Target on Our Backs (Monster in His Eyes #3) by J.M. Darhower

Author:J.M. Darhower [Darhower, J.M.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: J.M. Darhower
Published: 2016-02-21T16:00:00+00:00

* * *

The second I open the front door of my house I hear the growl.

It's a low rumble, completely menacing. I don't have to look at him to know he's baring his teeth. It's the same greeting, every single time. He remembers what I did.

Unlike Karissa, he hasn't forgiven me yet.

Although, forgiveness may not be the word for it. More like she's choosing not to hold it against me when it comes to our relationship. It's complicated. Doesn't make much sense.

It is what it is.

But Killer?

He's holding it against me still.

For the moment, anyway.

Stepping into the foyer, I pause there, taking off my jacket as I stare at the mutt. Rolling my sleeves up, I waltz right past him, eliciting a small retreat out of panic. He follows me, though, still lightly growling, as I head into the kitchen and fix myself something to drink. I take a few swallows of ice water before reaching up into the cabinet, grabbing a dog treat.

I toss it at him.

All at once, the growling ceases. He gobbles it up, suddenly wagging his tail, before looking at me like he wants another.

In all, I toss him three.

Walking out of the kitchen with my water, still clutching the orange Lorenzo gave to me, I make my way into the den where the television plays.

It's the middle of the afternoon, but Karissa is fast asleep.

Sprawled out on the couch, huddled under a fuzzy black blanket, the remote lying on her chest as she snores quietly. I snatch up the remote before settling in on the edge of the couch cushion near her feet, careful not to disturb her.

Food Network.

Shaking my head, I quickly flip through the channels, stalling when I come across The Godfather on one of the cable stations. It's cut down and edited, diluted for the masses, but it's a hell of a lot better than what she'd been watching.

Setting my water down on the coffee table, I start peeling the orange, my eyes on the screen. Sonny Corleone's black car speeds up to the toll plaza, blocked in by another. The tollbooth worker? He ducks and hides.

Even he knows it's an ambush.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

A rapid succession of gunfire lights up the screen, annihilating the car with Sonny still in it. He climbs out, prepared to fight back, but he knows he's in over his head. Men like Sonny? Men like me? We know when it's too late.

Help comes, but not soon enough.

Spoiler alert: Sonny's dead.

If I ruined it for you, well, that's your own fault. The movie has been out longer than I've been alive. I've watched it a few times, mostly fueled by curiosity, picking out the shreds of accuracy that relate to my life. It might be cliché, but it's not all bullshit.

I've considered that might be how I die someday.

Wouldn't exactly be surprising, would it?

Except, unlike Sonny, I don't think I'd have a father show up to mourn me afterward.

Laughing to myself, I look away from the television as Sonny's father, the Don, weeps over him in the morgue.

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