“Well, he lied! And I had sex with him, Dad, like you had sex with Sinh.”
“Sinh’s an adult.”
“Sinh’s an arsehole!”
His face hardened. “Leave Sinh out of this, he’s done nothing to you.”
“He told Markus about Dante showing up here!”
My father blinked, his face surprised. “He promised he wouldn’t speak to Markus about that. I made him promise.”
“He doesn’t give a shit about promises, like he doesn’t give a shit about you,” I spat. “He’s just using you for money.”
“That’s not true, he loves me.”
“How can you say that? He confirmed my affair, probably doing it to get rid of me. He’s manipulating you, spending all your money, and with me out of the picture, he’ll clean you out.”
My father scowled. “Stop talking nonsense. This has got nothing to do with Sinh and everything to do with you. He may have broken his promise, but right now, I don’t blame him. Fifteen, Clara. How could you have sex with a child?”
I brought a shaky hand to my face, his words knocking the anger out of me. Because he was right. How could I?
“Dante’s not a child,” I finally said, the word clawing at me, suggesting someone much younger.
“He is.”
“Not to me. Plus, you sometimes call me a child.”
“Clara, you’re reaching.”
“No, I’m not.” I started babbling, trying to make him understand that I didn’t see Dante that way. He was someone I could connect with, someone way beyond his years. “Not only that,” I continued. “He looks older. I thought he was a senior when I first met him.”
“The problem isn’t his looks, it’s his age, and he certainly acts like a fifteen-year-old. When he came over the other day, his behaviour was extremely childish, which was why I asked his age. Not only that, he kept banging his head against my door, upset over seeing you with Markus. Kids don’t think like us, Clara. Some may look older, but their brains haven’t fully developed. What you’re doing with this boy could permanently damage him.”
“It won’t. He wants to be with me and I want to be with him. I came home to ask Markus for a divorce.”
His eyes widened. “You can’t give up your marriage for a fifteen-year-old.”
“I don’t have a marriage anymore!” I yelled. “And I don’t care, I don’t fucking care. All I care about is Dante. I love him. I fucking love him, Dad.”
“Oh God, Clara,” he said, pulling me into his arms.
For the first time in a long time, I didn’t stiffen. Instead, I buried my face in his chest, sobbing against it, crying for what had happened today and everything that I knew would follow.
My father ran a hand down my hair. “Sssh, Clara, we’ll work something out.”
I pulled away from him and shook my head. “You can’t fix this, Dad. I left a message on the principal’s phone, admitting to kissing Dante.”
“Did you tell him you did more than kiss the boy?”
“No, but he’ll believe Dante’s uncle after my confession. Markus also said he’d back the man up if Mr. Rakete chose to press charges against me.”
“Maybe if I have a talk with the uncle—”
“No, Dad, he’s a gang member. He’s dangerous, not only that, this could affect your career.”
“I don’t care about my career! I care about you! I lost you once, I don’t want to lose you again.” He grabbed my arms, his features twisting with grief. “I’ll do anything for you.”
“I’m sorry, Dad, but there’s nothing you can do. Just let me go.”
“But I just got you back.”
“I won’t be gone forever. I just need to escape for a while, need time to think things over,” I said, wishing I could see Dante before I left, even though I knew I couldn’t. Once the authorities found out about our relationship, there was no way they’d allow me to go near him again, not only that, his uncle would stand in my way, his father too. The thought physically hurt, twisting my stomach, making me want to scream that it wasn’t fair.
“Where will you go?” my father asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe the Far North.” Somewhere I could get lost in. “I’ve always wanted to see Hokianga and Kerikeri, even Kaitaia.”
“How long will you be gone for?”
I shrugged, having no idea.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out his keys. “Take my car. Yours is on its last legs.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You’re coming back, aren’t you?”
I nodded, knowing he was right. I couldn’t hide forever, not even in the Far North.
“Then take my car.”
I shook my head. “No, Dad, I’ve taken enough from you.” I bent down and zipped up my suitcase.
He pulled me up and wrapped his arms around me. “I love you, Clara.”
I gave him a squeeze back, now full out crying. “I love you too, Dad.” Before I lost my nerve, I extracted myself and grabbed my suitcase handle, walking out of my room, out of my house, and out of the life I knew.
31
Dante
Surreal.
Everything was surreal. People were screaming, guns were blasting, glass shattering, and my best friend was lying on the floor.
Shot.
Killer pushed me away from Jasper, desperately trying to stop him from bleeding out, the bullet having hit his stomach. I stared in muted silence as Jasper’s blood spread out like a radius circle on a map, turning his grey shirt red.
There was so much blood.
It was also on my hands, on Killer’s hands too.
Red.
Everywhere.
There were also tears, filling Jasper’s eyes, running down his cheeks. Tears for his father.
Shot dead.
I couldn’t comprehend how it could be possible. Hemi was a mountain of a man, someone who couldn’t be taken down.
Not in my world.
Not in my mind.
I’d known him my whole life. Had expected him to always be there. Cleaning up after my dad’s messes, taking my crap, making sure Jasper didn’t do anything stupid ... being there when we all needed him. But he wasn’t here anymore.
He was...
Gone.
My dad dropped down next to me. “Are you all right, son? Are you hurt?”
I stared into his wild eyes, not saying anything.
Not understanding anything.
“You’re in shock,” he said.
Killer started screaming for someone to help Jasper. Kapo’s woman rushed towards my dad, holding out a first aid kit, since he was the one who usually patched people up. My dad took the kit, ignoring her questions about where Kapo was.
Another one dead.
“Move, Killer,” my dad said gruffly.
Killer yelled out, “No!” He curled his body around his nephew, blocking my dad from helping, probably thinking he was protecting Jasper, even though he was doing the opposite.
My dad placed a hand on Killer’s arm. “I just wanna help him,” he said, softening his tone.
Killer didn’t let go of Jasper, still shielding his nephew from my dad. The gunfire outside continued, bullets shattering a window nearby.
“You hafta back off, Killer,” my dad said. “He’s bleeding out.”
Killer tightened his grip on Jasper, muttering, “Not you, not you...” my dad’s earlier reaction in the kitchen no doubt behind his refusal, fear motivating him. At times Killer acted like a sexed-up porn star, other times he acted nuts, but right now he reminded me of a child, clinging onto someone he loved for dear life.
He started chanting, “Go away, go away, go away...”
“Killer!” my dad yelled.
Killer jerked in fright.
My dad put his face in front of Killer’s, his expression vicious. “You either let him go or I’ll rip your fuckin’ arms off!”
Killer instantly let go of Jasper and scrambled away from my da
d. He plastered his back against the cloakroom wall, staring at my dad with terrified eyes. It made me wonder whether the guy had a split personality, since he often went from treating my dad like a sex god to a bogeyman, no matter what my dad did.
Ignoring him, my dad went to work on Jasper, checking the wound, his short time in the army being put to good use. With gunshots still going off outside, he bandaged Jasper’s wound fast, barking, “We needa get him to the hospital and within the hour.”
A loud boom thundered, jolting all of us.
“They’ve got an RPG!” someone hollered from the lounge.
My dad locked eyes with Killer. “Help me carry Jasper out the back way.”
Killer didn’t reply, just kept on staring at my dad.
“Killer!” my dad yelled. “Man the fuck up and help me carry him!”
Nodding like a bobble-head, Killer scampered forward, grabbing under his nephew’s arms. My dad took hold of Jasper’s legs, the both of them heaving his bulk off the floor. Jasper didn’t make a sound, my mate having slipped into unconsciousness.
A volley of gunshots hit a row of windows as we entered the bar’s lounge, dropping a couple of the men shooting out of them. Glass sprayed over their fallen bodies like confetti, for some reason reminding me of the Santa Parade. My dad said something, but I continued to stare as more glass sprayed out from a neighbouring window, bullets hitting the wall by the bar.
“Dante!” my dad yelled.
I startled, the memory gone in the blink of an eye.
“Dante!” my dad repeated. “Follow us.”
I did, shadowing my dad and Killer as they carried Jasper into the passageway. A boom sounded above our heads. The lights shook and little bits of plaster drifted down from the ceiling like snow. Further up the passage, Rafael Sousa emerged from the staircase that led to the second floor. He was clutching a gun and swearing up a storm.
His head snapped to us. “We’ve gotta get the fuck outta here, we’re outnumbered.”
A group of women rushed out of the staircase with Rafael’s twin, the group heading for the door that led to the garage workshop, one of them holding a baby. More gunfire came from above, someone obviously having stayed behind. A female cried out, then the gunfire upstairs went dead.
Rafael ran after his twin, stopping to hold the door open for us. My dad and Killer carried Jasper through it, entering the workshop. I followed them on autopilot, still too stunned to understand everything that was happening, especially the chaos spread out before me. People were scrambling for their vehicles, jumping in cars, vans, on the back of motorbikes, some even leaving on foot. Luckily the attack hadn’t reached the rear of the building, since the garage doors were scarily wide open, leaving us like sitting ducks if the DC made it out back.
“The truck!” my dad barked, steering Killer towards a medium-sized truck. It was advertising a carpet company, my dad not having finished the paint job yet. “Open the back, Rafael.”
Rafael did, getting yelled at by his twin, who was sitting on his mountain bike at the far end of the workshop. Mattie was hollering at Rafael to get his arse over there. Rafael yelled back for Mattie to leave without him.
As my dad and Killer slid Jasper into the truck, Rafael turned his focus on Killer. “Come with me, Killer. We’ll go out the back way on my mountain bike.”
Killer shook his head and climbed into the back of the truck, giving Rafael a strange look, probably wondering why he was offering after he’d kicked him.
My dad cut in, “Raf, take Dante instead.”
“No!” I snapped, climbing in after Killer.
“Dante—”
“I’m stayin’ with you,” I said, refusing to budge.
Across the garage, Mattie started yelling even louder at his twin, refusing to leave without him. Grimacing, Rafael ran for Mattie, who was revving his mountain bike, while his chick climbed onto the bitch seat.
“Have ya seen Hemi?” Killer asked, not having seen him shot.
“He’s gone,” my dad replied, looking grief-stricken.
“Good.” Killer turned to Jasper, clearly misinterpreting gone. He probably thought his brother had left the compound. And in a way, Hemi had, his soul no longer here.
My dad closed the door, shutting us in the truck. As he ran around to the driver’s side, I moved to the back window, watching as Mattie, his chick, and his twin took off out of the garage workshop on the mountain bikes.
As my dad started the truck’s engine, Ngaire appeared through the workshop door, limping to her car. I lost sight of her as the truck lurched forward. The other cars ahead of us turned right, heading straight for the battle, while everyone on foot or with motorbikes slipped out through the rear fence. There was no road out that way, only rough patches of ground in between the vines.
My dad followed the cars since it was the only way to get Jasper out. I glanced down at my mate. The amount of blood discolouring his mid-section terrified me, only the light rise and fall of his chest giving me hope he could still be saved.
My dad accelerated as he passed the clubhouse, yelling, “Down!”
Gunfire hit the side of the truck. I yelled out and flung myself to the floor, covering my head as my dad swerved. He was swearing his head off, a constant stream of the foulest language I’d ever heard spewing from his mouth. The truck was hitting one thing after another, my dad probably ploughing through everything in its path. A loud screech of metal followed, suggesting he’d also hit the fence, then a thud, reminding me of a basketball bouncing off a car, just a large one.
“Take that, you DC cunt!” my dad hollered, telling me it was a someone, not a something.
I scrambled to the back window, seeing utter chaos sprawled out behind us. Not only was the gate down, there was a massive hole in the solid fence. Cars were piled up inside the car park, some of the ones that had left before us not having broken through. People were hiding behind their vehicles, shooting at each other. It made me wonder how my dad had even managed to get us out, no, I didn’t need to wonder, since he ploughed through everything in life.
I turned back to Killer. He was leaning over Jasper, hugging him, the love I hadn’t realised he held for his nephew shining through.
The truck jolted as my dad took a corner too fast, more gunfire starting up outside. One of the back windows shattered, a bullet piercing it. Killer swore as it hit him in the arm. He let go of Jasper and wrenched his shirt off, binding it around the wound. As if it were no more than a scratch, he went right back to hugging Jasper, muttering, “You’ll be all right, Jazzy, you’ll be all right.”
I looked out the broken window. Whoever had shot at us was long gone, the compound receding in the distance.
“You lot all right in the back?” my dad called to us.
“Killer’s been hit in the arm,” I replied.
“Just the arm,” Killer said in a singsong voice. “Just the arm.” He laughed, though it wasn’t a happy sound.
“You tied it up?” my dad asked, taking another corner.
Killer nodded as though my dad could see him.
“Well, have ya?”
“Yeah, I fuckin’ nodded,” Killer replied.
“I can’t see you, dumbass.” A siren cut my dad off. “Shit! Pigs!” He slowed down, muttering, “Go past, go past, go past.”
A flash of lights and sirens shot past us. More followed. I looked out the back window. Cop cars and two vans headed straight for the shootout.
“Thank Christ,” my dad said, sounding relieved they hadn’t stopped us.
“Do ya know where my bro went?” Killer asked, confirming he’d misunderstood my dad earlier. Or maybe my dad had been ambiguous on purpose, more concerned with getting us out than dealing with a grief-stricken Killer. Because, although I hadn’t realised how much Killer cared for his nephew, especially with the way he mocked Jasper, he definitely loved his brother.
“I’ll tell ya after we get Jasper to safety,” my dad said.
“Why c
an’t ya tell me now?” Killer replied.
“We just needa stay the fuck calm for Jasper’s sake, ’kay?”
“What’s that s’posed to mean?” When my dad didn’t answer, Killer’s attention moved to me. “Tell me.”
I kept my mouth shut, not knowing whether I should say anything, since Killer’s reactions were always unpredictable, even sometimes scary.
“Is he still in the compound?” Killer asked, now sounding panicked. When I grimaced, he turned towards the driver’s seat. “You fuckin’ left him?!”
“I didn’t have a choice,” my dad replied. “I’m sorry, Killer, when I said gone I meant dead.”
Killer went silent, his expression going completely blank, then it cracked, his face crumpling. He started shaking his head. “No, no, he can’t be.”
“He is,” my dad replied, his voice breaking. “The DC shot him in the chest.”
“Stop the truck!” Killer yelled.
“We can’t, we hafta get Jasper to hospital.”
Killer went for the back door. I grabbed his arm as he opened it, the crazy sonofabitch looking like he was going to jump. He yelled out in pain, my hand accidentally getting his bullet wound. He pulled free and curled up into a ball.
My dad slowed down. “Close the fuckin’ door!”
I did, then went to Killer. “Shit, sorry. You all right?”
He shook his head and started sobbing.
“What do you want me to do?” I said, feeling bad for hurting him.
His eyes latched onto me, the emotion in them immeasurable. “To tell me Hemi’s alive,” he choked out.
I didn’t reply, realising it wasn’t his arm that was upsetting him.
32
Phelia
I was starting to question whether Jack really was a cop. Because he’d been gone for over fifteen minutes now, leaving me and Annabelle standing in the bathroom, not knowing what was happening. And from the look on Annabelle’s face, she was also worried.
“Do ye think something happened to Jack?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I’m worried he’s playin’ us.”
“How?”
“Maybe he lied to make us stay put until Jonah or Reaper gets back.”
Shattered Poetry (Broken Lives #2) Page 33
