“You can’t expect me to just sit by and watch you die!”
I start walking away from the car into the f
orest of trees behind the house. She chases after me.
“Langston!”
I stop abruptly, and she slams into my back.
“I won’t watch you die.”
“The fact that you think there is even a chance that he’ll kill me tells me all I need to know.”
She huffs. “That’s not fair. I think you can handle him. I’m just saying if he brings bodyguards with him, then it won’t be a fair fight, and I won’t just sit by and let you die.”
I should be thankful for her comments, that she cares enough to not let me die. In reality, my father could bring all the men in the house with him and I would still win. Liesel doesn’t know the depths of my pain. She doesn’t know how Enzo, Zeke, and I have trained for a day like this. My father and the men in the house are nothing but drunk fools. They don’t know how to fire a gun or win in hand-to-hand combat.
I do.
There is no way I’ll lose.
“Just stay hidden,” I say, and then I storm off.
Liesel stops in the brush as I walk up the hill to the house where the party is still going strong.
I stand on the edge of the patio, just past the pool, and I wait. People don’t pay me any attention, but I’m not here for their attention. I’m here for one man’s—my father.
Finally, I spot him at the patio bar. Surprise, surprise.
I make my way over, ensuring that no one notices me. I need to keep my alibi alive.
If needed, Liesel will testify that I was with her all night, making out at her house.
I come up to my father from behind.
“We need to talk,” I say.
He snaps at my words, turning around as he stumbles on his feet. I’d rather do this when he’s sober. I want to be able to look him in the eye and know that he understands exactly what I’m about to do to him and why when I kill him. But if I waited until he was sober, I’d be waiting forever.
“My fists will be happy to talk to you,” he turns, glaring down at me.
My eyes cut to the house filled with people. “Good luck kicking my ass here without one of these people hearing. Your wife wouldn’t be happy if one of her guests saw or heard you beating your son.”
“No one cares about trash like you.”
Just then, a couple nearby notices the tension in my father’s gaze.
My father realizes he can’t give me the beating he’s itching to give me here.
He grabs my bicep and starts yanking me down the hill behind the house, just like I knew he would when I goaded him. He continues to hold onto me even though I’m more than capable of getting free.
We are so close to the lake now.
Just a little further.
I pull against his hold, knowing it will only make him want to yank me further.
It does. He pulls me further until we are at the edge of the water, hidden from view of the party by the rows and rows of trees. Not even the moonlight will illuminate us.