Chapter Eight

Ever

J ust as my eyes start to droop closed, ready to sink into the oblivion of a nightmare-filled sleep, an almighty bang rocks the trailer, causing me to shoot up in bed. There is a brief moment of silence before all hell breaks loose, and the silence is replaced with gunfire and shouting. I can just about make out someone shouting ‘police,’ and I heave a sigh of relief. I quickly take my two knives out of my sleeves and hide them under a loose baseboard, covering them with my English book and the only spare hoodie I have, just in case.

Then, I throw myself down on the floor and place my hands behind my head. I am not being shot in the crossfire, most likely on purpose by one of my father’s employees. I know an awful lot of information that could get a fuck-ton of people in trouble.

This isn’t the first time there has been a raid, but I haven’t said anything before about what I know. I guess because I was worried that it would somehow get back to my father that I had talked, and I would end up dead or worse. I always figured as soon as I was eighteen and could get away without the police bringing me back for being a runaway, that I'd move as far away as possible while still staying in the U.S., then go to the police in whatever state I ended up in and try to report all I know about it there.

I would have a slim chance of escaping with my life that way or at least have a decent enough head start. However, after what my father said earlier about whoring me out, I am seriously considering telling the police everything now. So long as all the leading players have been raided and not just my father.

It is not a risk I am willing to take if they haven’t.

I wouldn’t put it past him to decide to whore me out before I turn eighteen. It’s a small mercy that he hasn’t already, and I feel like I am walking on a knife edge as it is. As soon as I turn eighteen, I can escape, and no one can bring me back, but if he decides to put me to work on my back before that and I run, I’ll just be brought straight back here, and I shudder to think of the consequences that would await me.

I will do anything and everything I can to prevent that.

Even though I am expecting it, the sudden crash of my bedroom door flying open still makes me jump. The locks easily give way, and I let out an embarrassing squeak. It is silent for a moment before I feel a soft touch on my wrist, causing me to lurch away, a knee-jerk reaction I have absolutely no control over. I don’t particularly appreciate being touched.

“Hey, it's going to be okay, young lady. You don’t need to be doing that. We need to take you down to the station though, so can you stand up for me?” A kind voice asks me.

I slowly peer up at the officer, dressed in full tactical gear, as I try to determine if it's some kind of trick.

I keep my hands up where he can see them at all times and slowly stand, taking the opportunity to look over the officer in front of me. He has got a kind face, and his eyes soften as they study me. He has soft lines around his mouth and eyes that tell me he smiles a lot. I can only just make these details out from behind the helmet of his tactical gear, but living the life I do, it is essential to notice the small details. They can tell you a lot about a person and what they are really like.

He smiles softly at me.

“I'm Jim. I need to take you down to the station and ask some questions. Is that okay?”

I just nod and walk out of my room ahead of him, it's not like I really have a choice, but I appreciate him asking me if it was okay anyway. I rarely get asked if I am comfortable with something happening these days. As we walk through the main part of the trailer, I don’t look at the bodies on the floor and keep my gaze straight ahead, ignoring the other officers milling about, some in tactical gear and some in the white suits of the forensic team. I've been around this sort of violence ever since my mom died and my father went off the reservation. I learned pretty damn quickly it is never a good idea to look.

“Is my father. . .?” I have to ask. It’s like a burning need to know if he has survived or not, and my freedom relies on the cop’s answer.

“He was shot down when he fired at the officers. I'm sorry.” He says it in order to comfort me, but there is no truth behind the words. He feels no sorrow for my father’s fate.

A quick glance in his eyes shows me that he is sorry for the perceived effect it will have on me though. He's a good cop.

“Okay.” I nod, unable to say anything else because I am a terrible person. My father’s just been killed, and I'm relieved.

So incredibly fucking relieved.

The cop eyes me warily as I get into the back of a police cruiser, and I can’t say I blame him. Mine is not the usual reaction someone has when a member of their family dies. We may have been bound by blood, but that man was not my family, and if the cop knew what my supposed father had put me through, he would probably be wondering why I’m not dancing and shouting with joy.

Thankfully, they have been watching my father and his associates long enough to know that they need to put me in an unoccupied cop car. I don’t want to be near any of my father’s surviving associates for obvious reasons, but more than that, I can feel the heat of their glares from here. They think I tipped off the cops.

Maybe I should have, but I didn’t. It would make no difference to them if I were actually bothered enough to tell them that. They have already painted me as guilty. Which means they will be planning their revenge and ways to punish me for a misdeed I didn’t even commit. I can say for sure that it wouldn’t end well for me if I were placed in one of the cars with them.

I just want to be free from this life.

I want to graduate and go to college, then have a simple and predictable future, but most of all, I want to be safe, and that is never going to happen if I don’t take risks in the first place. A dark part of me whispers that I could never really settle for a mundane life. I like punishing those who prey on innocents. The darkness inside me has grown over the years spent working for my father and being forced to do things that I would never have chosen to do. Instead of fearing the dark though, I welcome it, and if I am completely honest, I fucking revel in it.

No, the white picket fence life may not be for me, but I can punish those who deserve it on my terms. I can keep myself safe.

My resolve hardens as we pull up to the police station, and the cop lets me out of the car. As he is escorting me inside, he remains respectful of my aversion to touch and keeps a respectable distance between us. He ensures we aren’t touching, but he is close enough to grab me if I decide to run. That small amount of respect that he gives me is more than I have been shown in a long time and solidifies my decision.

I turn to him.

“Was the raid just on my father’s place?”

He watches me cautiously but replies, “No.”

Nodding, I state firmly as I bend the truth slightly. “I will tell you everything, his associates, the drop-off points. I will tell you everything I know. I will even testify, but I want all charges against me dropped. I did nothing willingly.”