The brutal punch cracked against the side of my face. I was pitched backward into the wall. My vision was instantly blurred, the agony blinding. The taste of blood remained in my mouth, the coppery stench filling my nostrils as much as the hatred filled my soul. “I hate you!”
The voice that left my lips I no longer recognize, the syllables garbled.
I crawled forward, my mother’s pitiful cries echoing in my ears. When she reached out for me, the glow of the single desk lamp highlighted the horror that my mother had experienced. She couldn’t leave him. She’d tried, taking her boys with her. He’d dragged us back, beating her so badly she’d spent two weeks in the hospital.
Tears stained my face. I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t cry ever again. I was no longer a boy. This fuck would answer to me.
“Get up, you little punk. Take your punishment like a man,” my father jeered, beckoning me with one of his hands.
I took in as much air as my lungs would allow, willing my aching legs to work. The beating had lasted longer than normal, the thin razor strap digging into my skin. But the agony was nothing in comparison to the rage brimming the surface. I wanted him dead. Dead!
“Fuck you.” I managed to stumble to my feet, my body swaying. Then I lunged for him, ramming my shoulders into his chest. He tossed me aside, throwing me against the edge of his desk.
Another bolt of pain exploded in my system, but the anger continued to swell, digging into my muscles and bone.
I heard the single moan my mother issued, and the thought of vengeance kept me going. I pitched my body toward him again, but he was too fast for me, dodging my attempt. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed him pulling out his weapon. Then he fisted my mother’s hair, dragging her to her feet, pressing the barrel of the gun into her mouth. “You want to play hardball, Clinton? I have no problem pulling the trigger.”
This had to end. The pain. The sufferance. The required silence.
There would be no rescue, no sirens in the distance with help just moments away. My father was too powerful, too influential. He owned the police. He owned just about everybody. And no one would ever dare lift a finger to the monster or fear facing his wrath.
We were alone.
My mother’s pleading eyes pulled me to a quiet resolve, and I backed down to save her life.
But I made a promise that no one would ever hurt us again.
I kept my gaze towards the sky as the memory faded. We had to protect her, the woman we loved. The real monster was coming, and he would do everything he could to take away the single happiness in my life.
Just like he’d taken my mother and my brother.
“What now?” Christian asked.
My brother’s face slowly slipped into my mind as well as the words he’d issued only minutes before he’d been murdered.
He’d planned on handling the situation, exacting revenge before another drop of blood was shed.
He’d been too late.
And I’d been too stupid to see the writing on the wall. I’d allowed the fucker to take control and keep it, using me as his little puppet for twenty fucking years.
“Now, we go hunting. Just like we used to.”