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PROLOGUE
RIGGER
The hot July sun stings the back of my neck, but I don’t dare move into the shade. Anything more than breathing will set off my piece-of-shit father. His hand clamps onto my shoulder, as if he could make us look like a unified family, but his punishing grip says otherwise.
A beat-up red sedan comes into view and parks in the driveway, a bottle-blonde in the driver’s seat, her smile painted Barbie pink, with a smaller replica of her in the back. The little girl looks about as happy about this union as I am, her head bowed and her arms wrapped tightly around a book.
“You better not embarrass me, you dumb fuck,” Dad grits out.
His sneer morphs into a genuine smile when he turns his attention back to the car. At least, I think it’s genuine since I’ve never seen that look before. Ray Brown is not a friendly or welcoming man, at least not with me.
“Ray!” the woman shouts as she jumps out of the car, tits bouncing in her low-cut shirt. “You look just like your pictures!”
Dad releases me with one last threatening squeeze before approaching her. She jumps into his waiting arms, and they kiss longer than appropriate with two kids hanging around.
I shift my gaze down, not wanting to witness their disgusting display. Since I’m busy studying my feet, I don’t notice the girl from the backseat draw near until she speaks.
“You’re my new brother?” she asks, her voice timid and mousy.
I glance up, just enough to meet her gaze. As far as little kids go, she’s cute, with stringy blonde hair and big hazel eyes, her head tilted in question.
“Guess so.”
She nods, a look of resignation falling over her features.
Ever since Dad discovered the world of chat rooms, I’ve known this day would come. His violent tendencies, gambling addiction, and hatred of his own blood—me—scared away any local women he dated. So, he took to the internet, where it’s easier to trick women with hours-long phone calls and late-night chat sessions.
He’s been “seeing” this woman, Laura, for six months. Why he proposed to her when they hadn’t even met in person is beyond me, but here she is, daughter in tow, with all their worldly possessions—which doesn’t look like much—moving into our double-wide trailer.
The girl moves to my side and sighs as she takes in our parents, still making out. “So gross.”
“Agreed.”
Laura finally breaks away, noticing us standing there waiting. Her smile turns sheepish as she wipes lipstick from Dad’s lips. “Why don’t we get the kids settled so we cancatch up?”
The little girl might not understand, but I’m sixteen and know exactly what that means. The thought sours my stomach.
I wonder if she knows about Dad’s mood swings and violent methods of relieving stress. My guess would be no. Either that or her self-esteem is in the toilet and this is the best she thinks she can do.
“Laura, this is my boy, Colin,” Dad says.
“Nice to meet you.” She holds out her hand, and I shake it.
Should I tell her she has lipstick all over her face? Probably not.
“You too,” I mutter, feeling the weight of Dad’s scrutiny.
Laura draws the girl to her side proudly. “And this little mouse is Vivi.”
“Hey, Vivi.” I shake her hand too.
“Come on inside. I’ll show you around.” Dad motions for them to enter, and I follow behind.
The house smells like lemons and stale cigarettes, mainly because of the cleaner I used to scrub every surface after Dad woke me up at the butt crack of dawn and threatened me with a beating. The cigarettes are because Dad is a chain-smoker. Apparently, Laura isn’t, so he’s promised to smoke outside, something he never did for me, even though I’m allergic.
Thank God for antihistamines.
“It’s so strange seeing your place in person,” Laura says, running a hand across the sofa. “This is where my favorite picture of you was taken.” She strolls into the kitchen. “And this is where you’d make coffee and talk to me each morning.”
