Threat (24 page)

“What the fuck did you do to me?!”
he shouts. His teeth must have clipped his tongue because when he
moves his hand away it's covered in blood, and so is his chin.
Shit.
I didn't mean to hurt him that bad. He's still my dad, but he's an
asshole who deserved what was coming to him.

He continues to rave like a lunatic. “You
little piece of shit, I knew I should have disowned you and left you
in the fucking gutter! Get the hell out of my shop and don't fucking
come back!”

“Gladly.” I grab my things and
stomp off towards the door.

Everything was a lie. Everything I'd been fed
and willingly
chose
to believe was a damn lie. All these years I spent believing my mom
was the monster—and not only because of the bullshit my dad fed
me, I hated her and vilified her long before that. I blamed her for
us being poor, when she wasn't the one who kept us in poverty. I
treated her like shit for years, just as my dad had hoped I would.
And I played right into his plan of trying to destroy her new chance
at happiness without even realizing it.

He was the fucking puppet master and I was
nothing more than his glorified marionette. All this time I thought I
was in control when I was only being used. And it feels like shit.
Like a layer of grime I can't scrub off.

He might be the one sitting in the chair
bleeding, but he had won. As much as I hate to admit that to myself.
And the only thing I can do now is make amends.

*

The front door to Colin's home opens after a
single ring and about a minute of waiting. The weak smile Mom's face
fades the second she sees it's me behind the door. “Hi, David,”
she says, looking pained. Maybe this is a bad idea.

I clear my throat, running my jittery fingers
through my slicked back hair. “Hi, Mom.”

There's a long, heavy pause between us. She
stares at me like she's seeing a ghost. “Oh, um, your things,
that's right. I almost forgot.” She glances at the stairs and
then back to me. “I—I would have packed them up for you,
but I was kind of hoping Colin would reconsider letting you live
here.”

Wait, she
still
wants me to live with her? After
everything I've said and done? “I'm not here for my things,
actually.”

She nods understandingly. “Oh, Leah isn't
here,” she says.

“I came to see you, Mom.”

Her eyes widen, but she remains silent.

How do I do this? Where does one even start to
apologize for a lifetime of hurt? It took me a full damned day to
muster up enough fortitude to come and speak with her. I knew there
was a good chance she wouldn't want to see me, not after all the hell
I put her through. I wouldn't blame her if she sent me away and told
me never to come back. I deserve as much. But she doesn’t.

“I talked to dad and he…you were
right. I know that now. I flat out asked him if you asked for help,
and if he refused you. He wouldn’t give me a straight answer.”

Mom sighs, bringing her hands up to shield her
face.

“Why didn't you tell me? All of those
years I asked about my dad and why I couldn't see him. You never told
me it was because he just didn't want to see
me
.”
At least not until I was no longer his financial responsibility.

“I guess I hoped some day he would come
back and actually be a father to you. Maybe it was foolish of me to
think that, but I never wanted you to hate him.”

“Why? He deserves to be hated!”

Mom shakes her head and cups my face with warm
palms. “No, baby, you can't hold all that hatred in your heart.
Not for me, or for him, or for anyone. It doesn't do you any good. It
will only eat you alive.”

She's right. Hell, I knew it myself. Leah
called me a hypocrite, and she hit the nail on the head—it was
easy for me to dish out advice and tell her to let go. It was easy
for me because I knew how badly the toll of holding a grudge took on
me, even if my anger was misdirected. But it's a hell of a lot more
difficult for me to let go myself.

“He told me that you tried to keep me
away from him and I believed him.” I stop and look away,
feeling the anger boil beneath my skin. Her soothing touch is the
only thing that holds me back from full on rage.

“I know I'm not a good mother—”

“Don't say that. I wasn't exactly the
easiest kid.”

“There's no point in beating around the
bush or making excuses. I did a lot of things wrong, we both know
that. But I love you, David. More than anything. You know that
right?”

After all the shit I put her through all these
years and she still loves me? I swallow the lump that's built up in
my throat. “I'm not sure I deserve that,” I admit.

“Of course you do. You're really a good
boy,” she says, but I wave it off. “I mean it. As much as
you try to be Threat, you're good under all of that. You're smart,
and you're talented.”

I don't exactly know how to handle compliments.
The few times anyone has ever paid me any I figured they were just
blowing smoke up my ass.

“Mom, what I came to say is...I—I'm
sorry. I'm really sorry for how I treated you. And I mean that.”
I don't think I've ever said those words to anyone. It was difficult
to get them out, but it was worth it.

Tears well in her eyes and spill on to her
cheeks, but there's a smile on her face as she embraces me.

“I love you too, Mom,” I whisper to
her as she holds me.

She pulls back, smiling at me with glistening
eyes.

“Do you want to come inside for a
moment?” she asks.

“I, um—“ I peak past her,
surveying the foyer of the house. “I don't think Colin would be
cool with that.” Truth be told, it's not Colin I'm worried
about.

“He's gone, I have the house all to
myself for a couple days, actually.”

“All to yourself?” I ask, avoiding
the real question.

She nods, “Yeah, he took Leah up to
Stanford this morning.”

I'm speechless. Leah's gone? Already? “Oh,
so she started school already?” I ask, trying my best to come
across nonchalant.

She folds her arms over her chest. “Yeah,
she seemed a bit upset about something, I'm not sure what it was, and
decided she wanted to start early. So he's moving her in today.”

“Oh...” My voice trails. I rub the
back of my neck—I'm pretty sure I know the reason why she
started early, and I don't want to think about it.

Mom reaches out and squeezes my arm. “Hey,
I know you and her bonded. She'll be back for the holidays, I’m
sure. It's only an eight hour drive,” she says with a chuckle.

Eight hours, huh? I can make it that far on my
bike, I've done it before.

No. I push the thought out of my mind. She
doesn't want to see me. If she did, she would be here right now. But
she's not.

“Actually, I've got something important I
need to do,” I say. “And I need your help.”

*

I'm back in the tattoo shop by nightfall. It's
the last place I want to be, but this is important. I'm cleaning out
my station when my dad enters, phone in hand.

“You've got five minutes to get your ass
out of here before the police haul you off in handcuffs,” he
says. “And don't beg me not to call them because I already
did.”

“You didn't need to. They're on their way
anyways.”

“Oh really, are they? Did you call them
ahead of time and let them know you'd be trespassing tonight? You're
stupid enough to pull shit like that, aren’t you?”

I have to stop, take a deep breath, and remind
myself that this is the last time I'll ever have to listen to him
disrespect me.
Don't mess this up by
doing something stupid.

He steps into my personal space as I kneel and
remove my things from the cupboard. “You've got a lot of
fucking nerve coming back here after the shit you pulled.” He's
trying to get me worked up but I ignore him. “What, you aren't
going to say nothin'? You're just gonna stand there and take it like
some kind of sissy? I oughta throw you out on your ass myself.”

I bring myself to my full height, which matches
his, but I'm still a lot bigger. “Try it,” I tell him
with narrowed eyes.

He barely flinches—I guess he forgot
about me knocking him out cold just a day ago.

“You know I paid a little visit to your
girlfriend yesterday after you left.”

I freeze and turn towards him in stunned
silence. His weathered lips curl into an evil grin. I would never put
it past him, but I sure as hell didn't see it coming.

Before I open my mouth to speak I hear sirens
in the background. “You wouldn't fucking dare,” I say
through gritted teeth, paying them no mention.

“It looks like your limo awaits, son. You
should have taken off when you had a chance.”

He moves towards the door and almost gets hit
in the face with it when the cops break it down and force their way
in. The cocky smile on Dad's face immediately morphs into a frown.

“FBI,” says one of the officers,
clad in a bullet proof vest.

“What in the fucking hell is this?”
Dad shouts as a squad of a dozen or so men pour in and begin to tear
his shop apart. “What is this? Get your God damned hands off of
that!” They leave no stone unturned, emptying the contents of
drawers on to the floor, grabbing stacks of papers and computers and
hauling them off of the premises. It looks surprisingly like every
police raid I've seen on TV.

The officer approaches my father. “Are
you David Banducci Sr.?” he asks.

“That'd be me. I think the man you're
looking for is right there,” he says, pointing directly at me.

“You have the right to remain silent,”
the officer starts, taking him roughly by the wrists and cuffing him.
My father struggles and fights against him the entire time.

“What? Why the fuck are you arresting me,
arrest him! He's the one fucking trespassing on my property!”

“We have a hostile suspect. Get him on
the ground,” the cop says to another officer who helps tackle
my belligerent father down to the floor.

“Get these fucking cuffs off me! You're
making a fucking mistake and I'll have your badges when this is
over!” Once the cuffs are finally locked on him they haul him
back up to his feet. “What the fuck, do you think you're
arresting me for?!”

“Multiple counts of fraud, multiple
health violations, and eighteen years of back child support
payments.”

“What? Those are fucking lies! My fucking
low life son planted on that shit on me! You can't fucking do this!”

“Take him away, boys.”

With my supplies in my arms, I watch as the
officers drag my father kicking and screaming out of his own shop. I
watch as they destroy Tatter'd Ink to look for evidence, and I don't
smile at a single thing I see. I know I did the right thing; there
was no other choice. I didn't want to see my dad get hurt, but he
brought this on himself. Worst of all, I didn't want to see Tatter'd
Ink go down in flames like this.

The officer comes up to me and pats me on the
shoulder. “I know this wasn't easy, but you did the right
thing, son.”

So why do I still feel like total shit?

LEAH

I've barely spoken a word to my dad over the
past few days since the beach incident. After Threat left the entire
vibe between the three of us felt broken. Things were strained
because of him, and things were even more strained because of his
absence. We decided to head home the next morning instead of staying
until the end of the week, as originally planned. It was just as
well. I wasn't in the mood for forced family outings, or pretending
like everything was okay when nothing was.

The car ride back was a long one. Not nearly as
thrilling as being on the back of a motorcycle. Not nearly as
exciting as having Threat torment or tantalize me at every turn.

I'm back, bitch!

Since returning home, I've been counting down
the days to Mallory's return. Seeing her text message pop up on my
screen is exactly what I needed. It's been torture, cooped up in my
room, avoiding Dad, and desperately needing someone to vent to. She
was there for me the first time a guy broke my heart, and I knew
she'd be there the second time. But I didn't want to ruin her
vacation with any of the gory details.

Finally...I'm dying here

IN N OUT??

Her reply comes swiftly

U know it...come swing by and get me!!

I grab my bag and rush outside in a flash.
Everyone else is gone today, so my car is the only one parked
outside.

Except another car I’ve never seen
before, blocking the drive way.

There's a man inside and I approach
carefully—this neighborhood is small and I've never seen him
around here before. He climbs out and slowly makes his way towards
me.