No.
The man doing most of the talking slowly stalks toward Uncle Ricco. I desperately shake my head when he pulls a massive knife from where it’s strapped to his leg.
“I’m going to assume Ricco is not only your nephew but your right-hand man, right?” he drawls as if he’s bored.
“This is between you and me,” my grandfather says, his voice an angry rumble.
The man grabs hold of Uncle Ricco’s jaw and presses the gleaming blade to his throat.
Oh, God. No!
An emotion unlike anything I’ve ever felt before snuffs all the light from my life as I watch in absolute horror how my Uncle’s throat is brutally sliced open.
Flashes of Uncle Ricco holding me at Dad’s funeral, buying me a gift to make me smile, telling me a joke to make me laugh – the memories drain the blood from my face as I watch his own spill from his neck.
A scream is ripped from me, and I start fighting with every ounce of strength in my body.
“Fuck you!” Grandpa roars.
My horror-stricken gaze darts between Uncle Ricco, who’s bleeding horribly, and Grandpa as another man kicks him. When Grandpa falls onto his stomach, the man steps on his back to keep him from getting up.
“Fuck you. I’m going to fucking kill you,” Grandpa roars, his face red with rage.
Uncle Ricco makes sickening noises as he tries to breathe, his blood soaking his front and staining the carpet.
No.
No.
No.
Drained of life, my body sags in the hold of my captor, my eyes glued to my dying uncle.
I don’t realize I’m crying until my captor’s tongue flicks against my cheek, catching a teardrop. His voice promises nothing good for me when he taunts, “I’m going to enjoy her.”
Unbearable devastation and raw hopelessness soak deep into my bones, making my body feel twice as heavy.
“Please,” Grandpa begs. “She’s a child, only seventeen.”
All my life, I’ve been protected.
I’ve only had two boyfriends. The furthest I got was second base. Our hands didn’t even stray beneath our clothes. I probably would’ve given Matt my virginity if he didn’t cheat on me with Kaylee. Uncle Ricco spent night after night holding me while I cried my broken heart out.
There were always comforting arms to hold me.
I’ve never had to fight for anything.
I’ve never been exposed to violence.
I’ve never seen death.
Until today.
The man holding me starts to move, dragging me to where the front door used to be. It’s only a hole in the wall now, debris lying everywhere.
“I can wait until she’s eighteen. Watch her blossom like the little rose she is before making her my whore.”
God. No.