Page 5 of Riot's Thorn
“Yeah, I think you’re right.”
Before we can turn around, I hear a faint whistle and a smallpop. I suck in a startled breath when wetness sprays over my face and neck. What was that? On instinct, I reach up to wipe the liquid off, but before I can, Wilson collapses. I grab him around the waist to hold him up, but he’s heavy, and I struggle to slowly lower us both to the ground.
Chaos erupts in an instant, and my mind reels as it struggles to catch up with reality. I glance down to find the horrific sight of a cavernous wound in Wilson’s forehead. A violent shiver courses through my body as my brain fights to accept the brutal truth.Dead. The word suddenly appears in my thoughts, and even though it seems utterly impossible, I know it’s the truth.
“Help!” I shout, not thinking clearly enough to realize the last thing I want to do is gain attention. There’s a shooter here, and that bullet could’ve just as easily been meant for me.
“Parker. Oh, thank god.” Dad runs toward me, his head on a swivel. He takes in the gruesome scene and swallows hard. “Shit. Fuck.”
My voice shakes, and I stutter out, “I-I think he might be d-dead.”
“Yes, my love, I think you’re right. Let me help you. We need to get out of here.” He pushes Wilson to the side to free me, but doing so exposes the blown-open back of our chef’s head. Chunks of brain matter hang from the wound, making my mouth water and my stomach turn.
I fall to my hands and knees, retching. Dad rubs my back soothingly, but there’s an urgency to his hushed voice. “This is bad. This is so very bad. I need you to be strong and come with me. We need to hide until the cops can get here.”
Another whistle sounds, and I freeze as the drywall next to me explodes. This isn’t real. It can’t be. I know things like this happen. I’m taking a current events course right now, so I read about horrific things all the time, but they happen to other people. Not to me. Not to my family.
“For fuck’s sake, Parker. We have to go.” Dad yanks on my bicep as I struggle to stand, flinching when chips of drywall pelt me after another gunshot. Only this time, Dad yelps and slaps a hand over his neck. “Shit.”
“Oh, god. You’ve been shot,” I say as if he didn’t already know.
“I’m fine. I’m fine. Come on.” Blood streams down his neck, soaking his white button-down shirt as he tugs me into the formal dining room. Releasing me, he closes and locks the French doors separating the room from the rest of the house. But seeing as they’re glass, it does little to make me feel safe.
“What is going on? Who’s trying to kill us?” I snatch off my glasses, needing to wipe off the speckled blood, and my fingers tremble with urgency. It’s not just my glasses, though; the vivid crimson has stained me from head to foot, a stark reminder of the chaos that unfolded. In a frenzy, I yank off my shirt, leaving me in just a black sports bra, and use the fabric to desperately scrub at the blood clinging stubbornly to my skin.
The sharp, metallic scent of iron fills my nostrils, assaulting my senses, and my heart races uncontrollably as I work feverishly to rid myself of the gruesome reminder of what just happened.
“I don’t know.” He scans the room, stopping when his gaze lands on the built-in cabinets that house the antique china passed down from generation to generation, only used during the holidays. Opening the bottom cabinet, he looks from me back to the unused space. “Get in.”
Get in? Is he mad? “No.”
“Parker, we don’t have time to fight. You need to hide until this is over.”
“Where will you go?”
“They can’t find you.”
“Who are ‘they’? Who can’t know I’m here?” I can’t even comprehend what’s going on. Why would anyone want to kill him? He’s a boring investment banker.
“Goddamn it, Parker. For once, just do as I say.”
“I want to go with you,” I croak.
His expression and tone soften as he approaches, cradling my cheeks in his hands. “I’ll come back for you, I promise, but if I’m going to put an end to this, I can’t be worried about your safety. Okay?”
I nod and hug him tight before wiping the moisture from my eyes and fixing my glasses. “You’ll come back?”
“Yes.” He pulls my arms away from him. “Now climb in, and no matter what, stay silent and don’t show yourself. I don’t care what you hear.”
“Daddy.” I sniffle. This can’t be really happening. It’s just a nightmare I can’t wake from. That’s the only logical excuse.
I flinch as the French door shatters when another bullet sails through. Dad turns his steely expression on me. “Now, Parker.”
I climb into the cabinet, cursing my long legs as I draw them to my chest. “I’m scared.”
Once I’m inside, Dad crouches in front of me. “I’m so very sorry. This is all my fault.” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. “I love you, my sweet girl. Remember that always, even when it feels like a lie.”
“Why would it be a lie? I don’t understand.” I reach for his hands, wanting to force him in here with me, even knowing there’s no way; his tall, broad frame won’t fit. “Let me go with you. You’ll keep me safe.”
