Page 49 of Toxic
“When I turned ten, my father nearly beat her to death, but she was okay enough to go out andoverdose.”
This admission shocks me into a stunned silence as I remember the way he looked at me when he first saw the bruises on my arms. Had he seen his mother in me? Is that why he chose me out of everyone to help himescape?
I clear my throat. “Andyourdad?”
“He went away for a while, and I went to live with my grandma, who wasn’t much better than the both of them.” He looks at me, his eyes bright and full of mischief now. “Your turn. Tell me something no oneknows.”
This one I have to think about, and when I do, I start talking before I can think better of it. “Vic got me pregnant last year. He didn’t know because I was afraid to tell him about it. He didn’t want kids, or at least that was the impression I got, so I was waiting for the right time to tell him.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I wipe it away. “I didn’t get the chance. I did something . . . I can’t remember what it was, but it pissed him off enough that he beat me. I wasn’t that far along, but the baby didn’t survive. I kept it from him because he didn’t deserve to know. As far as I was concerned, he didn’t deserve to be that child’sfather.”
When I glance up, I find that the SUV isn’t moving anymore, Gracin’s pulled it over to the shoulder. We rock toastop.
“What are you doing?” I ask as he unbuckles and throws up the centerconsole.
He undoes my seatbelt and pulls me across the console, so I’m inhislap.
“What I should have done a long time ago,” he says and wraps me in his arms. “It wasn’t your fault. It was mine, and I promise I’ll do everything I can to make it uptoyou.”
He holds me for a long time. Until the tears dry and my emotionssteady.
“The only way you can make it up to me is to make sure they pay for whattheydid.”
His gaze searches my own, and he nods. “Theywill.”
The barwe pull up to an hour later is like a thousand others. It looks more like a shack than an actual place of business, but the dozen or so cars parked in the parking lot and the music blasting from the open windows says it isn’t going to close anytime soon. Alcohol is one of those things that will never go out of favor. There will always be someone steeped in misery and in need of something to drown theirsorrows.
Before I open the truck door, Gracin puts a hand on my arm and says, “Wait for a second, we should talk before wegoin.”
I flash him a wobbly smile. “I think we’ve talked enoughfornow.”
He shakes his head. “I mean about what we do when we get inthere.”
Oh. That makes sense, so I nod and wait for Gracin to fill me in ontheplan.
“If we’re lucky, none of Danny’s friends willrecognizeus.”
“And ifwe’renot?”
I should be terrified by the prospect, but I can’t deny the buzz of anticipation just beneath my skin. I don’t know if I’m excited about the idea of revenge, thrilled to be outside and doing something about what happened to me, or if I’m just high on the intensity that’s rolling off Gracin in waves. It doesn’t matter. I’m itching to get inthere.
He doesn’t answer my question, but he doesn’t have to, the gun he stuffs in a holster underneath his shirt says enough.He hands me another, and I hide it at mywaistband.
“Just listen to what I tell you to do, and we’ll be fine.” I nod again, and he continues. “They won’t know who I am here, so I’m going to join the card game, and you’re going to sit where I tell you and be quiet until I speak toyou,okay?”
I make a zipper motion over my lips. “Whateveryousay.”
He considers me for a second. “Why can’t you be like this allthetime?”
“What fun would that be?” I say and then open my door andhopout.
“I’m starting to think this was a bad idea,” he says as we walk to thefrontdoor.
The sign over the porch says simply, Ray’s, and the interior is as unassuming as the exterior. Since the only light in the place is coming from the backsplash behind the counter and a few ancient-looking fixtures above that must be on a dimmer, the inside is as dark as the inside of a cave. The smell isn’t much better. Dirt, dust, man, and sweat assault my nose, making me have to work hard to keep from wrinkling it in revulsion. Peanut shells crunch underfoot as we cross the room to the bar where two lone men sit sipping their respective drinks. Music plays on low from an old-fashioned jukebox tucked in thecorner.
A woman in a skimpy tank top with skin in desperate need of moisturizer sidles up to us and plops down a rag. “What can I getcha?” she asks around the cigarette clutched betweenherlips.
“Beer, whatever you have on tap, for me,” Gracinreplies.
“The same for me,” I say, pleased to find my voice is steady despite mynerves.