Ream slammed the statue down on his skull. I heard a sickening crack then a thump as Gerard’s body slumped back to the floor.
“Ream! No. You can’t.” It had to be me. I had to be the one to do it. But it was too late as I watched him raise the statue above his head again then smash it into Gerard’s head.
Blood splattered the faded and torn flowered wallpaper, my mind playing havoc with me seeing the beauty in the mist of red. But somewhere inside, I knew it wasn’t beauty but ugliness and this was going to be the end, not only of Gerard but of Ream and me. Yet the meaning of the end, I couldn’t decipher.
My cries were lost to the crushing sound of the statue connecting with bone. I curled up on the floor, the drug and what I witnessed too much for my mind to handle as I trembled and shook. Warm tears slid down my cheeks, feeling like heated wax as they dried and stuck to my skin, then new ones glided overtop.
I had no perception of time, but eventually, the blows stopped. I squeezed my eyes shut, arms hugging my legs to my chest.
“Angel.” Ream’s voice was a strangled cry of despair. “Fuck. Angel.” His hand stroked my head, pushing my hair back from my face. I heard the slight catch in his throat and it tore into me like a knife. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“Leave. We have to leave.” I was too screwed up to say anything more, but I opened my eyes briefly and saw blood speckled across his face like spray paint. I quickly shut them again, trying to block out what was happening, what all this meant for my brother.
“I know.” Ream lifted me off the floor into his arms. My head hung limply over the back of his arm, and I was too weak to pull it back up. He shifted me in his arms until I was cradled against his chest, my head resting on his shoulder.
I choked on a sob that was lodged in my tightened throat. We had nowhere to go and no money, and I was a mess. I couldn’t go two days anymore without being completely strung out, needing Gerard and the drugs he brought with him.
Trapped in a vicious cycle there was no escape from.
Just like my mother.
But even in my drugged-up state, I knew the consequences of what Ream had done for me. We had no choice.
We had to run.
As he ran with me, I caught a glimpse of Alexa standing at my bedroom door.
WHAT THE HELL was that? She’d freaked out, pale, shivering . . . like in the cafeteria but worse. The flip in my stomach wasn’t a good one. It was knotted and churning with the frothy beer. I was no psychologist, but this shit she was fighting was going to blow up in her face. I knew it. I saw it coming. I told her it would months earlier, yet we texted and she appeared as if she was getting better, even joking with me.
But the moment I heard her scream, my heart jammed up into my throat and lodged there like a fuckin’ rock. I hadn’t moved that fast in . . . maybe ever. I flew over the back of the couch, charged up the stairs and into her room. Kite right behind me.
Haven was an ice angel, strong and untouchable. But since being back . . . her ice cracked twice and what scared me was I hadn’t been around to see how often this was happening. None of us had. Luke hadn’t either, which meant if shit like this was happening, she hid it well. The excessive running she couldn’t hide, but Luke had seen something haunted in her face when she went for that three-hour run, and that was why he’d called me.
I yanked on a fresh pair of jeans then hopped on one foot as the end caught on my heel. It finally gave and I did up the buttons and grabbed a black t-shirt from the dresser.
Tonight was going to be fucked up. I knew it. I told Kite and he swore numerous times under his breath then suggested we call Luke back in as he’d gone home for a few days. Luke had two of his guys with Logan and Ream in Vancouver still.
I reached for my baseball cap then tossed it aside. “Fuck it.” We weren’t escaping notice, and in certain situations, it was better not to try to hide because that was when the shit usually hit the fan.
I chugged back the rest of my beer while Kite and I waited for the girls. We sat on the couch taking turns flicking elastic bands across the room trying to topple over the empty beer bottle I placed on the shelf under the television.
“She needs help,” Kite said and shot his elastic, hitting the base of the beer bottle.
“Ream and Kat tried. She doesn’t want it. Her choice.” I squinted and pulled back on the rubber then let it fly. It hit the bottle and it wobbled but didn’t fall over.
“Sometimes, people need a push. You flirted with Kat to push Ream into making his move on getting her back.”
And it landed us in a shitload of fights with Ream hating me until he finally picked up his balls and claimed his chick like he should’ve done from the beginning. “This is different. Whatever went down with her for the last twelve years . . .” I ran my hand through my messy strands that I’d given up trying to tame way back in high school. Plus I discovered the chicks liked a disheveled look. “Fuck, man, that Alexa chick was a sadist from the look of Ream’s back when they escaped that shit storm six months ago. That bitch was crazy.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m glad Haven shot her.”
Kite looked at me and after a second nodded.
We were silent for a minute, neither of us shooting elastic bands.
“You want to tell me exactly what a sadist does? You know . . . in the bedroom,” I asked.
Kite flicked the elastic at my head. “Don’t go there. I’m not a fuckin’ sadist.”