hinges giving their familiar whine, and stood on the threshold. Kevin sat upright, the hammock stilling as he planted his feet firmly on the ground. His eyes widened as he peered at Carl, then he shot out of his seat and threw down his smoke.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, kid?” Kevin adopted his usual pose—hands on hips, legs at ease—and his chest expanded.

  Carl almost laughed. “Came back like I said I would.”

  Kevin chuckled. “Let me see now. What was it you said? That you were gonna apply the same thing to me as I'd done to you.” He chuckled again and moved toward Carl, hands by his sides, fists bunched. “Well, we'll see about that.”

  Turning, Carl went back into the kitchen and yanked open a drawer, taking out a carving knife and holding it behind him. Kevin entered the room a moment later and slammed the back door, his ruddy face belying his anger. He flicked his head in an attempt to shift the lank lock of hair that had streaked across his face, but it didn't budge. With a huff, he brushed it back with his hand then took two paces toward Carl.

  “You got a belt, kid?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well? Don't you need one?”

  “Nope.”

  “So how you gonna apply shit on me?” His laugh puffed out of that stinking mouth with its stained teeth and tongue yellowed from years of tobacco. Kevin stood like a wrestler, his arm muscles now soft from lack of exercise.

  Amazing how a man can stay in shape from using a belt too often.

  Carl gritted his teeth.

  “You not gonna answer me, kid?”

  Carl stared at him, at the bulging eyes that indicated Kevin teetered on the precipice, anger about ready to boil over.