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“He tells us… to teach our daughters well. I cannot find a good husband… for my daughter if she isn’t worthy.” He struggled to take another noisy breath. “Sarah was a wayward child… Like you… She needed to learn how to serve… her future husband well. Otherwise, if she failed to do so… she would be an embarrassment to me… to your mother… She would be proof… of our inability to raise our children according to our beliefs… If we failed her… we would fail God.”
Bullshit. Utter fucking bullshit. Rev’s teeth were clenched so tightly he thought they might shatter.
But his sire wasn’t done spewing that verbal diarrhea. “You were a bad influence on her… Encouraging her to act out… to be an ill-behaved child. It was your fault she needed… to be punished so much.”
The pressure in his chest swelled to the point he thought his skin would split open. “Oh no, old man, don’t you fuckin’ dare blame me for your sickness. For what you did. Don’t even fuckin’ go there.” He needed to get the fuck out of there before he up and killed the man anyway. Because he was seconds away from doing just that. From stopping the bullshit and lies. “Are you gonna die today?”
“You would like that… wouldn’t you?”
“It can’t come soon enough.”
“Agreed. It’ll be glorious… to feel the arms of God surrounding me… as He welcomes me into His Kingdom… You will never feel that.”
Rev leaned over the bed and growled, “Neither will you.”
He stepped back, bumping into Reilly. He grabbed her arm to keep from knocking her over and tugged her behind him as he took long strides from the room.
He didn’t go to the kitchen to say goodbye, instead he went directly to the front door, slamming it behind them. He didn’t stop until they reached his Bronco. He went around to the passenger side, yanked open the door and helped Reilly into the seat before slamming that door shut, too.
As he was rounding the front of his Ford, he heard, “Michael!” shouted from the house.
He paused with one hand on the driver’s door handle and glanced back over his shoulder.
Matthew stood on the porch.
Rev couldn’t take much more today. He was already teetering on the edge of a cliff. It wouldn’t take but a small breeze to knock him over.
And if he began to fall, he was taking everyone inside that house with him.
“We’ll be in the area. You got my number now. Text me if you think he’s about to take his last fuckin’ breath. Wanna witness it.”
“But—”
“Make sure to text me, Matthew!” he shouted. “You don’t, you’ll regret it.”
He flung his door open, got in and slammed it shut. He couldn’t get the fuck off that property fast enough.
Stones shot from the tires as Rev gunned the Ford in reverse and backed onto the road.
“Rev—”
“No.” He shoved the shifter into first gear, the tires chirping as the Bronco surged forward.
“Rev,” she tried again.
“Ain’t talkin’ about it right now.”
Her chest had been tight the whole time she listened to the exchange, not only with his mother but his father, as well.
She’d been right. Stepping into that house was like stepping into a whole other world or dimension. Or something.
It was freakishly weird. And nothing what she’d expected.
Rev clearly did not fit in that household. Neither did Saylor. That family was just as messed up as the Shirleys were. And she didn’t think that was possible. She had been wrong.
But, holy hell, how was Rev not fucked up? How did he not turn out to be some sort of serial killer? She didn’t even know most of what he and his sister dealt with but the little she heard so far…
No wonder Saylor acted out and ended up in a juvenile detention center for all of her teen years.
To escape that house. To escape that life.
To escape whatever her father did to her, most of which Reilly could only assume without knowing all the details.
Truthfully, she didn’t want to know the details. She could only imagine what they were and that was bad enough.
Reilly glanced around as he sped down the curvy country road and into town. She had to hang onto the dash and the door to keep from being tossed around, even though she wore her seatbelt. When they approached a strip mall, the knobby four-by-four tires squealed like a poked pig as he turned sharply into the parking lot.
After pulling the Bronco into an empty spot in front of Fine Wine & Good Spirits, he threw the shifter into neutral, jammed on the parking brake, left the engine running, climbed out of the truck and growled, “Stay here,” before slamming the door shut.
Well, then.
Without his cut, he looked like every other Joe Citizen entering the state-run liquor store. Every other citizen who was pierced and tatted up, at least.
