Page 2 of Injustice and Absolution

The yellowing bruise on my cheek is almost completely gone—another run-in with the front porch railing of the trailer where my father and I live. At least that’s what he decided we’re telling everyone this time around.

What a klutz I am.I scoff at the reflection I hardly recognize anymore.

The young face of a thirteen-year-old girl is hidden behind horrors that someone my age should never have to endure.

I splash cool water on my cheeks before catching some in my cupped hands to take a sip. It cools my raw throat, so I drink some more. When I’m finished and reenter Maggie’s bedroom, I’m instantly hit with the smell of sickness. I tie the handles of the small trash bag tightly then exit her room so I can throw it away in the outside trash. I don’t need to stink up any more of the place.

Maggie’s house is about ten times the size of mine. Probably more than that. Her father owns a limestone quarry. His company is the top-selling stone retailer and distributor to the Gettysburg area, but they deliver stone all over the country. He’s also the president of the Gettysburg chapter of the Royal Bastards Motorcycle Club.

A fact which scares the living daylights out of me, but Maggie swears he’s all bark and no bite.

Whether it’s because my father has taught me to fear all men or if it’s because I’ve never seen Mr. Taylor with a smile on his face, I’m inclined to believe he’s just as evil as my own father. And someone to steer clear of at all costs.

As I grip the banister at the top of the main staircase, I hear voices coming from below. I debate going downstairs as I tend to try to stay out of sight when I’m here, but the smell of vomit wafting from behind the plastic of this bag urges me on. The last thing I want is to get either me or Maggie in trouble for leaving it around for someone else to find.

Tiptoeing down the steps, the voices grow louder. I can hear laughter filtering in through the living room windows from the crowd of adults partying in the backyard.

I quickly race down the hallway and into the garage, tossing the bag into the large trash bin next to the open bay door. When I return to the house, I close the door behind me and make my way back to the staircase. As my foot hits the first step, a voice stops me.

“...never been that enraged. I’ve seen him get revenge before, but it wasn’t like that.”

“What did youthink The Judgewould do when he got his hands on him? That dumbass did a fucking number on Shelly. There was no way he was gettin' off easy. You don’t disrespect a woman like that, but especially not one linked to this club,” another voice explains.

“He’s lucky all he got was his hand chopped off,” someone else chimes in.

“Bastard is lucky he’s still walking this earth, if you ask me. Someone touches my ol’ lady like that and it’ll be the last thing he ever does.”

The thought of Maggie’s father—or anyone for that matter—thinking of or even being capable of carrying out something so violent should be more shocking to my adolescent ears.

But it’s not. Even at my young age, I’ve already been through so much shit, I’d believe anything at this point.

As I continue back to Maggie’s room, I begin to wonder how I would get revenge on my own father, if I ever had the chance.

Would I be able to do to him what Mr. Taylor did to whoever it was who hurt Shelly? Could I do worse than that if pushed too far?

As much shame as my father has forced upon me, as filthy and worthless as his touch makes me feel, what I wouldn’t give for someone to find out what I go through almost every day and come to my rescue, putting an end to his reign of terror.

But I’m filled with too much fear to tell anyone. To spill oursecret…

What if no one believes me?

What if they do but they don’t care?

What if I’m not worth saving?

Maggie has fallen back to sleep by the time I crawl between the covers again. I know her relationship with her father isn’t perfect. He barely acknowledges her, but at least her mom is still around.

Her parents don’t get along, but they try to give Maggie as normal a childhood as possible. As much as Mr. Taylor keeps his distance from the two of them, they both seem to have Maggie’s best interests at heart.

As I close my eyes, trying to fall back to sleep, jealousy rears its ugly head and leaves me wishing my situation were more like hers. No matter how he acts toward Maggie, I know her father would kill anyone who dares to touch her.

As sleep pulls me under, I can’t help but picture Mr. Taylor’s strong arms wrapping themselves around my father, like a boa constrictor, squeezing him until his body shatters into oblivion.

And he can’t hurt me anymore.

CHAPTER ONE

ROYCE

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