Read Online Growing and Kissing by Helena Newbury - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Helena Newbury
Ads: Link
fight on. I’ll take a punch to my jaw, spit out a tooth and smile. But when the pain comes from inside...that’s harder to handle. I can’t deflect it away because it’s already inside me, folding back on itself, and growing stronger and stronger while the thoughts play on endless loop in my mind.
I didn’t help her.
I didn’t help her because I can’t. Because I’m no good for anything.
Because everything I touch, I break.
The only thing I’m good for is smashing shit up.
I stopped the car half a block away because I needed to get my head together. The big V8 rumble died away and the street was silent except for the cicada and a few kids playing on their bikes.
I went around to the trunk and got out my hammer. And the kids fled.
As I hefted the hammer onto my shoulder, blinds were slamming down all along the street. A woman grabbed her cat from the front porch and raced inside her house, her eyes huge with fear.
It’s not the worst thing in the world, having everyone afraid of you. It can even be kind of fun. But you can’t control it. Reputation billows out from you like smoke, impossible to corral. It bothered me that the woman thought I’d hurt her cat, or hurt her. But that was the price of what I did and I’d always accepted it before, even welcomed it. Scared people keep their distance.
Louise, though...she was scared of me but she’d been brave enough to approach me. She’d knocked on my damn door.
And I’d pushed her away.
The anger swelled, filling my heart and lungs.
I knew I was doing the right thing. The only thing. I couldn’t support her crazy scheme. The idea of her locked up in a federal prison, or shot—or worse —by a gang didn’t bear thinking about. But that meant she was going to have to watch her sister die. I’d seen the blonde-haired little thing plenty of times around the block and my stomach knotted at the thought of that bundle of energy lying in a hospital bed. I was going to have to see Louise’s face as the months passed, watch her change as a piece of her was slowly, agonizingly torn out.
And I was going to have to watch it all from a distance. Hell, she’d hate me. She’d blame me because I didn’t help her.
I set my jaw and picked up the pace, stalking along the street towards the target house. The rage was crashing around inside me like a living thing, now.
It needed to be let out.
I reached the house, lifted the sledgehammer from my shoulder, and gripped the shaft in both hands, knuckles white.
This was going to feel good.
The door was steel with a good, solid lock. But I’d done this many times and tonight I was driven by more than just my usual anger. I swung and landed the head of the hammer right at the lock. The steel caved inward like cardboard and the door flew open, bouncing on its hinges. Bright white light streamed out of the doorway and the sidewalk lit up with the shadows of hundreds of swaying marijuana plants. Then two tall, bulky figures were crowding into the doorway.
“Shit,” I heard. “It’s The Irish.”
The one who’d spoken darted back inside, probably to grab a weapon. The other one tried to come out to meet me, which was a mistake. I stepped forward and drove the head of the hammer into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. He staggered back inside and knocked over a table of plants. I followed, moving slowly.
Inside, it was like every grow house I’d ever seen: tables crammed with plants and powerful lights hanging down from the ceiling. The windows were covered in newspaper but they hadn’t done much else to hide the fact they were growing there.
I swung the hammer in a whistling arc that sent it through one of the overhead lights, through the plants, through the table and into the floor below. Sparks spat across the room and dirt showered my chest and arms. That section of the room plunged into darkness. The destruction felt good. I was making my mark.
The guy I’d hit was still holding his stomach and
I didn’t help her.
I didn’t help her because I can’t. Because I’m no good for anything.
Because everything I touch, I break.
The only thing I’m good for is smashing shit up.
I stopped the car half a block away because I needed to get my head together. The big V8 rumble died away and the street was silent except for the cicada and a few kids playing on their bikes.
I went around to the trunk and got out my hammer. And the kids fled.
As I hefted the hammer onto my shoulder, blinds were slamming down all along the street. A woman grabbed her cat from the front porch and raced inside her house, her eyes huge with fear.
It’s not the worst thing in the world, having everyone afraid of you. It can even be kind of fun. But you can’t control it. Reputation billows out from you like smoke, impossible to corral. It bothered me that the woman thought I’d hurt her cat, or hurt her. But that was the price of what I did and I’d always accepted it before, even welcomed it. Scared people keep their distance.
Louise, though...she was scared of me but she’d been brave enough to approach me. She’d knocked on my damn door.
And I’d pushed her away.
The anger swelled, filling my heart and lungs.
I knew I was doing the right thing. The only thing. I couldn’t support her crazy scheme. The idea of her locked up in a federal prison, or shot—or worse —by a gang didn’t bear thinking about. But that meant she was going to have to watch her sister die. I’d seen the blonde-haired little thing plenty of times around the block and my stomach knotted at the thought of that bundle of energy lying in a hospital bed. I was going to have to see Louise’s face as the months passed, watch her change as a piece of her was slowly, agonizingly torn out.
And I was going to have to watch it all from a distance. Hell, she’d hate me. She’d blame me because I didn’t help her.
I set my jaw and picked up the pace, stalking along the street towards the target house. The rage was crashing around inside me like a living thing, now.
It needed to be let out.
I reached the house, lifted the sledgehammer from my shoulder, and gripped the shaft in both hands, knuckles white.
This was going to feel good.
The door was steel with a good, solid lock. But I’d done this many times and tonight I was driven by more than just my usual anger. I swung and landed the head of the hammer right at the lock. The steel caved inward like cardboard and the door flew open, bouncing on its hinges. Bright white light streamed out of the doorway and the sidewalk lit up with the shadows of hundreds of swaying marijuana plants. Then two tall, bulky figures were crowding into the doorway.
“Shit,” I heard. “It’s The Irish.”
The one who’d spoken darted back inside, probably to grab a weapon. The other one tried to come out to meet me, which was a mistake. I stepped forward and drove the head of the hammer into his stomach, knocking the air out of him. He staggered back inside and knocked over a table of plants. I followed, moving slowly.
Inside, it was like every grow house I’d ever seen: tables crammed with plants and powerful lights hanging down from the ceiling. The windows were covered in newspaper but they hadn’t done much else to hide the fact they were growing there.
I swung the hammer in a whistling arc that sent it through one of the overhead lights, through the plants, through the table and into the floor below. Sparks spat across the room and dirt showered my chest and arms. That section of the room plunged into darkness. The destruction felt good. I was making my mark.
The guy I’d hit was still holding his stomach and
Similar Books
