Rock's Redemption(Insurgents MC Romance Book 8)(10)By: Chiah Wilder
* * *
Later that night he drove her home, tucking her under his arm as he maneuvered the car with one hand. Every few seconds, he’d brake and kiss her, the fifteen-minute drive to her house actually taking forty-five minutes.
He wanted to walk her to the door but they both agreed the risk of her mother or brother seeing them was too great. They’d deal with the logistics of her family the following day, but for that night, all that mattered was that she’d told him she loved him and he’d given her his heart.
On his way home, the realization that she’d saved herself for him hit him like a ton of bricks. He’d been shocked to learn she was a virgin. For these past several years, he’d been driving himself crazy thinking that she and Luc were doing it, but they weren’t; Roche was her first, and the thought of that pleased him a lot. He couldn’t wait to spend the following day with her. He’d told her he’d pick her up at eleven in the morning. Everything was all right. He loved her madly, and they’d found their way back into each other’s hearts and arms.
He switched off the ignition and jumped over the small hedge that bordered the front lawn of his home. When he stepped on the front porch, he stiffened—the door was wide open. Cautiously, he entered the house. It was dark, not a single light on—not even the nightlight his mother always turned on in the living room. Knowing that Henri was at the shack in the bayou and his sisters were at their cousins’ house in Abbeville for a slumber party, he wondered where his mother was. He was pretty sure his dad was out with one of his favorite street walkers.
“Maman?” he called out as he walked through the dining room to the kitchen. Low moans and whimpers came from it. When he entered the room, he stood still for a few seconds so his eyes could adjust to the darkness. The only light was the glow from the digital clock on the microwave. Scanning the room, he made out two forms on the floor. He switched on the overhead light and blinked several times. The horror of the scene in front of him remained the same: a huge pool of blood around his mother’s torso and neck. As it flowed, it filled in the cracks between the linoleum tiles on the floor. Gaping knife wounds covered her arms, stomach, and neck. Her limbs were grotesquely flung outward. Her face was swollen and bruised, and her exposed teeth made her look as if she were growling. Several squadrons of flies and gnats buzzed around her head. There was so much blood, the strong copper scent hung thickly over the room.
“Maman!” he cried, rushing over to her and kneeling down, his jeans soaking up her blood in a matter of seconds. When his warm hands touched her cool body, he brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, murmuring, “No, Maman. No.” His breath hitched and his chest felt as though it would crush his heart. All the feelings he could possibly feel were fighting together in his stomach, and he knew that the image of his mother’s body would forever be burned into his memory.
From the corner of the room he heard a grunt. He whipped around and saw his father lying on the ground, an empty bottle of moonshine on the floor and a butcher knife smeared in blood next to it. Roche’s ears pounded and his muscles tensed. A fire like molten lava bubbled inside him, rising steadily upward until it exploded, burning all his nerves, cells, and muscles.
“What the fuck have you done?” He rushed over to his father, who lifted his head and stared at him, his eyes hazy and unfocused. The smell of alcohol mixed in with the metallic odor of blood, and Roche had to swallow several times to keep from vomiting. “You killed her! It wasn’t enough to beat her. You had to kill her, you worthless piece of merde.”
As his father tried to lift himself off the floor, Roche grabbed him by the shirt and forced him up. He delivered the first blow against his dad’s cheek, the cracking of bones like music to his ears.
Then he lost control.
* * *
Red and blue lights created an eerie pattern on the front lawn as two paramedics rolled out a screaming and sobbing Roche, strapped down on a stretcher. Along the side and front of his house, he spotted the neighbors he grew up with, averting their gazes as the stretcher went past them. He saw his father’s badly beaten body loaded into another ambulance, and his heart shattered when two men put his mother’s body, encased in a body bag, in a black hearse. The door to his ambulance slammed shut and he was rushed to University Hospitals & Clinics. Still wired from the horror of it all, the emergency medical technician administered a sedative. In less than fifteen minutes, drowsiness set in and he closed his eyes, welcoming oblivion.