Page 105 of Brutal Knight

I nodded. "I'm coming."

He waited while I walked up the walkway, my gut churning, acid dripping, self-hatred washing over me. Every step forward was a reminder of who I was. What my family did to others. How they destroyed them for more money and power.

As soon as I was in the doorway, and with the soft light of the waning day lighting up the inside, he ran forward, calling out, "Nana! We're back."

After shutting the door, I followed him into the darkness of the hallway, already closing off my emotions, a method that was getting easier. When I reached the end, he was standing in Nana's doorway, frozen, his mouth open in shock.

"Nana!" He disappeared into the barely lit room, bumping into the table by the front door, making the lamp fall and crash to the floor.

Even in the newfound darkness, I could see her.

Nana's face was pale, her eyes staring up at the ceiling, her mouth open, as if she'd struggled for her very last breath.

She was dead.

Rook collapsed to his knees. Falling to the floor, he bent over, his hands grasping the orange carpet, and threw up.

I could only stare, emotionless, at her sickly thin form. When he was done, I walked over to him and put my hand on his shoulder. "I'll take care of you now."

TWENTY-FIVE

Every bonein my body ached as I made my way through the front door of where I lived. In shock and horror at what we'd just done, I struggled to keep my thoughts and memories under control. They leaked from my mind, clogging up my insides and burning the back of my eyes.

Rook vomiting on the carpet.

Me chuckling after I sprayed whiskey in his face.

Empty eyes, staring upwards.

The look of happiness on Rook's face as we flew over the city.

A quart of milk and a jar of mayonnaise.

The house was silent for a brief moment before laughter spilled from the back room. The smell of burning tobacco and spices hit my nose, mixing with the lingering smell of vomit.

"You should've seen her face. The old bitch didn't know what hit her." A pause for dramatic effect, or an inhale of a Cuban cigar. "The old hag had some fight in her, I'll give her that."

The sound of men chuckling, men who clung to my father's coattails because they knew he was shooting upwards within the family.

They werelaughingabout killing her.

"Should'a fucked her first," a smoke-laden voice grumbled. Benny, one of Nero's men who'd also become attached to my father like a damn leech.

"That's disgusting. She's too old." I didn't recognize the feminine voice. Didn't need to. My father's dick was a revolving pole––the woman would be gone before I could learn her name.

"A pussy's a pussy," Benny answered, and the room descended into an awkward silence.

My father broke it, "A dead pussy's all I care about!" and the men rolled with laughter. The clink of glass, the flicker of a lighter.

Disgusted, I passed rows of packed boxes and forced my feet towards the stairs, silently moving upwards. Coulter had texted me to hang out tonight but I needed to be alone.

I'd waited with Rook while the paramedics and police arrived. Watched as they tried to revive his nana, then as they rolled her away in a body bag. Shame burned through me.

Then I stood by helplessly as they took him from his home. He was too young to be on his own, they'd said, even after I protested. The only possession he took––a gym bag of clothes.

I would text my connections in the morning, make sure he had a good home. I already had contact with a man who would help him get on his feet. A man who was familiar with our world, who would teach him not to be so naive.

"Knight? Is that you?"

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