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“How’s it going, family,” I said, tone laced with derisive sarcasm when I stepped into the kitchen.
The minute I walked inside, I could smell the whiskey permeating off the old man as he hovered unsteadily in the middle of the room.
“Joey,” he acknowledged warily.
“Boys in bed?”
Our father nodded, keeping his eyes on mine the entire time, watching me like I was some dangerous predator that would strike at any given minute. He was dead on the fucking money. I could feel the fear coming off my sister in waves as she cowered by the sink, with her small hand pressed to her neck.
Shannon’s face was all blotchy, and her eyes were bloodshot.
I wasn’t stupid. It was as clear as day that I’d walked in at the right time.
Trying to keep my head, I reached for a can of Coke from the fridge, knowing that I had to be careful here. “Where’s Mam?” I asked, taking a swig. “Still at work?”
“Your mother’s at work and this one here is late home again,” Dad slurred, glaring at Shannon. “Missed her fucking bus, apparently.”
“I know,” I replied coolly, giving Shannon a wink. “How’s it going, Shan?”
“Hey, Joe.” She swallowed nervously and attempted to smile at me. “Nothing. Just hungry. I was getting a snack.”
Getting a smack more like.
Walking over to her, I playfully nudged her cheek with my knuckles, but it was only so that I could get a better look at the marks on her neck. Bastard’s fingerprints were imprinted on her skin.
Fuck.
“Did Aoife stay long after she dropped you home?” I threw her a lifeline by asking.
“Uh, no.” Her eyes widened in awareness and gratitude as she hurried to say, “She just dropped me off and went straight home.”
Offering her a small wink of approval, I grabbed a packet of biscuits from the press and tossed them to her. “Here. No doubt they were what you were looking for.”
They weren’t. She would never touch a thing on the top shelf that I stored my shit on, but he didn’t know that.
“It’s not a halfway house,” Dad snarled.
“This is my food, old man.” I turned back to glare at him. “Bought with my money. From my job.”
“This is my house.”
“Given to you by the government,” I drawled, unwilling to back down an inch from the piece of shit in front of me. “Because of us.”
“Don’t get smart with me, boy.”
“Shannon, why don’t you head on up to bed,” I told her, knowing that shit was about to go down and needing her out of the firing line.
Shannon moved for the door, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “I’m not done talking to her.”
“Well, she’s done talking to you,” I said, tone deathly cold as I shouldered him out of the way of the kitchen door, giving my sister an escape route. “So, get out of her way old man. Now.”
Thankfully, Shannon took the opportunity to bolt out of the room before he could catch ahold of her ponytail.
“Don’t fucking think about it,” I warned, blocking the doorway when he made to move after her. “She’s not your fucking punching bag.”
“Did ya see this?” Grabbing a newspaper, he tossed it at me. “Did ya see this carrying-on, boy!”
Smoothing out the page, I stared down at a picture of my sister with none other than Mister Rugby himself.
