Page 31 of The Lost Kings
I smiled, leaning closer to the plant, feeling a small pinch of regret pull at my heart. I loved my mother, and my childhood was full of joy and memories of her being present, happy and truly the sort of mother that anyone would hope to grow up with. It wasn’t her per se I took issue with; it was this life we led. The one we’d finally sat down and talked about as a family.
The night I’d come back from Presley’s room, I’d burst into my parents’ bedroom and demanded my father explain it to me, this story Presley had shared. I knew she didn’t want me to, but I had to understand my father’s role in it without telling him what I saw. I had to know what he’d be willing to share with me. All I’d gleaned was that our lives were fucked, and this existence was our way of creating a family of our own. One that remained safe and had each other’s backs.
“Too much sun, Mom. This plant needs more shade; you’ll have to set a timer to move it around a bit.”
My mother held my wrist in gratitude and walked off.
I watched her go, already knowing I’d take the plant and go bury it in the garden. It was a stupid thing I’d started doing as a kid, feeling like it was my way to atone in some way for the lives our family took. The blood we shed. I often mentally walked back into that room where I witnessed a man’s life end so horrifically and I allowed the moment to linger.
Something that shaped me as effectively as a carving knife peeling back layers of my skin until I bled the secret out.
Memories surfaced of Presley’s face when she’d brought me that jar of dirt to cheer me up, and how she still had no idea that her offering was the only thing that saved me from drowning. She was the rope in my ocean, pulling me to shore. She wasn’t the little girlwho brought me a jar of sun dirt; she was already changing into whatever they were molding her into. Since that day in her closet, when we’d discovered the gun in her closet, things between us were strained.
She hugged me the very next day and I hugged her back, but how was I supposed to explain to her that I needed that girl back who had thought of me when I needed her the most. Back when she knew I needed warm dirt and brought it to me, placed it against my cheek and told me everything would be alright. I wanted her back, and the more time that passed, the more I knew I might not ever see her again.
Sometimes I wondered if she had given up on her dream of a farm, with fluffy cows and marigolds. I was curious if she wanted to ever return back to who she once was, but like some doors, they were sealed shut.
Maybe she needed both me and Gio to pry the seal off and bust it open for her.
Alex suddenly burst into the room, and the look of panic on her face made me freeze in place. My sister was three years older than me and Gio and was almost an identical replica of our mother. She had blonde hair, fair skin, blue eyes and long delicate limbs, but it was the expression on her face that seemed the most familiar.
I already knew what she was about to say, which was why the plant slipped from my fingers and smashed to the tiles beneath me.
“How bad?”
Alex’s mouth parted as she tried to inhale a gasp. “Scotty has five of them fighting her.”
Son of a bitch.
“Where’s Gio?”
Alex was on my heels, jogging with me. “I can’t find him. I texted her parents, but I’m not getting a response yet.”
“Fucker is going to stop doing this.”
“Kingston, part of this is on her. She needs to know when tostop.” Alex’s tone shifted, as if she was trying to tell me something I didn’t want to hear.
I knew that she was right, but how did a fourteen-year-old girl stand up to a grown man and tell him no?
I shoved the doors open to our in-house gym, hearing the echo around the room of men yelling and jeering on the spectacle in the center of the room. I could hear Scotty’s voice over the others’, barking out commands. His harsh, demanding tone was all directed at Presley.
There across the room was something that would be ingrained in my mind forever.
Long, chestnut hair braided down her back, while her fists were up, protecting her face. She had a busted lip and a cut near her eyebrow. She didn’t look afraid; she looked determined, and a tiny flicker of pride flared into life as I took her in.
Five of Scotty’s best fighters circled my best friend, taking turns as they lunged toward her with different hits. They were barefoot, but one of them landed a hit to her side, which made her go down, but Scotty merely yelled for her to get back up. She jumped to her feet and went on the attack, landing a powerful kick combo on the man who’d kicked her. But someone else came up behind her and kicked at her legs, swiping them from under her.
Scotty was barking more commands: some for his fighters, and others for Presley.
I ran across the room, hearing my sister yell from behind me.
Scotty’s eyes lifted. His expression was murderous as I neared.
“Get her out of there, she’s going to break!” I pushed against one of the fighters, watching the match and seeing Presley duck, barely missing a massive fist that would have landed in her face. Her braid whipped around as she jumped back up and did a back kick. Another man’s fist landed in her kidney a second later, making her cry out.
My vision went black, and the same panic I felt when I was ten years old, watching Scotty order his dog to murder someone cameback. Rage barreled through me with a roar and aggressive shoves at the people in front of me.
“SCOTTY! GET HER THE FUCK OUT!”
