And I couldn’t either. Was he actually trying to help me? Or was he going to want something from me later? Zane smacked Phoebe’s butt hard when she picked up an empty gravy bowl from the table. A lump of fear formed in my throat. Jackson was going to expect me to pay him back, I was sure of it.
The sound of leather on skin resonated through the house. My stomach tightened. I turned my back, not wanting to look into the dining room and see Jackson getting the shit beat out of him. For covering for something I did. I clenched my jaw and took quick, sharp breaths through my nose. My feet were glued to the floor with fear.
Nate whipped him again. Lily flinched at the sound. Jackson grunted in pain when the belt cracked. My head fell to my chest. This shouldn’t be happening. Not to Jackson. He was innocent. I was the one who should be getting the beating.
Phoebe turned on the sink, drowning out the noise. She walked past me, bumping into my arm. I caught her pleading stare and shook myself. With trembling hands, I picked up a plate and scraped the left overs into the garbage. Zane picked up another cookie before getting up and joining Nate. Unable to control myself, my eyes flicked to the dining room. Jackson was on the floor. I saw Zane kick him in the ribs. My entire body was on fire with fear. Were they going to kill Jackson right then and there? There was enough blood on the floor already.
Every punch, every kick, every time the leather belt cracked against Jackson’s skin made it hard to breathe. Guilty tears stung the corners of my eyes.
“I have to go in there. I have to do something,” I whispered to Phoebe.
“No!” she whispered back. “Addie, it be suicide! And Jackson get in more trouble for lying.”#p#分页标题#e#
She was right. I sucked in my breath and shook my head. The world was spinning again and I was stuck on this nightmare of a ride. There was nothing I could do to stop it so I could get off. Phoebe nudged my arm and looked behind us, reminding me that we had to finish cleaning or else we would also feel the wrath of Nate. I picked up another plate and put it in the sink where Lily stood washing dishes.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw the glass serving trays against the wall and scream at Nate, telling him that he was a spineless psychopath who would get caught and arrested someday, and I hoped his cellmate was a large man named Bubba who would make Nate his bitch.
But I didn’t.
I set the serving tray on the counter next to the sink and went back to the table to get another bowl. The cold mashed potatoes still smelled wonderful, but I felt too ill to even think about eating. I put the bowl down and grabbed the remaining dishes off the table, scraped the food from them into the trash, and put them on the counter next to the sink.
I wiped down the counters while Phoebe filled the dishwasher and Lily washed what wouldn’t fit. Rochelle dried the dishes, carefully stacking them on the counter when she was done. When the counters were clean, I stood in the kitchen, not knowing what else to do. Crumbs littered the floor. If I had known where a broom, was I would have swept.
Before I could ask, Zane came back into the room. Blood had splattered across his white polo shirt. To say I was scared was an understatement. I backed up against the table, fear causing my skin to tingle. I wanted to run away and hide.
Then I saw the knife on the counter.
“Meet me upstairs in five minutes,” he said to Rochelle and opened the fridge. He filled a cup with eggnog and took a long drink. I could smell the alcohol in it.
“Okay,” Rochelle said, her voice breathy. She stared at Zane as if he had just slayed the dragon. She wiped her hands on a towel and immediately started fussing with her hair. Zane downed the rest of his drink, refilled the cup, and went upstairs.
I took a shaky breath and pushed off the table. I crossed the kitchen and wrapped my fingers around a butcher knife.
“Ever heard the expression ‘don’t bring a knife to a gun fight’?” Nate’s voice came from behind me. I squeezed my fingers around the handle of the knife and whirled around. Nate leaned against the doorframe with one foot against the wall. He casually wiped blood off his hands. “Try it. We’ll see who is faster.” He took the knife from me and walked away, clicking his tongue. “Jackson, you know better than to leave the knives out. I guess I need to remind you.” He held the knife up, light reflecting off the blade.
I imagined running at him, raising my arm, and driving the knife down into his shoulder. Blood would spray in the air and splatter across my face. I’d bring the knife down again, this time hitting him in the spine. It would be a slow, painful death, and I would enjoy watching it.