Untouched (11 page)

I used to be sad about it—the fact that his career seemed to have sucked away his soul—but I was over it. Nowadays, it was easier to be mad. Trying to get a reaction from him—any reaction—was my sole purpose in life.

Kale stepped closer. At first, an insane part of my brain interpreted this to mean he was protecting me from Dad. It made sense somehow. According to him, Dad was the enemy, and I, the one who helped him back by the stream—the one who gave him my shoes and lied to those men—was a friend.

But then Kale spoke; his menacing words were delivered in a cold, harsh tone that obliterated the crazy theory.

“If you do not move aside and let me leave, I will kill her.”

Some friend.

Despite Kale’s threat, Dad remained in the doorway, blocking his path. “Deznee, I’m going to say this one last time. Step away from the boy.”

Everything Kale said about my dad rushed bounced in my head like a bad trip, churning in my stomach like sour milk.

“What the hell is going on?” I demanded, glaring at Dad. “Do you know him?”

Dad finally made a move. Not the kind of move you’d expect from a father fearing for his teenaged daughter’s life, but a simple, bold step forward. One that screamed
I dare you
.

He was playing chicken with Kale.

And he lost.

Kale shook his head, and when he spoke, he sounded kind of sad. “You should know I don’t bluff, Cross. You taught me that.”

His hand shot out, lightning fast, and clamped down on my neck. Warm fingers brushed my skin and curled around my throat. They were long and callused and wrapped more than halfway. He was going to snap my neck. Or choke me. In a panic, I tried to pry his fingers away, but it was no use. His grip was like a vice. This was it. I was a goner. All the stupid stuff I’d done and survived, and a random, almost-hookup was going to do me in. Where was the fair in that?

But Kale didn’t crush my windpipe or try to choke me. He just turned toward me—staring. His face pale and eyes wide. Watching me as though I was a fascinating first-place science project, mouth hanging open like I’d presented the cure for Cancer.

On my neck, his fingers twitched, and then he let go. “How—?”

Movement by the door. Dad reached into his pocket—and out came a
gun
? Things had gone from really weird to
I-fell-down-the-rabbit-hole-
surreal. My dad didn’t know how to shoot a gun! He lifted the barrel and aimed it at us, hand steady.

Then again, maybe he did.

“What the hell are you doing, Dad?”

He didn’t move. “There’s nothing to worry about. Stay calm.”

Stay calm? Was he crazy? He was pointing a gun in my general direction! If anything about that situation said calm, I was missing something.

Thankfully, my normal catlike reflexes saved our asses. Yeah. More like dumb luck. Dad squeezed the trigger and I dropped to the floor, pulling a very surprised Kale with me. I nearly ripped his arm out of its socket in the process, but it didn’t seem to bother him. He wasn’t concerned about the gun either, his attention still fixated on me. We hit the ground as a small projectile embedded itself into the wall behind us with a dull thud. A dart. A tranq gun? Somehow this didn’t make me feel any better. I could console myself with the fact that the dart hit the wall closer to Kale than me, indicating I hadn’t been the target, but still. Bullets or not, a gun was a gun. And guns freaked me the hell out.

“Move!” I hauled Kale to his feet and shoved him through the door and into the kitchen. He stumbled forward but managed to keep himself upright. Impressive considering he still had on my ill-fitting, soggy sneakers.

“Deznee!” Dad bellowed from the living room. Heavy footsteps pounded against the hardwood as he chased after us. No way was I stopping.

Dad had a specific tone he used when mad at me—which was like, ninety-eight percent of the time—and it never fazed me. In fact, I found it kind of funny. But tonight was different. Something in his voice told me I’d gone above and beyond and it scared me a little.

Something shattered—probably the half-full glass of Coke I’d left on the coffee table last night while watching “SNL” reruns. “Get back here! You have no idea what you’re doing!”

What else was new? Truthfully, even if the gun hadn’t freaked me out, it was obvious Kale, despite the badass vibe, was afraid of my dad. He’d been through something brutal—and Dad had somehow played a part in it. I wasn’t sure why this guy’s past was so important, but I needed to find out.

I propelled him out the back door and into the cool night air. We didn’t stop—even when we came to the property line. And even as we put distance between Dad and us at a breakneck speed, I could still hear my father’s angry words echoing in the cold night, “This isn’t one of your goddamn games!”