Justified (Dark Book 3) Page 2

  He reached down to pull me up by the back of my neck.

  “You got something to say to me, boy?”

  As he lifted me to my feet, I cradled my throbbing head. I looked at my mother lying still on the floor.

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “What’s that?”

  Shaking all over, my voice emerged as a whisper.

  “Fuck you.”

  His bloodshot eyes flared at me.

  “What was that?” Spittle flew from his mouth hitting me in the face. His breath reeked of alcohol. My heart pounded in my chest. I had no idea what I was thinking.

  “Fuck you!” I screamed as loud as I could.

  My mother sat up and stared at me. Her blue eyes were filled with fright.

  “Henry, no!” she cried as my father lifted me off the ground by my shoulders. For a moment, we were nose to nose. I felt like I was facing a roaring lion as his fury at me was palpable.

  But I met his eyes squarely. I didn’t flinch.

  Suddenly, he head butted me as hard as he could. The audible cracking of my skull reverberated throughout the room. He dropped me onto the floor.

  I heard my mother scream.

  Then everything went black.

  My eyes fluttered open. Immediately, I felt intense pain pounding between my eyes. I tried to sit up, but couldn’t. The pain was excruciating. I looked to the side of me and saw that it was dark outside. I wondered how long I’d been out.

  Suddenly, my door opened and my mother was standing there. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. Dried blood was crusted on the side of her head turning her dingy blonde hair red.

  “Mom, what’s wrong with me?” My words squeaked out. I hardly recognized my own voice.

  “Your father,” she whispered looking down. Those two words explained it all.

  “Why can’t I lift my head?” Tears began to well up in my eyes from the pain.

  “You can.” My mother walked over to me and pulled me up.

  I rubbed my throbbing head. There was a huge lump on my forehead that ached when I touched it.

  “It’s a slight concussion. You’ll be okay.” She brushed my head lightly before brushing her lips against my forehead.

  “Is he still here?”

  She shook her head slightly.

  “No, baby, he’s gone for the night. He stumbled out to his truck and drove off.”

  I nodded leaning back on my bed.

  “Just get some rest you’ll be better soon.”

  The house was strangely quiet as I opened the door. None of the usual sounds were present. There was no dishwasher running, no washer going, no TV blaring.

  It was completely silent.

  The silence frightened me. I swallowed hard and stepped into the house. I listened for signs of my parents fighting.

  Nothing.

  “Mom?” I called out.

  The lights were on in the kitchen, so I assumed she was in there. I knew my father wasn’t likely home as I didn’t see any empty beer bottles on the coffee table.

  Checking the kitchen, I noticed several dozen empty bottles of beer littering the kitchen table. There were piles of crushed cigarettes in a stained ashtray. The stench of cigarette smoke still lingered in the air.

  He’d been here.

  The kitchen faucet dripped onto the pile of crusted dishes leftover from breakfast in the sink. My mother was a clean freak. She never left dishes piled up like that. It was her ritual: after every single meal, she would fill the dishwasher and run it for a cycle. It didn’t matter if it was one bowl or a cup she would place them in the dishwasher and run it.

  But the dishes sat in the sink as a glaring warning sign that something was wrong.

  Suddenly, my mouth went dry. I dropped my backpack on the floor.

  Maybe she was upstairs. Dad probably had come home after I left for school and he and Mom fought. She was still upset over what he’d done to me last week. He likely smacked her a few times and she hid upstairs.

  That’s what happened.

  Or that’s what I told myself to walk up the stairs.

  All I heard was the sound of my own footsteps echoing throughout the house.

  “Mom!” I kept calling her name as I made my way up the stairs.

  As I got to the top of the stairs, I stared down the hallway to my mother’s bedroom door.

  The closed door at the end of the hallway loomed large in front of me.

  My heart thudded as I willed my feet to move towards her room.

  “Mom!” I yelled as loud as I could.

  Still nothing.

  Something was horribly wrong. I knew she would hear me even if she was sleeping. Maybe Dad had knocked her unconscious. If so, she needed me.

  My hand hesitated on the doorknob.

  “Mom!” I called out one last time.

  My stomach tightened as I turned the knob.

  Pushing the door open, I closed my eyes briefly.

  “Mom!” I yelled as I slowly opened my eyes.

  Her bed was unmade. Again, that was unlike her. The bedsheets were knotted into a ball. The table lamp was knocked over. The glass from the light bulb was crushed onto the carpet.

  Still, I didn’t see her.

  Where was she?

  A hard lump formed in my throat. My mouth went dry. Something very bad had happened.

  I continued moving towards the other side of the bed. The window was open and the curtains blew in the breeze.

  Maybe she was in the bathroom. I walked towards the bathroom and tripped over something.

  I looked down in horror as I realized it was her foot.

  Screams froze in my throat as I recoiled in terror noticing I was standing in a pool of blood.

  Her blood.

  My mother’s blood.

  Immediately, I heaved violently puking onto the carpet. My vomit mixed with her blood.

  Falling to my knees, I brought myself to look at her.

  Her blue eyes were open looking up at nothing. She was wearing a blue bathrobe which was soaked in blood. Her chest was covered in several stab wounds. Her hands were curled inward as though she’d tried clutching something. At her side was a long kitchen knife the handle covered in blood.

  Sobbing, I crawled over to her trying not to get the blood on me. I touched her cheek which was purple from the bruises he’d given her. She was cold to the touch.

  From the way she was dressed, I’d imagined he’d come in as I had left for school. She generally placed the dishes in the dishwasher and then took a shower before work.

  But she’d never made it that far.

  He must’ve come in and started fighting with her. He was likely drunk before he’d even come home.

  Then he started drinking at home as they fought. He started hitting her and she ran upstairs.

  Maybe she finally stood up to him telling her she was leaving with me.

  Maybe he saw the determination in her eyes.

  She was really going to do it this time.

  But he wasn’t going to let her go.

  Bringing my hand to her face, I closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see a world that had brought her such pain anymore.

  Her full lips had turned blue. They were slightly agape as if she were trying to say something.

  Closing my eyes, I could almost hear her voice.

  “Bryan, my sweet baby Bryan, be a good boy. Momma loves you.”

  Tears soaked my cheeks as I bent to kiss her.

  “Goodbye, Momma,” I whispered.

  The days after her death were a blur. I recalled stumbling out to the street and screaming. I think a neighbor found me and called the police.

  Soon sirens filled the air and an ambulance came and hauled my mother’s body away. After that, I went to live with my cousins while they searched for my father.

  The police questioned me thoroughly asking me about my father’s violent temper. I was quick to name him as the one who killed my mother.

  “My God, Sinist
er, whatever happened to your dad?” I’d asked him.

  He’d laughed.

  “That old fucker he got his. Apparently, after killing my mom he went off the rails. He ripped off a local bar to get money to get out of town. He knew the cops were coming for him. He made a huge mistake though ripping off that bar. It was owned by a guy with big Mafia connections. He put a hit out on my dad. They found him before the cops did.”

  I had watched his eyes light up with pleasure as he had described what the guy did to his dad.

  “After they got done with him, I bet he wished the cops would’ve got to him first.”

  The guy who owned the bar killed my dad in an extremely gruesome way. I don’t want to go into details, but let’s just say it’s been twenty five years and they’re still finding pieces of him.

  The fucker deserved it after what he did to my mother.

  Living with my cousins didn’t last long. The trauma of seeing my mother dead hardened my heart. I had nothing left inside of me. The emptiness threatened to swallow me whole.

  So, I began acting out. I ran away, stole whatever I wanted, and discovering the tremendous relief drugs could give me.

  Soon, I ended up in trouble with the law.

  My first offense landed me in a juvenile detention center. I was only 13. A vicious cycle began with me committing crimes, getting thrown into detention center, getting out and going back inside.

  Like I said, I was used to doing time.

  When I finally was released from juvenile authorities, I didn’t know what to do. I found the Brotherhood.

  Or rather the Brotherhood found me.

  Riding Harleys, dealing drugs, and running game was what I was about. Fucking hot girls along the way didn’t hurt.

  I thought the Brotherhood was the family I never had. I embraced them fully.

  Until they asked me to become their hitman.

  “Sinister, my brother is coming over soon. Do you think you could--?”

  He waved his hand.

  “—leave? Of course. Wouldn’t want Mr. Rich Asshole to see an ex-con living here with you.”

  I rolled my eyes. I wouldn’t even dignify that with an answer. Besides, I needed to go call Ash.

  Hearing the roar of Sinister’s bike as he left, I waited for Ash. My veins ached as I felt the need for another fix. Trying my best to ignore it, I went outside to wait on the deck. I loved feeling the ocean breeze whipping my hair and the briny scent of the sea. I was anxious to begin our search for our half-sister. Who knew what other family secrets she may hold?

  3

  Mark

  Kicking the gate to the stairwell open, I eased my way up the steps while holding the cumbersome box. I cursed myself for taking an apartment on the tenth floor as I lugged the heavy package up the flight of stairs.

  Finally, when I reached my apartment I dropped the box as I unlocked the door. Scores of roaches scattered as I flicked on the light. The place was absolutely disgusting, but it would do for now.

  After all, I was only in New York for one thing.

  And that one thing would be accomplished soon.

  Bugs crunched beneath the soles of my shoes as I made my way to the kitchen. Placing the box on the table, I turned to pull a beer out of the refrigerator. Popping open the bottle, I turned on the TV as I collapsed onto a green vinyl kitchen chair.

  “Amber Michaelson, girlfriend of billionaire businessman, Ashton Blackthorne has announced her plans for the release of her new line of lingerie called ‘Owned by Ashton’.

  When speaking with Michaelson, she said that part of the proceeds of the sales will be going to help animals in need and survivors of sexual abuse.

  “I feel really positive. This isn’t just about women being sexy it’s also to help survivors of sexual abuse and abused animals. Two things I really care about.”

  A photo of Amber wearing a filmy negligee flashed on the screen. My cock instantly stiffened.

  I flicked off the TV in disgust. Even after all these years she still had that effect on me. That was all I needed to remind me of why I was here. A quick glance at the box caused a slow smile to break out on my face.

  Standing up, I pulled a six inch long hunting knife out of a leather sheath. My fingers caressed the razor sharp blade. I envisioned the terror on her face as I brought the knife up her body and held it to her throat. My cock was rock hard as I imagined cutting her bra off, her tits bouncing free. I would take the knife dragging it across her nipples slowly then all the way to her cunt. With one swift motion, I would cut the panties from her body. A tiny cry would escape her lips as the knife would graze her between the legs. I’d bring the blade back to my face to inhale the scent of her wet cunt. Her eyes would widen with fear as I took the knife and---

  Without warning, a heavy thud was heard overhead. It sounded like someone crashing to the floor in the apartment above me. I shrugged and placed the knife back into its’ sheath. I still had so much planning to do. I thought about when I was younger. That fucking shrink had had it all wrong. Amber was the problem not me. It was bad enough when she was young prancing all over the house shaking her unusually large breasts at me. Now she was on TV for the whole world to see.

  But maybe now they’d realize it hadn’t been my fault.

  Grabbing the empty bottle of beer, I tossed it into the trashcan.

  Sickened, I remembered the sessions with that dumb fucking shrink.

  One hot, sticky summer night when I was fifteen, I was in my closet as usual. I hadn’t been able to sleep so I got into my closet with a sheet. My intention had been to sleep there, but I heard Amber in the next room.

  Flicking my Boy Scout flashlight on, I illuminated the closet. I peered through the peephole.

  There she was in all her naked glory. The moonlight streamed in through the open window. The night was unusually hot and humid and she’d left the window open in hopes of catching a breeze. She was curled up on her bed and at first I thought she was sleeping.

  But then she stirred.

  Moaning softly, she’d rolled over onto her back. Her huge breasts appeared like ripe melons as she squeezed them. Her fingers found her nipples and tugged at them.

  My heart nearly stopped.

  Was she--?

  No, she couldn’t be!

  My breath caught in my throat as I watched her hands drifting down the small of her stomach and down between her legs.

  My cock raged at me. Over and over again, I found myself climaxing. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her even when she stopped and fell asleep.

  Suddenly, the closet door flew open.

  “Mark, what the fuck?” It was my older brother, Mick.

  Quickly, I threw the sheet over me. But it was too late. He’d seen me.

  “What the hell are you looking at?”

  “Nothing. I couldn’t sleep is all.”

  Mick reached down and with one pull of his arm yanked me up off the floor. He pushed me aside and peered through the hole.

  “My God,” he whispered. His eyes widened in horror as he gazed at me sprawled out on the floor.

  “You’re sick, man. She’s our fucking sister!”

  “No, no, no! You don’t get it! She makes me look at her! She called to me, Mick. She woke me up.” Frantically, I pulled on a pair of shorts to shield my nudity.

  He shook his head. Pacing the floor, he ran his hands through his hair.

  “Mark, that’s sick. She’s our sister! She was sleeping. How could she be calling to you?”

  “No, don’t you see? That’s how she gets to you. She wears those tight skimpy tops without a bra. She jiggles everywhere. You see it too, don’t you? The way her shorts ride up her ass. It’s all part of her plan---“

  Mick’s eyes kept getting wider as he listened to my theory.

  “---and she wants me to want her. She’s the one doing this. I don’t even want to look at her. She makes me.”

  Mick collapsed on the edge of the bed holding his hand over his m
outh.

  “Mark, you need help. I’m telling mom and dad.”

  “NO!” I screamed throwing myself at him. We fell back on the mattress as I swung at him clipping him in the jaw. He appeared stunned as he held his face. He quickly overpowered me flipping me over onto my back and slammed his fist into my face. I saw stars.

  Then, he jumped off of me and raced down the hallway to tell our parents.

  As soon as my father walked in, I knew it was all over for me.

  They took me to the mental hospital. Craville Psychiatric. I called it Crazyville. They made me talk to different doctors and counselors. But the one I especially hated was Dr. Frye. His office was filled with annoying self-help phrases in picture frames:

  Don’t worry, be happy

  Love yourself.

  “This abnormal obsession with your sister-when did it start?”

  I stared at him.

  “You carved a hole in your closet to watch your sister. Do you recall doing that?”

  I sat motionless.

  “Why do you think your sister wants you to look at her?”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t talking to this idiot.

  He sighed and jotted some notes.

  “Have you ever touched your sister?”

  A knot formed in my stomach. I squirmed a bit and moved to the side of my chair.

  He nodded as he peered at me. His glasses slid down his nose slightly.

  “So, Mark, why don’t you tell me about your sister? Amber, is that her name? She seems like a sweet girl.”

  That was it. I pounded my fist on my thigh.

  “Sweet? She’s a fucking slut!”

  He jumped back in his chair. His eyes widened as he nodded.

  “So, that’s why you think your sister wants you to look at her? She’s a slut. Is she bad, too?”

  I sighed.

  “She’s a filthy slut. She’s a tease. She wears skimpy see through clothes and taunts me with her body. She knows I can see her. I see the evil in her smiles even if no one else does.”