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Hades
West Brooks, my best mate and the only man I truly trusted, was the same bastard who broke my daughter, my little girl, Holly.
Ivy, my second eldest, had caught him in bed with Holly.
It was a Sunday night, and we had just had our weekly family dinner. My son, Kobra, and I were trying the new weed shipment when I heard Ivy scream. The drugs delayed my reactions, but I nearly fucking killed West, even as Holly protested, saying she loved him. Ivy said it didn’t look like it, but Holly stood by the fact that West and she had something.
Holly told me that he wasn’t raping her as I held him by the shirt with my gun in his mouth. Part of me didn’t fucking believe it, but the other part of me didn’t want to think my best mate would rape my daughter.
To think the bastard had fucked my daughter still makes me sick.
Holly stopped me from killing him that night. Even under the influence, I could still throw a punch. His playboy looks were gone by the end of the night from my fists. However, I was so furious that I just wanted to shoot him straight in the head at the time.
Fucking Kobra reminded me I couldn’t kill my vice president, VP, especially if Holly said it wasn’t rape.
What made me even sicker was my daughter had kept a relationship with my best friend behind my back. People considered me cold, but to have my daughter keep such a thing from me… well, it broke my relationship with her—or at least, that’s what I thought.
A week passed, and I was charged for. To my surprise, West handed himself in and pleaded guilty to the charges I was facing, and he went to prison the following week. I hadn’t seen or spoken to Holly during that time, either. My daughter hid a relationship with my best mate, the only man in the fucking world I trusted with my family.
It was maybe a week and a bit before I went home from the club, where I had been staying. My wife understood. Zara told me Holly hadn’t left her room much, though.
When I got home, I reminded myself that she was my daughter, and I loved her regardless of her actions. So I walked up to her bedroom, knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer. I went to let myself in, but she had locked the door. That was when warning signs began to register.
My kids knew never to lock a door. Never. Kobra was the exception when in his dorm room, but that was it.
I kicked the door in, the wood splitting, and yelled Holly’s name. Nothing.
Then I saw it. A letter on the bed and three words swirled across the front of the envelope—To my family. It took half a second for it to click. My head snapped to the bathroom door.
My heart stilled. I remember the cold red fear that flooded my body as I burst down that bathroom door, the lock shattering.
I roared her name so loudly that, if it were possible, the house would have shaken.
Her silence terrified me. My breathing caught in my lungs, and I was faced with an image that still floods my nightmares.
My daughter.
My little girl.
She was lying on the white tiled floor, blood covering her wrists.
I don’t know how I moved while in shock, but I did.
I grabbed a towel, applying it to her wrists. I heard myself screaming at her, roaring for her not to leave me. Screaming that she was my little girl and had no fucking right to do this to me. I felt so powerless and had never felt so fucking terrified. My little girl. The girl who I helped take her first steps, remembering the first time her little blue eyes locked with mine as I held her in the hospital—all the memories were running through my head.
She was our miracle child. She was what breathed life back into mine and Zara’s marriage. I was a hard man to deal with, and it was our little Holly who brought Zara and me back together when we were on the edge of separation. All these scenes ran through my mind as she lay still in my arms, her skin a sickly pale, and the silence was deafening.
I continue to scream—Please don’t leave me—the guilt of my actions swallowing me. I roared for Kobra at the same time. I needed him to call an ambulance. I kept telling her I was fucking sorry, and I’d make it up to her if she would come back to me, telling her that I needed her to keep breathing. “Please, baby girl, keep breathing,” I said over and over.
The ambulance arrived quickly, and as I carried her down those stairs, memories flooded me. I recalled carrying her up these exact steps to her crib, and now, as I carried her down them, I felt like it was going to be the last time I would hold her.
And then I had to watch as they put my daughter into the back of an ambulance. The paramedics wouldn’t let anyone get in with her. They slammed the door in my face. I now know it was because they didn’t want me to see my daughter take her last breath.
I stood at the end of the driveway, my leather vest and white shirt covered in her blood. A sickening feeling flooded me, one question running through my head over and over—What the fuck had I done? I had locked her out while knowing how close she and I were.
I thought I killed my daughter that day. The fact I was called Hades, the reckoning of death, never fit me better. Because I thought I had just dealt death to my little girl.
I sat on the porch, her blood still on my clothes and arms, as Zara stood screaming at me as she got in the car. She left without me and headed to the hospital with Kobra. It was Ivy, my second eldest, who sat beside me on the porch, taking my hand, holding it.
