Chapter 1
16 years old.
Chicago.
“We need to get rid of the body,”I say staring at my 12-year-old sister curled up in a fetal position on the kitchen floor, her arms wrapped around her knees. Her dark hair covers most of her shoulders and face. I step closer, avoiding the pool of blood spreading from beneath my stepfather’s head.
“Iv? You okay?” I don’t know why I’m asking her that. I know she’s not okay. “Iv? I have to get rid of the body.”
She lifts her head, her long black hair hiding most of her features. Her face is blank. I doubt she heard me because her eyes look glazed, zero comprehension on her face about the fact that a dead body lies three feet from her. The scratches on her face, arms, and legs are oozing tiny drops of blood. I turn away from the sight of her exposed genitals, my heart breaking because I can see the smears of blood on her thighs. Her shorts are gone, ripped from her body by the monster behind me. Shelooks so small crouched against the stove, and again I feel the rage bubble up.
When I tried to enter the back kitchen door, only to find it barred with the kitchen table, I was confused. Why the fuck was the door blocked? It wasn’t until I heard my sister scream through the rotting wood that I sprang into action. Every fiber of my being focused on getting the door open. After a few minutes, I was able to see through the partial opening, and what I saw made my blood run cold.
The bastard was on top of my sister. Right there on the cracked linoleum kitchen floor, his hand inside her vagina. He turned and looked back at me, his decaying teeth forming a brutal smile. He licked her cheek as he continued to brutalize her body. He was taunting me, enjoying my horror, my rage.
I’ve always hated him. From the first time I met him. And over the last four months, since my sister turned 11, I noticed the looks, the lascivious leers he aimed her way when he came home drunk. I tried to protect her the best I could, but it was hard. With school and work, I had to trust that my stepfather’s day drinking habits would keep her safe.
Instead, I let her down. I close my eyes against the memory of my stepfather hurting her. I was blinded by fury. Her screams and whimpers were muffled behind his other dirty hand covering her mouth. Ivory was wild, thrashing while he kept stabbing his fingers inside her. It was the impetus I needed. The door wasn’t budging. The asshole had created a strong barrier. I broke the window next to the kitchen with my elbow and climbed inside, jumping on his back and pulling him off my sister. I used every bit of strength in my body to beat the shit out of him. He was enraged, but drunk enough to be sloppy with his defense. He wasn’t a match for my fury; my sister’s cries in the background fueled me. I grabbed one of the many empty gin bottles littering the kitchen counter and smashed him over thehead. The force of the blow made me roll off Ivory, who crawled to the other side of the kitchen. I beat him mercilessly, and when he tried to get up and come for me, I took my pocket knife from my back pocket and stabbed him in the neck.
Shock rippled through me when I felt my cock start to harden; my erection pushed against the fly of my jeans. His scream echoed in my ears, and the hairs on my neck stood up at the feel of him struggling as I overpowered him, keeping the crook of my elbow against his windpipe. The sight of my sister, curled up, half-naked, added to my strength. Each sob from her body made me concentrate harder, wanting to end him. The years of fear for my sister and my mother coalesced. It was his turn to be afraid. He whimpered, scraping at my arm. A dribble of pre-cum escaped. I felt the moment I was going to blow my load, and I didn’t care. He was pathetic. Blood gushed from the wound on his neck, coating my arm, bubbling out. I removed my pocket knife and jabbed it into his lungs, over and over. The hissing pop reverberated in our small kitchen.
Suddenly, my body starts to feel the damage I inflicted on myself. I lift my hand, smeared with blood, and see the gashes from where I broke the window glass. But what is more surprising is how much I light the sight of it on my palm. I know it’s not just my blood, but his as well, and instantly my cock gets hard. Shocked, I step away from his corpse, in disbelief that my cock is hard at the sight of my blood, his blood. Shards of glass crunch beneath my sneakers.
I take off my jacket and drape it over her lower half, trying to help preserve some of her dignity. Looking around, I spot her unicorn book bag on the floor. Her homework is still sitting on the kitchen table. Guilt eats at me because I was late getting home from work, having stayed a few extra hours to earn more money. Rent was due, and my mother’s boyfriend, the bastard who just sexually assaulted my little sister, usually used up whatlittle my mother managed to make at her waitressing job. She’s still at work, and I can’t imagine what she’ll think. My stomach twists that she may feel nothing. She more than anyone knows what Mikey Randolph is capable of. He’s been terrorizing her since meeting him three years ago.
“I have to get Onyx.”
At his name, Ivory blinks and sits up, covering her body with my jacket.
“Can you wait here while I go?”
She shakes her head vehemently, crawling away from Mikey’s body sprawled on the floor. Her eyes are fixed on my knife buried deep in his flesh. “No. No. I don’t want to stay here with him.”
The shattered gin bottle next to him crunches under my boots as I crouch closer to her. “Okay. Okay,” I whisper. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Is he dead?” She cries, pressing a fist to her mouth, sobbing.
I’ve never lied to her before, and I won’t start now. “Yes.”
I reach out to touch her hair, and she flinches before she turns into my body and cries against my chest. I pick her up and take her into the living room and lay her on the sunken couch. She curls up, pulling her jacket over her. Worry claws at me. “Do you need Plan B? Did he...?”
She shivers, but remains quiet. “I’m serious, Iv, if he put his penis inside you, you could be pregnant.”
Her mumbled voice sounds from beneath my jacket. “He only used his fingers this time.”
This time.This. Time.“What?” I freeze, my body feeling like it’s no longer tethered to the ground. I bend to her, praying that I misheard her, that I misunderstood. “What do you mean this time, Iv?”
She shakes her head and curls up even tighter into a ball.
“Tell me, please.”
“I can-, I can’t. It’s my fault. I let him.”
“Did he rape you?”
She trembles harder.
“Ivory?”
