Me: Who the fuck is this?
Unknown Number: You know who it is. I think you’ve always known, Son.
No.
Numbing fear rolls over me like a fog, engulfing me. I gasp for breath as I try to make sense of the text. It can’t be. It’s not him. Not Colin. Not my…real father. My throat aches to yell out for Dad or Ryan or Canyon to help me. All I can do is stare at my phone as the dots begin moving again.
Unknown Number: I’m at the back door. Let me in.
At the back door.
Oh, God.
I’m once again a small boy, overwhelmed by the scent of my mother’s booze and the lingering stink of her cigarettes. The memories are so real I can hear the muted squeaks of the mice within the walls. I can feel the wetness of my piss-soaked pajama pants.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It’s soft enough Ginger and Nutmeg don’t hear from Dad’s bedroom.
He’s here. He’s really here.
Absently, I tug at the silver chain hanging from my neck. Before Mom left me for good with “Uncle Quinn,” she’d unhooked the chain, slipped it on me, and ruffled my hair in one of the rare displays of affection from her I can remember. That was it. The only thing I had to remember her by.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Unknown Number: Let me in, or I’ll force my way in. The choice is yours. Either cause a scene or don’t.
Me: Why? Are you going to hurt me?
Unknown Number: I’ll never forgive her for making you fear me. Open the door, Alister.
“Get me my money, Tammy,” Colin says, staring at me with an angry scowl, “or I’ll take it out on the boy.” He flips out a sharp knife with his other hand, bringing it to my chest. “I could take payment by carving out his fucking heart.”
I rise on shaky legs, trying desperately to shake the memories off, shocked at the fact I’m really going to do this. I’m really going to open the door and face Colin—the man with the same eyes as me but who always scared the shit out of me. He makes it sound as though Mom always filled my head with the fear of him, but that’s not true. The man was terrifying anytime I had to encounter him. Indecision wars through me, my hand frozen on the door handle.
“Open the door.” The muffled voice through the glass has me trembling. It’s the same one as before—the same voice with the same authority I remember.
I flip the lock and twist the handle before taking a step back. Bracing myself, I do my best to prepare for the worst. Colin pushes open the door and steps inside. Looks could be deceiving because, at first glance, he looks like he could be one of Dad’s colleagues. Black slacks, shiny dress shoes, and a dark gray button-up with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He’s perfectly put together, not at all how I remembered as a child. His dark hair matches mine at my roots. It’s the sole reason I started bleaching my hair. I’d woken up one day, having hit puberty, and looked far too like my biological father than I cared to.
“Still not as tall as your old man,” he says, his lips curling into a grin.
“Y-You’re not—”
“I am,” he clips out, his tone all business. His gaze drifts over the living room before landing back on me. “I suppose he took good care of you in my stead.”
“Just go.” My voice is nothing but a whisper. “Please.”
His soulless eyes narrow on me. “Nonsense. You’re my son. I’ve come to retrieve you. Take you back home to St. Louis. Teach you the family business.”
I’m shaking my head as he speaks. “N-No. I don’t want to go with you.”
He clenches his jaw, a brief flash of annoyance flickering over his features. “Don’t act so surprised. I texted you. Tried to prepare you.”
“You were texting me this whole time?” I gape at him. “You threatened me?”
“No,” he growls. “The promises to see you on your birthday were me. The threats must have been Joseph. He was one of my men I’d recruited to find you, get your number and school schedule, and keep watch over you. But, he decided to use you against me in some effort to destroy everything I built.” His eyes narrow, darkness glimmering in his gaze. “I didn’t know he was also texting you and fucking stalking you, but he paid for crossing me.”
“I think you should go.”
He takes a step forward and cocks his head to the side, studying me. “He hurt you. Joseph hurt you to get to me. But I took care of it.”
Quickly, I scramble to piece together what he’s saying. “W-What?”
Is he saying…
The blood from that man—Joseph—feels like it’s hot and sticky on my skin again. Absently, I reach up to wipe it off, but nothing’s there but my own perspiration.