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The man had driven his own son away because of the kid’s sexual preference? I was incensed myself, disgusted with the man and his world. In my mind it didn’t matter how powerful he was or where he lived and his reputation. Blood was blood, family more important than anything. I wanted to put a bullet in the man’s brain myself.
“Listen to me,” Thomas hissed. “I know who did this to the family. Devin has nothing to do with it.”
“Then who?” I said, furious at everything that had transpired.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
The gunfire came from outside. Suddenly, there were shouts.
“Go find out what the hell is going on,” Arman barked, once again pointing the weapon at Devin. I yanked out my Glock as well as both Landry and Tony raced from the room holding their weapons in their hands.
Thomas rushed to the door, jerking out his weapon as well.
“What the fuck is going on?” Arman demanded as additional gunfire could be heard, including coming from more than one assault rifle.
“Your father did this,” Thomas snapped.
Arman and I stared at each other, uncertain what the hell Thomas was getting at.
All hell broke loose before he had a chance to explain, an explosion occurring in another part of the house.
“Get down,” Arman yelled, yanking Devin across the desk to the floor. “If you move, you die, you fucker.”
For once the powerful Texan allowed his fear to show, crawling behind the couch, staring up at me as if I could be his savior.
Arman rushed to one side of the door while I moved beside Thomas. “Jean Baptiste did not do this.”
“No!” Thomas said. “It’s?—”
The second explosion was close, driving all three of us to the floor, debris falling from the ceiling. I rolled, trying to keep my aim on the door. After a few seconds of yelling, additional gunfire, a quiet settled in.
The sound of footsteps put us on edge. Both Arman and Thomas crawled closer, all three of us pointing our weapons at the door.
“Jack is out of prison,” Thomas said through clenched teeth.
Jack.
Jack Cormier.
My father.
I’d spent my life building back from nothing, from begging and stealing in the streets as a young child. From hating the world because of my losses to finding joy again. I’d learned to become the Boogeyman when I’d longed to find peace and solace because of the wounds that dug deep. It was at that moment that everything came crashing down around me, the past colliding with the present, the ache of losing so much returning.
Redemption. My greatest nightmare. I should have figured it out.
The range of emotions continued to expand, morphing and changing with every passing second.
Including red-hot rage. I was full of anger, refusing to allow my real family to be hurt because of my past. I struggled to my feet, moving toward the door, ignoring the smoke and continually falling debris. And I aimed my weapon toward the center of the entryway, prepared to end this charade myself.
“What the hell is going on?” Arman said from behind me as a figure moved into the entryway.
My father’s laughter echoed in my ears, dark and foreboding and exactly as I remembered when he’d come for me, finding me hiding in my closet or under my bed.
“Come here, you little fuck.”
“Don’t, Daddy. Please don’t.”
“You need to take your beating like a man. You’ll thank me one day.”
