Page 76 of Shattered Hate

I head through the gate, and there he stands—a rugged-looking Marley, eyes blazing with fury. He tilts his head toward his car, pulls open the driver’s side door, and gets in. My heart trembles at the memory of what he did the last time I was in that car. His window rolls down.

“Get. In,” he growls, and I quickly circle the car. I take a big breath and lower into the seat. I set my shoulders, bracing myself in case his hand darts around to grab the back of my neck—but it never comes.

Instead, the doors slam shut and lock immediately.

“Look, Marley…” I manage to say through a sharp pain, and then everything goes black.

***My eyes slowly flutter open as sharp pain surges through my head. I feel a warm liquid trickling down my neck as I scan the familiar confines of my old trailer. My arms protest fiercely against the tight bindings around my wrists.

What happened?

I glance to my left and see my dad, restrained in a chair just like me, his gaze locked on the table in front of him. On the table lie three colored wraps—heroin. “Dad,” I call out; the volume makes me wince. He doesn’t respond; he just continues to stare at the wraps. “Dad,” I say again, softer this time.

Slowly, his head turns, revealing a lifeless expression. Instead of the man I once knew, I see nothing but an empty shell—a figure that evokes memories of someone I never truly had the words for. Has he fallen so far into drugs that his mind is completely lost? His vacant eyes turn and remain fixed on the three colored wraps as if they’re silently mocking him.

“Dad, what’s going on?” I ask as I tug at the bindings that refuse to budge.

“I didn’t mean to,” he replies defensively while his eyes stay fixed on the wraps—sunken, black, and red. I need him to explain the situation. It’s easy enough to guess who put us here,but where is that person, and what is the purpose behind all this?

“Snap out of it,” I hiss. I wouldn’t have dared speak to him so roughly when I was living under his roof, but now he appears so weak, so fragile—completely broken—that even a child might overpower him.

A noise jolts my attention, and I turn as Marley steps into the room. With a black coat, gloves, and an aura of cold aggression, he doesn’t even spare me a glance. Instead, he strides to the kitchen, clattering about with something, before returning to the living area.

“Marley,” I croak. “What is going on? I’ll do whatever you need—just let us go.” His eyes meet mine briefly, and they’re more soulless than I remember. Then his gaze shifts back to my dad, who offers a weak smirk.

“That old man is in a bad way,” Marley remarks as if it weren’t obvious. “What did he tell you, Dax?” he continues, tilting his head. I frown and reply, “N-nothing?” I lock eyes with him. Marley despises a lack of eye contact. He says it’s a matter of respect, something he surprisingly seems to value. So I keep my eyes on him.

“Not one word?” he challenges, raising an eyebrow as if I’m lying.

“He just mumbled something about not meaning to do it and insisting it’s not his fault.” Marley nods slowly, his eyes drifting back to my dad.

“And what exactly did you not mean to do, Karl?” he taunts. My dad’s head jerks toward him.

“You made me do it,” he confesses weakly.

“Mmm, that’s just what you keep telling yourself,” Marley replies; Dad’s eyes are once again drawn to the colored wraps.

“Why is he looking at them like that?”

“What do those wraps mean, Daxton?” I gulp, looking back at the white, black, and blue wraps.

“They show the strength of the heroin.”

“And what’s the one on there that could kill you if we don’t mix it before selling it to our customers?”

I frown. “The black one,” I say because I’ve always known. Marley imports it from abroad, and its strength is dangerously high. We can’t sell it as it is; it needs to be mixed first. The blue is weak, meant for newcomers, but it’s still priced high. The white is potent enough to keep addicts returning. We never sell the black one in its pure form.

“Karl, why don’t you tell Daxton about when you gave someone the black content disguised as white?” I take a sharp breath and turn to my dad, who’s trembling with sobs.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, he did.” Karl chuckles. “Go on, tell your son who you gave it to. Tell him how you were so furious they were leaving and refused to sell for us anymore that you gave them a farewell gift.” Marley keeps talking, but the realization hits me hard. My dad’s screams sound distant.

He wouldn’t.

Not Bex.

Not my best friend.

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