Page 19 of Ready Or Not
“Psychopath!” Mom screams, trying to hit back at me.
“And?” I almost laugh, seeing how frantic she is, while energy runs through my body. I pull back for a second, enough to stand over her and gloat.
Mom uses the bed to get up. She stands, but she’s not as tall as me anymore.
Pup growls again.
“I’ll kill him,” Mom mutters.
Pure hatred runs through me, and I launch myself at her with a scream. I throw punch after punch, wanting her to feel the pain before I snap her neck.
Vaguely, I see motion beside me, and I’m yanked off my mother. I turn on whoever dared to touch me and lunge at them.
It’s Manson. He ducks close to me and slams me into the wall. “Enough.”
“I’ll fucking kill her!” I growl, scrambling to get away.
“No, you won’t.” Manson’s voice is sneering, and his grip is rock solid.
“I’m calling Jim!” Mom gasps.
“Oh sure, running to yet another man. You’re pathetic.” My rage knows no bounds. I’ve never been this angry before. Notwhen Mom jumped from boyfriend to boyfriend, not when I was forced to move from school to school, and not even when Mom did the things to me that she did. But now? Now I’m going to kill her.
Manson presses his arm into my neck as Mom storms out of the room.
“Get yourself together,” he hisses at me.
“Get off me!” I shove at him, but he only fixes his dark eyes on mine. His pupils are huge.
“Manson, fuck off.” I try to knee him, then stomp on his foot. His pupils only grow wider. I can’t see Pup, but I feel him brush against my leg.
“Get him, Pup,” I demand.
But he doesn’t.
Manson just smirks at me. “You done?”
I heave for breath, stopping my struggles. Clearly, I can’t outmuscle him. So, I just need to outsmart him.
Manson watches me for a beat longer, then steps back. We just stare at each other. I’ve disliked Manson since I moved here. He’s too quiet. Too perceptive. Even now, he watches me like he knows me.
He doesn’t know shit.
Finally, Manson smirks. He reaches down to pet Pup, who lets him.
I glare at the dog, who just pants and looks at me.
“You’ve been feeding him.” That’s the only reason Pup wouldn’t go after him.
Manson ignores my comment. “My name better not have been in that jar.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I spit out as he walks to the door. Before he walks out, Manson pauses. “Riley. Don’t kill your mother.”
Rage filters through me again. I’ll do whatever the hell I want.
Before I can say anything, Manson shuts the door.
Later that night, I try to poison my mom. I move to the kitchen to prep her dinner, but as soon as I reach into my backpack to grab the rat poison I lifted from the local store, Manson’s hand closes over my wrist.