Page 28 of Villainous Kingpin
Like a thief in the night she left, except it wasn't night. It was the middle of the day when she dropped me at the park and left me there. A head start that didn't save her. Father found her and killed her, then brought my infant sister back. She should have known a head start wouldn’t have mattered. There was no hiding from him. Nowhere to run that he wouldn’t find her.
Albeit, she was right to worry about me because I’d become just like my father. I killed my first man at twelve. And I still remembered that first kill. The way hot, sticky blood stained my hands, the scent of copper and piss mixed with the sound of the man’s screams in the damp basement. I was shaped into a monster by my father’s fists, blades, and harsh words.
Power is offering no mercy, only brutality.That had been my bedtime story since my mother’s death.
Staring at the rerun of the baseball game, both Dante and I lost in our thoughts, ghosts came chasing, lurking in the darkness of our minds. Except I saw the light in the form of a young woman.
Wynter’s light shone in my darkness brighter than the moon in the night sky. And I’d keep it that way. I’d never let anyone extinguish that light. If they’d try, they’d earn my wrath, and I wouldn’t hesitate to use the brutality I was taught.
And most importantly, I’d keep Wynter away from my father at all costs. He destroyed everything he touched, young women in particular. He thought them only good for fucking and breaking. If he ever dared to touch her, I’d kill him. My hands curled into tight fists itching to cut him piece by fucking piece, to kill him, consequences be damned.
“You know one of these days we’ll have to kill him.” It was the first time I uttered those words out loud.
Dante met my gaze.
“Don’t bring your woman around him,” he warned, reflecting my exact thoughts. “Why do you think I’m avoiding the whole idea of commitment?”
I knew it. Until Wynter, it was exactly how I felt about commitments and marriage. When she fell into my arms three months ago, something clicked in my chest. I still let her walk away from me. But then life threw her right back into my arms.
It had to mean something. That she was mine to keep.
I got up and headed out of the room with ghosts at my tail.
“I’m taking a shower and then hitting the sheets. You should try and get some rest.”
Neither of us slept much. I supposed it was a result of years oftraining.
As I readied for my shower, those old ghosts came calling and my mind wandered to the past that I never visited willingly.
I watched my mother rush, scurrying away with little Emory in her arms, wailing. She was still a baby and cried a lot. She needed a lot of attention, but I was okay with it. As long as mother kept me with her. Sometimes she’d send me with Dad to his club. I didn’t like it.
Standing still in the park full of happiness and laughter, all I felt was my racing heart. I kept waiting for her to turn around. She never did. Not fucking once.
Minutes turned into hours. Strangers threw curious glances my way. So did the other children, but I never left my spot, staring in the direction my mother left.
“She’ll be back,” I whispered under my breath. “She’ll be back for me. She loves me.”
My eyes stung, my head throbbed, my mouth dried.
The humid August air made it hard to breathe. It was hot, my forehead sticky. My stomach rumbled with hunger. But I didn’t move. I refused. I needed to be here when she came back. One moment and I could miss her.
It took me years to understand she couldn’t bear to look at me. She saw my father every time her eyes landed on me and taking me with her, I would have been her reminder of what she endured with him every single fucking day.
A dark shadow cast over me, and I slowly looked up to find my father’s furious face glaring down at me.
“Where is your mother?” he hissed.
I blinked up at my father, not having the answer for him. He seemed kind of blurry so I blinked again.
He gripped me by the collar and carried me away from there. Like I was a piece of garbage. Once we got to his car, he shook me and threw me into the car.
“Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about!”
For some stupid reason, the five year old in me noted he didn’t put me in the car seat. Mamma always put me in the car seat.
My father got behind the wheel and hit the gas so hard, I flew out of my seat and my forehead hit the back of the front seat. I struggled getting up, then climbed up back on the seat, then reached for the seat belt and pulled it over my chest to click it.
I had no idea how long we drove. My father barked a few times for me to stop, but I wasn’t sure what to stop. My eyes followed the passing cars and buildings, then the highway. The drive took too long and not long enough. My stomach lurched, threatening to empty contents out, but deep down, I knew that’d earn me a beating.
