by Lane Hart
“Aden, stop!” I yell again, but he ignores me.
Reaching over to the bedside table, I stretch my fingers to grab the ceramic lamp and then bash it over his head. His body relaxes limply down on mine after the first hit, thank goodness. Wiggling out from underneath him, I try to figure out what the fuck to do.
I’m sure as hell not gonna stay here in the room with this man.
Yesterday, I started thinking he may have more mental issues than even I do. First of all, Aden talks to himself, like all the time. Sure, I may have conversations with myself, but they take place quietly inside my own head. Aden speaks aloud, and I think he refers to himself in the third person as Aaron. Actually, the one- man show is so confusing that I’ve tried to ignore it.
The strangest thing, though, is how he refers to people on the phone as his boss or whatever; and yet when he went to shower this morning, I snuck a peek at his phone, which showed only recent calls to and from a Dr. Allen.
But I can’t worry about him right now since he’s apparently more dangerous than I thought. After I slip on my shoes, I ease Aden’s wallet from his back pocket, only feeling a tiny bit guilty for knocking him out and stealing from him after his assault. Opening the leather wallet I find several twenties, which is surprising since he told me he didn’t have much cash. I take two of them, hoping that will get me to Brede’s parents’ house and that they’ll be able to tell me how to find Brede if he’s not there.
I’m tired of waiting around, and I’m fed up with Aden. I should’ve known he was up to something when he started being all nice instead of his usual, antsy self.
Thankfully, a cab is waiting idly in front of the hotel’s lobby, so I give him the turn-by-turn directions to Paula and Jim’s, hoping I remembered the way correctly.
When their small, one-level brick home comes into view, I ask him to pull over, giving him one of my twenties.
I knock on Paula and Jim’s front door, but there’s no response. And when I twist the doorknob, it easily opens without resistance, sending my already racing heart into overdrive.
Okay, that’s not a good sign if they’re leaving the door unlocked. Cracking it open, I tiptoe inside and glance around the living room. My movements instantly halt, at the same time a gasp escapes my lips when I see him.
Brede.
My first thought is, thank God, he’s alive.
My second though is, oh shit, because, at the moment, he’s slouched in the recliner with a big, mostly empty bottle of amber liquor in one hand and a gun in the other. Actually, the gun is pointed directly at me.
“Hey,” I say, my palms rising in the air as if it’s an automatic bodily function when someone’s holding you at gunpoint. “Are you…are you okay?” I ask when he doesn’t respond to my greeting. His icy blue eyes are glassy and completely absent of the Brede who saved me and held me just the other night. “Brede?”
This man before me looks dark and dangerous, like the smoker who walked into the pawn shop that first day. In fact, there’s also the distinct smell of cigarette smoke in the room, which shocks me since I wouldn’t think he would be so inconsiderate as to smoke inside his parents’ home.
Oh no!
Tearing my gaze from Brede’s unblinking, unemotional stare, my eyes flit around the room, and that’s when I see them.
The dark, unmistakable stains of blood on the beige carpet.
One puddle is a few feet away, and another is on the other side of the living room near the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. There’s also a small reddish stain next to my feet too. That’s when I realize that the house is way too quiet.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out something horrible has happened here.
God, Brede.
He’s mourning his parents.
Trusting that he won’t shoot me, which I’m not a hundred percent certain of, I’m still unable to stop myself from moving closer, wanting to comfort him. The stupid gun never lowers from his grip, balanced on the top of his jean-covered leg. When I eventually reach him, I kneel down in front of his spread thighs, resting my head against his knee, only inches away from the gun muzzle.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him through the tears streaming down my face, remembering how nice Jim and Paula had been, how much they obviously loved Brede like he was their own son. And now they’re gone, and he probably blames himself for whatever happened. I wish he would talk to me and tell me what’s going on. “I’ve been so worried about you,” I say into the silence.
When he doesn’t respond with words or a single touch, I cry even harder, gripping his jeans because he feels so far away, even though I’m touching him. My Brede is gone, replaced with the cold-hearted killer, and I’m not sure if I can ever get him back.
Lifting my head, I come face-to-face with the barrel of the gun he refuses to put down.
God, what am I gonna do? Call Aden to come over? I’m not sure he’ll be able to help, and then I’ll have two big, unstable men to deal with.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I lower my forehead to his knee again. Brede doesn’t move a muscle, but he’ll have to eventually, right? So, I’ll sit here and wait, however long it takes.
Time passes while I cry and silently beg him to say something or touch me. When he eventually speaks, I’m definitely not prepared for the harsh sound of his deep voice.
“Leave.”
My body jerks painfully with that one word.
A single raspy word from his lips, and my heart crumbles. It hurts so fucking much that I can’t breathe. While I would rather be beaten and tortured before leaving him, he doesn’t want me near him.
No, I’m not gonna let him push me away right now while he’s in pain. I stay where I am, on my knees in front of him, surrounded by blood stains that remind me of the worst day of my life.
It was devastating and traumatic to watch my mother die in front of me as a child, but I don’t think it would have been any easier if I had been an adult. To lose someone you love is like losing a piece of your soul that you know will never be replaced. Those first few years I felt so empty without my mother. I still do, but maybe I’ve just gotten used to having a hole inside me.
For Brede, he had his anger when his father went off to prison and his brother was separated from him. They were only temporarily removed from his life. Now, he must be struggling to try to find a way to cope with the pain of permanently losing not one, but the two people who raised him.
“Get the fuck away from me.”
More gruff words, but they don’t hurt as bad because I know he doesn’t mean them. He wants to be angry at me or the world, anything to feel something other than the ache inside.
“No,” I say, tilting my head so that my cheek rests on his thigh and I can see his face, trying to make him look at me. Only his dark, empty eyes continue to remain focused on the front door.
“Get out!” he yells louder.
“No,” I reply more adamantly and then gasp when the cold steel of the gun suddenly meets my temple.
“I oughta do it. Kill ya now and get it over with,” he says, slurring his words because of how drunk he is.
“You blame me,” I reply in understanding, a sob wrenching from my throat at the realization. “You should. If you had just killed me…”
“Fuck you!” he screams, pushing me off of him with his fists still holding the bottle and gun, hard enough to cause me to fall backward from my kneeling position and land on my ass. “You made me want everything when I can’t have it!”
I’ve never been so happy to have someone yelling at me. This is much better than the statue Brede was when I walked in. I was the numb, silent girl for years. So if he can already grab ahold of any other emotion, then maybe he’s not as lost as I was.
“Well, fuck you too!” I shout back at him. “Instead of killing me you made me want you, and then you disappeared for days, going through I don’t even know what alone! I would rather you kill me than push me away.”
“I can’t kill
you,” he mumbles before he finally drops the gun to the floor. “Someone else will, though, and then I’ll have nothing.”
Oh, thank God!
The breath I’ve been holding since I walked through the door whooshes out in relief as I finally understand why he’s upset.
“I’m safer with you,” I tell him. “And you’ve still got Aden and your dad who love you too.”
“They’re gonna die. Everyone I love dies. God’s punishing me. If I hadn’t killed those assholes…”
“No, Brede. You’re punishing yourself. If there’s a God, he condemned the lives of the men you killed because they deserved it! Your parents didn’t, but that’s not your fault.”
“I sent them the money! I led them back here, so their deaths are on me!”
“No, my father sent someone to kill them. He’s the reason for everything bad that’s happened to all of us!”
“He’s dead.”
“What?” I gasp in surprise.
“The motherfucker who killed your mother is dead, and the bastard never saw it coming.”
“You…you killed my father?” I ask, not upset, just shocked that he was able to do that so soon.
“No,” he answers before taking a swig of his bottle. “I wish I had, but it was Nadia, his new wife. Now his widow.”
“Nadia? She’s the one who…”
“Hired me to kill you. Sent the man to kill my parents and me.”
“Is he dead?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“So, now we just need to kill her?”
“We?” he repeats.
“Yes. If we kill her, then we won’t have to hide anymore.”
“She thinks we’re both dead,” he says.
“Which means, she’ll never see us coming,” I reply, getting to my feet. “Brede, this is what you do, kill bad guys.”
“She’s a woman.”
“So? She’s a murderous bitch who needs to die.”
A hint of a smirk forms on his lips, but disappears a second later. Still, it was good to see a little bit of the old Brede. “I’ve missed you,” he says, the words nearly dropping me to my knees again.
A bubble of hope wells up inside me.
“I’ve missed you too, so much,” I tell him before climbing up on his lap. When he doesn’t push me away, I wrap my arms around his neck so I can bury my face in it. He smells like sweat, alcohol, and cigarettes, but I can’t get enough of his scent, taking another deep breath. I’ve been so worried about him.
“I don’t want anything to happen to you,” he says when he grabs a handful of my hair in his fist.
“Then don’t leave me again,” I tell him. “Aden’s fucking nuts.”
“He’s better for you than me.”
“No, he’s not. I don’t think he’s a federal agent or any type of law enforcement,” I confess, still clinging to Brede desperately.
“What?” Brede reels back and asks.
“I think he may believe he is, but the only person he talks to on his phone is a Dr. Allen from a 9-1-0 area code.”
“But he bugged Roger’s house and has a badge.”
“I think it’s a mental disorder. Like maybe he believes he’s an agent, but he’s sort of…unhinged. He, um, tried to have sex with me.”
Brede’s body stills and tenses underneath me.
“What do you mean?” he asks slowly.
“I told him to stop, and he wouldn’t. He held me down and tried to force himself, you know, where you’ve never been…”
“Goddamn it! Like I don’t have enough to worry about without adding a batshit crazy, rapist brother to the pile.”
“It wasn’t like the usual Aden,” I try to explain. “He was gone, sort of like how you were when I got here.”
“I’m sorry. So fucking sorry, baby,” he says with a kiss to my cheek. The two of us sit there, holding each other until Aden, speak of the devil, bursts through the door.
“Jesus Christ! You scared the shit out of me,” Aden says. Turning to look over my shoulder at him, I watch as his eyes sweep the room and then come back to Brede and me. “Fuck,” he mutters. “How are you doing, bro?”
Before I know what’s happened, Brede’s hauling us up out of the chair. He lets me go, and then he’s at the door, shoving Aden against the wall before he starts punching him in the stomach and face.
“Brede!” I yell to try and stop him. This is nothing more than him trying to claw his way out of mourning and pursuing anger instead.
Since his right arm seems to be doing the most damage, I grab onto it with both hands, trying to stop him. It only slows his momentum down a little since he’s so much stronger.
“Brede, stop it! Stop! Please!” I scream as I continue to pull on his arm. “You’re gonna hurt me!” I say, and that finally gets him to pause and take a step back from his abused brother. I glance over at Aden to quickly check on him. While he may have deserved the first few punches, Brede probably overdid it as his brother’s back slides down the wall and crumples to the floor.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” Brede asks Aden.
“Um, why is everyone beating on me today?” Aden asks, rubbing his cheek.
Brede looks at me with a raised eyebrow in question.
“I smashed a lamp over his head,” I explain.
“Good girl,” he says with the hint of a smile before he pulls me against his still heaving chest.
“I’m sorry about your folks, but it wasn’t my fault,” Aden mutters from his still slumped position on the floor.
“I beat you for her, not them,” Brede explains.
“Her?” Aden asks.
“If you ever touch her again, I’ll kill you,” Brede threatens.
“You encouraged it!” Aden exclaims indignantly.
“Only if she wanted it! And she didn’t!”
“Why didn’t she just say so instead of beating me in the head?” Aden asks.
I scoff before I respond. “I did, Aden! Over and over I said no and stop, but you ignored me! Remember when I scrambled away, and you pulled me back underneath you?”
“Oh. I thought you were just nervous,” Aden replies.
“Whathefuck ever,” Brede grumbles, running his fingers through his hair. “Touch her again, and I’ll kill you.”
“Fine!” Aden says, holding his palms up in front of him. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood…”
“Which is why…” Brede starts.
“I can never touch her again,” Aden finishes. “Okay. I won’t. I promise.”
Brede pulls me to him, wrapping me in his arms before he leans down and whispers in my ear, “I’ll never leave you alone with him again.”
Nodding my agreement against his chest, I blow out a breath of relief.
“I’m sorry I went off on you,” Brede says to Aden. “You deserved most of it, but I may have lost control.”
“You’re right. I don’t deserve to live,” Aden replies, causing Brede’s arms to tighten around me. “So what happened? How are you?”
“Fucking awful,” Brede replies. “They didn’t deserve this shit.”
“No, they didn’t,” Aden agrees, trying to pull himself off the ground and failing. “They were good people, although sort of nuts for being brave enough to raise you.”
“Yeah, they must’ve been. And now they’re dead because of me.”
“We’re gonna track down the fucker who’s responsible and tear him apart,” Aden promises.
“He’s dead. But the woman who sent him is not.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Aden asks, cracking his knuckles before he’s finally able to get to his feet again, using the wall to keep him upright.
“I need to…fuck, I’ve got to go make the funeral arrangements. I’m all the family they had,” Brede says sadly.
“We’ll help you,” I promise him, cupping his face in my hands and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
“You’re gonna have to be careful going out in public,” Ade
n says. “I can’t believe you were dumb enough to come back here.”
Brede and I look at him in shock for being such as asshole.
“What?” Aden asks, looking between us. “You do know you’re a wanted man, right?”
Oh, fuck!
“Wanted?” Brede asks.
“Why do you think I’ve been flipping through channels so much? Roger’s body washed up. Your bike was at his house, so of course you’re wanted for questioning in his murder. There’s probably already a court order for your DNA swab to see if it’s a match to the blood on the window.”
“Goddamn, it,” Brede grumbles, wrenching away from me to slam his head against the wall. “She fucking knows, and she turned me in!”
“Who?” Aden asks.
“Nadia Taylor. She just married Blair’s father and killed him on their honeymoon.”
“Ah, fuck! All these years wasted! I’ve been trying to figure out how to nail that bastard and get dad off, and just when we’re actually close to doing it, poof, he’s gone! Now what the fuck are we gonna do? How are we gonna get dad out? Shit, I need to talk to my boss, see if he can figure out who this bitch is and set up surveillance,” Aden rambles.
“Why don’t you check outside, you know, make sure no one’s lurking around the house,” Brede suggests.
“Yeah, sure. We’ll need disguises from now on when we go out,” Aden tells us. “You know, because we look just alike except I don’t have tattoos. You’re a masochist, by the way, for covering yourself with that crazy shit.” Then he’s gone, stepping out the door.
“He’s lying,” I whisper to Brede as soon as he’s gone.
“I know,” he replies with a sigh, physically deflating. “Maybe I’ve always known and just didn’t want to accept that he’s delusional. And if he is lying, how the fuck are we gonna get my dad out of prison?”
Chapter Fourteen
Blair
The next few days are a blur of planning for Paula and Jim’s cremation and small memorial service. Since he’s wanted, Brede had me go to the funeral home with a fistful of cash to make all the arrangements. He’s understandably upset. One minute he may be quiet and introspective, and then the next, he’s pacing around the hotel room, practically seething with rage, wanting revenge.
