I take off in a dead run toward the house. I will find out what my father’s intentions were all along. The pain in my limbs and the harshness of the ground beneath my bare feet almost makes me stop running, but I don’t—not when my life depends on it.4EnzoMy body is begging for me to kill someone, something, anything. I want revenge, but more than that, I want answers. I want to know what the fuck happened. Why Mack betrayed me, where Amara is, and if her father actually killed my mom.
Eli called out of the blue this morning, telling me to meet him here today. He has been acting strange, and I’m not sure what to expect. After Mack’s betrayal, my level of trust has dropped substantially, which includes believing anything Eli says. This could be a trap, which is exactly why I didn’t tell Jared to come with me.
Even more suspicious is where I am. John’s house. Amara’s childhood home. As I park the SUV at the end of the driveway, I look down the long dirt road. My leg is still fucked up, but I swallow the pain as I start walking, dragging my leg behind me, a trail of dust in my wake.
I wonder if John is here. I’ve been keeping eyes on this house, and he hasn’t been here in weeks.
If he is now, if he really did kill my mother, I will end him. I will kill him today. I may love Amara, but if her father really killed my mother, there will be no amount of love to make up for the hate surging through me. I would kill her father in a heartbeat, not caring if I hurt her in the process.
My mind wanders. I start thinking about all the things I shouldn’t. Like how many times Amara had walked down this same road as a child. Had she run and skipped or simply walked with her head held high?
In no time at all, my mind snaps back to the present as I come around the bend and catch the first glimpse of the dilapidated farmhouse. It needs work, like serious work. The gutters look as if they haven’t been cleaned in months, and the shutters are falling from the windows. The once white paint is peeling away, making the house look like a grayish speck.
If he was nothing more than a farmer, why does his house look like this? Why does all of this seem ridiculous? Unless Mack was right, and he isn’t a farmer at all. My mind whirls as I get closer to the house.
There is one single vehicle parked in the driveway. Surprisingly, it’s not John’s rusted old truck. It’s a sleek black Lexus.
Slowly, I walk up and around the car, my hand on my gun. I creep up the front steps of the porch. I know the fucker is here and probably sitting in this house, watching and waiting.
The boards underneath my feet creak with every step I take, giving away my presence. Cursing under my breath, because I just lost the element of surprise, I open the front door.
“I knew you would come eventually.” His voice is raspy, and cigar smoke fills my nostrils. I’m not even all the way through the door, and my gun is drawn. Small talk isn’t my thing.
Stepping over the threshold, I take in the house again. It looks very much the same—no one has cleaned up since we left. John’s blood is still staining the floorboards.
“If you knew I was coming, then you should’ve prepared yourself.” My voice is full of anger. Not just because of my feelings toward him—for something he may or may not have done, but because of the situation he brought Amara into. He was reckless, careless, and it was a fucking load coming from someone like me, but even I knew it.
“Prepared for what exactly?” he retorts, smirking at me as he blows a puff of smoke out. I stand at the entrance to the living room. He is dressed in a suit, sitting casually as ever. Long gone is the poor, helpless farmer. Fuck, I should just kill him right now—after all, this is all a ploy.
“You’re dressed for the occasion now, aren’t you?” I mock back. “Black suit for your funeral.”
His eyes grow large as he sets the cigar down on an ashtray. “Why would you be so foolish and kill me when I know where Amara is?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
I’m torn, feeling like I’m being ripped in two directions. I need to find Amara, but the desire to avenge my mother runs deep. That’s what has been the essence of my life for so long. I need to know. I need closure before I can find happiness.
“Because you took more from me than your daughter. Tell me what you know about my mother’s death,” I demand.