Page 52 of Pushed

Chapter Thirteen

Machi

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Dreams are all I have. They bring me back to her, to the good times, the happy times. I can see her face and hear the sound of her voice. I get to talk to her all over again and it's amazing, making me wish that my eyes would never open again.

But sometimes the dreams are nightmares.

They remind me of why I had become this man; the man who could kill without a second thought, regardless if I was doing it for a good reason.

I'd see their faces, I'd feel their life expel from their body and hit the ceiling. It was a rush, to have that much power and actually use it.

I should be ashamed of how the darkness had consumed me and the power turned me wicked. But I wasn't. That feeling. . . It was the fuel to help me keep going.

Because the deeper I got, the closer I felt to her and what she had lived through before it was all swept away.

The nightmares, those weren't dreams, they were memories that had decided to eat me alive.

And this one, it just wouldn't leave me alone.

* * *

“Where are you?” I asked, pressing the phone to my ear so I could hear her better. Wherever my sister was, she wasn't at work like she had told our mom.

Huffing under her breath, I could hear her roll her eyes at me through the phone. “Fuck, Machi, what are you now, my father? I don't need you doing fucking checks on me all the time.”

Turning off the engine, I sat back in my seat and rocked my jaw back and forth. “Someone has to keep an eye on you, you're not going to do it yourself.”

Megan hadn't exactly been the picture perfect daughter or sister since our father passed a few years back. She took it hard, but so did the rest of us.

Why can't she just see that? She's not the only one who's hurting.

“I'm eighteen now, Machi, you don't need to treat me like I'm a fucking kid anymore. I don't have to report to you or anyone else.”

Sighing, I held the phone away for a second, pinching the bridge of my nose. “I'm coming to get you, where are you?”

“It's none of your damn business, I'll be home later.”

“Megan?” The phone was silent, filling my head with empty air. “Megan?” She was gone. “Fuck!” Slamming my steering wheel with my fist, I threw my phone onto the passenger seat.

She didn't have to tell me where she was, I already knew.

It was a repeating cycle with her, the same shit as it had been for the past few years. She got in with the wrong crowd once she hit high school, and dug herself into a fucking ditch she just couldn't seem to climb out of.

Yanking on the shifter, I threw my car into drive and hit the gas hard. The tires squealed as white smoke billowed out from under the hot rubber.

I hit every red light, every single one. It was as if something was trying to stop me, like the world was saying just let her go. But she was my sister, I'd go to the end of the earth to make sure she was okay.

And right then, she was as far from okay as anyone could get.

Pulling up the street, I turned my lights off and rolled to a stop in front of where she was. The house was painted in graffiti, tagged all over the outside with gang symbols and obscene cock drawings.

Tasteful. . . Another fucking Monet right there.

It was the same scene as usual; people blazed out of their skulls were strewn around the front porch, already half dead. Stepping over a guy passed out in the doorway, my foot crunched down on a pipe and shattered it into pieces.

“Fuck man!” A guy yelled as he twisted in place on the floor. “That was mine, you fucking owe me now!” Reaching for my ankle, he tried to claw himself up my leg to stand.

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