Page 119 of Jig's Last Dance

“Why?” I mouth.

His eyes darken, blood bubbling from his mouth as he says, “I told you to stop.”

“Stop? Stop what?” I cry, pounding my palm against the glass.

The man who held me close, soothed me, taught me how to be who I am, just tried to run me off the road.

But on the wings of my sorrow is a burn that rakes along my skin, and raising my gaze, I meet his pained stare and say, “You’re a fucking coward.”

His lips curl in a macabre smile, blood staining his teeth. He grapples for something in the console, and I watch with wide eyes as he raises a gun and aims it at me through the window.

“No!” I say before my eardrums explode and I duck, pebbles of glass spraying over me.

I’m frozen against the side of the vehicle, my feet sliding in the slick moss as he fires multiple times. Only when I hear the click indicating he’s out of ammunition do I realize I’m whimpering, the pathetic mewl barking from my lips unbidden.

His raspy breaths bring my head up, and with a shaky exhale, I stand, staring at the man who was once the father I adored and now wants nothing more than to see my end.

I guess he truly was the bad guy all along.

Grabbing the handle of the door, I pull myself up and straighten, raising the gun in my hand.

I don’t know if I can do this, but I do know I’m not about to die at the hands of a man who promised to protect me and lied.

His eyes widen when he sees the gun. “You don’t have the guts.”

Raising a brow, I say, “No? Well, you fucking raised me.”

When I pull back the barrel, he lifts his eyes to mine and grimaces. “I should’ve ended this a long time ago.”

“What?” I whisper, my throat tight.

“You know what,” he grunts. “If only I had gotten out sooner.”

“You still can. This can go away,” I plead, my heart jerking in my chest.

He exhales heavily, and I hear his lungs rattle. It’s possible if I walk away now, he’ll die anyway. Can I live with that?

“There is no end to this. Not for me, but maybe for your brother,” he says, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

Clenching my teeth, I roll my eyes to the sky and will back the tears. “What’s going on?”

He drops his chin, his eyes unfocused. “I ruined it all. I knew better, but I thought I deserved more.”

My hands wobble, but I grip the handle tighter. “I don’t understand.”

Shaking his head, he rasps, “You should have stayed out of it. Now you’re in, and you can never be free, but Ben . . .”

“Ben? Dad, please. I don’t know what to do.”

“Run,” he says, and I sob.

“Why, Dad?”

When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Does Ben know?”

He turns to me, ensuring the barrel is flush with his skin. His hands spasm around the wheel, and he coughs, blood trickling from his lips. “Do it. If you don’t, I won’t stop. I have to protect the innocent.”

“And that’s not me?”