Jagged

storming in.

Without hesitation, he walked right up to Mom and me, grabbed Mom by the back of her neck, and yanked her away so hard she went flying.

Wanda gasped.

Maybelle whispered, “Heavenly Father.”

My body strung tight.

My father’s eyes sliced through the crowd and locked on me. “Look at you. Look at this. Your sister’s dead and you’re yukkin’ it up with beer and booze. What’s the matter with you?”

“Get out,” I whispered.

“I will. Happily. You give me the boy,” he shot back. “He doesn’t need to be around this, and mark my words, girl, the judge will hear about this.”

“Get out,” I repeated, louder this time.

Dad again ignored me. “Waste of time. Waste of space. You always were. Just prove it over and over since you first started breathin’. Just like that sister of yours. Now, give me the boy and I’ll go.”

“Xavier.” Aunt Wilona was there, standing close to Maybelle. “Let’s speak outside.”

Dad turned blazing eyes on his sister and announced, “You’re done. You’ll see that boy again over my dead body.”

Aunt Wilona paled.

“Sir, you really should leave.”

This was said by Nina, who was also now in my huddle, which had been joined by Arlene, Kami, Becca, Mindy, Jenna, and Cotton, with Max and Jeff patrolling the outside, bodies loose and in motion, eyes locked on Dad. I felt a presence at my back and I didn’t have to look to know it was Greg.

Dad spared Nina barely a glance before he looked back to Aunt Wilona.

“I gave orders,” he reminded her.

“He missed his mother’s funeral,” she returned, her back slamming straight. “He was not going to miss this.”

“That isn’t your decision,” Dad fired back.

“You’re wrong. I gave him bottles. I changed his diapers. I cooked his dinners. I made his lunches. I baked his birthday cakes,” she retorted. “You simply showed every once in a while, acted an ass, confused him, didn’t let his grandmother love on him, like she was tainted by his mother when his mother was tainted by you, and you were a general all-around pain in the behind, so I think I definitely get to make those decisions.”

“You’d be wrong,” he clipped.

“Since I got my boy, I’ve never been wrong, Xavier, and you’ve never been right,” she leaned in and hissed.

And it was then, Dad lost it. Given his target, not one to miss that kind of opportunity, his hand went down and across his front, then he swiftly and powerfully backhanded Aunt Wilona across the cheek.

She went flying and the crowd around us flew into motion but Dad had a lot of practice with this and no sooner had he clocked Aunt Wilona, he took two steps my way and suddenly had his hand wrapped tight around my throat. His other hand was up and fisted in my hair, pulling hard, making pain shaft over my scalp and down the back of my neck as his hand at my throat squeezed, this making it hard to breathe.

“Take your hands off her,” I heard Max growl from close even as I felt Greg move in behind me, his hand at my dad’s hand in my hair, but Dad had such a firm hold, there was nothing Greg could do without hurting me more.

Dad’s face was in mine, oblivious to all this, his eyes blazing with his brand of righteous fury that I’d seen time and again, remembered like he’d burned that look into me just yesterday, and I stood immobile with terror.

“You think to take my money?” Dad snarled in my face.

“Get… your hands… off her,” Max bit out and he was even closer but I didn’t tear my eyes away from my father’s.

No, that wasn’t right. I couldn’t.

“My lawyers say we’re gonna have to sell our house, pay back what they say we owe you,” he spat.

I tried to suck in air as his hand squeezed.

“Got one more chance,” Max warned.

“Sell our cars, sell fuckin’ everything,” Dad clipped, yanking on my hair and I whimpered.

“Greg, move away. Jeff, get behind Zara,” Max ordered.

I stared into Dad’s eyes.

“You’re a piece of shit,” he whispered, his voice filled with venom. “Your sister was a piece of shit. The minute your mother pushed the both of you out, I should have done what you do with a piece of shit. I should have flushed you away.”

That was when I’d had enough.

My knee moving without me telling it to do so, I brought it up, brutal and sharp, and connected violently with my father’s privates.

He grunted in pain, released me instantly to curl into himself, but he didn’t get there.

That was because he was yanked back by his hair, turned, and Ham had his hand in a death grip at his throat. Ham was advancing, shoving Dad toward the front door even as he rumbled in an absolute, downright terrifying tone, “Get Zander clear.”

My hands went to my throat. Maybelle and Wanda came to me. I sucked in breath and watched Max, Latrell, Cotton, Jeff, Greg, and Pete follow Ham as he shoved Dad out the front door.

“You okay, hon?” Wanda asked.

I didn’t answer.

My head turned to see Mindy, Becca, and Aunt Wilona guiding a pale-faced, terrified-looking Zander down the hall. Ascertaining he was in good hands, I ran out the front door.

I also had to run through the front yard because Ham had Dad pinned to the side of an SUV parked at the front of the house. Dad’s face was so red, it was purpling, his mouth opening and closing and Ham was in his face, his hand still wrapped around Dad’s throat. He was obviously squeezing. Hard.

The men were huddling close and I tried to push through but they stood firm so I could find no opening.

“Reece, stand down,” I heard Max order.

With a mighty heave, I shoved between Latrell and Pete.

“Reece, Zara,” Max warned, telling him I was there.

Dad made a choking noise.

Ham didn’t move.

“Reece.” Jeff got close and Jeff, incidentally and at that moment frighteningly, was an officer of the law. “This is not the way you want this to end.”

At these words, Ham shoved Dad off so hard Dad’s head cracked against the SUV.

He stepped away, scowling his scary, scarier, scariest by far scowl at my dad.

I got close and plastered myself against his side. The instant I did, Ham’s arm slid around my shoulders and he tucked me even closer but his eyes didn’t leave Dad. Still glowering at Dad, Ham then lifted his other hand and rested it curled light, warm, and I could tell he wanted it to be healing, at the front of my throat.

Finally, he whispered to Dad in his still scary voice, “You put your hands on her.”

Dad had both hands to his throat and was sucking in air, slightly bent, but he was still able to glare at Ham.

“First time you put your hands on her that she remembers, she was five,” Ham announced.

A squeak came from the crowd surrounding this tableau as well as some movement, gasps, and whispers but I knew that squeak was Mom’s.