Page 20

Chapter 20

Dorian

“ L ook, cuz. I need to get going. It was nice chatting with you and all, but I have a mark to catch up, and if I don’t hurry, Malachi will have all the fun. See ya round,” I spit out after standing here and chatting for the last fucking hour at least.

The one thing about this family I hate the most is the Midwest goodbyes. They take for fucking ever.

Goodbye.

Side conversation that lasts about twenty minutes.

Another goodbye, including awkward hugs.

An “Oh shit, did I ever tell you story?”

Another goodbye.

A “No, seriously, I really am going this time.”

A goodbye.

Making a plan to meet up another time.

The final goodbye.

Fucking exhausting is what it is.

“God damn,” I mutter to myself, pulling another cigarette out of my pocket and lighting it up.

I inhale the smoke deeply, letting it fill my lungs thoroughly as the slight rush of nicotine invades my senses. It’s like a hit of caffeine on steroids that helps stave away the exhaustion that's encroaching quickly. It’s getting late, and the late December cold has seeped into my very bones. Everything hurts, and it's getting harder and harder to lift my snow-laden boots through the snow.

In the time I stood around talking, most of Malachi’s tracks were swallowed up by blowing snow. Thankfully, there’s still some left because I wasn’t even paying attention when he stormed off earlier.

As I trudge through the snow-covered tracks, pausing every few seconds to remove my mask and take a drag, I find myself lost in my thoughts.

Why do I continue with this barbaric tradition? I mean, I do enjoy it in the end, but why? Why do I allow this to continue? So many young lives are lost every year. And for what? A good fuck and a little blood. I can get that nightly down at the club.

I continue pondering my whys. Going back and forth between the pros and cons. Why do there have to be so many pros in this situation? Fucking Christ, my family is one fucked up bunch.

Looking up, I see that I’ve wandered onto the property of Grandpa Black’s cabin. I haven’t been out here in many years since he went all cannibal lecter on us. The trail I’ve been following goes straight up the porch, no turns, nothing. They must be inside.

Hopefully, Raven is still alive.

By the smell of food cooking in the air, I have a feeling good ol’ gramps might have gotten to her first. I just hope that Malachi isn’t being subjected to his level of debauchery.

*Knock Knock

My knuckles rap off the old, weathered wood, resounding through the space beyond. I don’t hear any voices from beyond, but I do hear some scampering around.

“Let me in, you fucks!” I holler at whoever is inside.

Moments later, the door swings open, and I’m slapped in the face by whatever concoction is brewing from within. It smells phenomenal, and my stomach growls loudly.

“I don’t know how I feel about eating with you, gramps,” I call out, stepping into the room.

My head swings from one side to the other and lands quickly on the couch.

Malachi.

And then everything goes black.