I laugh and smack his arm before opening the door. “I could do it.”
“Jackass,” he mutters, making me laugh even harder.
He drives off while I give a sharp whistle. Within seconds, four large dogs come running towards me from various directions. Each dog is assigned a section of the property. They never cease to amaze me. I swear they’re smarter than a lot of people I know. When they’re close enough, I drop down and pet them, rubbing heads and bellies and scratching behind ears. I lead them to the large automatic feeders I have set up and the four bowls of water, making sure they’ve eaten enough and have fresh water. After they’ve had a drink and eaten some breakfast, I send them back to work.
The house is large and devoid of everyone but me since I don’t trust maids and cooks. I don’t mind cleaning up after myself, and I know my way around a kitchen. Walking to my office, I check the security feed across the three large monitors on my desk. I didn’t get any alerts on my phone, but I need to check it anyway. Paranoia keeps you safe in this business. Satisfied, I pull open the folder on my next target. There really is no rest for the wicked.
Chapter 2
Lydia
I look down at my high school diploma and wait to feel something—a sense of accomplishment, a flicker of pride, hell, even just a bit of relief, but there’s nothing. All I feel is the need to move onto the next item on my life’s to-do list. Graduate high school, check. Graduate as valedictorian, not a check, but still pretty damn close. Graduating fifth in my class had been enough to get me a full scholarship to my state university, and that’s all I really care about. Go to college and get the fuck out of this town were soon to be checked off, and I couldn’t be happier.
Weaving my way through the crowd of families who are all still posing for photos, I walk my solitary ass back to my car. I hadn’t expected my dad to show, and I pretend it doesn’t sting that he didn’t prove me wrong. My dad and I have a strained relationship. My mom died when I was little, leaving my dad alone with a small daughter that he had no idea what to do with, so he kind of just didn’t do anything. I raised myself, microwaving my own meals, making sure I always got my bath in before bed, and that my homework was always done, while he racked up gambling debt. I knew my only way out of this place was a scholarship, so that’s what I’d put my focus on as soon as I hit high school. I was obsessed with it, giving up any chance of making friends or having a social life. I tell myself it was worth it as I drive away and ignore the sting of jealousy at seeing the laughing groups of friends, the boyfriends who are hugging their girlfriends, and the proud parents who can’t stop smiling. Yeah, totally worth it.
I drive across town to the ranch-style house that’s been my home since I was born. Carrying my diploma and cap, I stop to check on the irises I helped my mom plant when I was little. The purple flowers follow a line all along the front of the house, stopping at the border of yellow dahlias that flank the entire length of the sidewalk. I have few memories of my mom, but I remember she loved to work in the garden. She was always planting something new or watering the array of flowers she already had. Every time I put my hands in the soil or see a new bud open and bloom, I feel close to her.
When I step inside the house, I’m not at all surprised to find it empty. My dad is no doubt at the casino on the outskirts of town or at a private poker game. Either way, he won’t be back for a while, and depending on how much he loses, he’ll either slip in quietly or make a racket just to let the world know he’s pissed. He’s not a violent man; he’s just not an affectionate one either. I get slight nods when he notices me and the occasional grunt of approval on very good days. Mostly we live a very quiet life, one where I bury my head in my textbooks and he works and then goes off to lose almost everything he just made. Occasionally we meet up for a TV dinner.
Peanut comes running in before I’ve even got the door shut. I drop to my knees and scoop my little Yorkie up, giving him a gentle squeeze and more kisses than he probably wanted. This little guy is my whole life, and I’m not ashamed to admit it.
“How’s my little Peanut?” I scratch behind his ears and laugh when he gives an excited wiggle. Setting him down, he bolts into the kitchen, waiting for the dog biscuit that he knows is coming. Laughing, I follow him. He’s already sitting patiently, giving me the cutest puppy-dog look, and when I hand him the treat, he takes it and runs off so he can eat part of it and then bury the rest, as per usual. There are half-eaten dog treats buried all over this house. I found one the other day in an old purse under my bed, and he’d been none too pleased at having his treasure unearthed.
While he’s busy, I put my stuff away and then try and find some supper. Thirty minutes later, I’m sitting in front of the TV with a plate of pizza on my lap while Peanut sprawls across the cushion next to me, chewing on one of his many toys.
“Let’s try this movie tonight,” I tell him, clicking on a comedy that I’ve been wanting to watch. He lifts his head as if appraising my choice and then gets back to chewing. Instead of a wild graduation party, I get pizza and a movie with my best friend, who also happens to be my dog. Pathetic? Maybe, but it could be a hell of a lot worse. At least I won’t end up with my head in the toilet or making a horrible life choice like losing my virginity to some horny guy who won’t even remember the most likely very short encounter it would’ve been.
“Cheers, Peanut.” I raise my slice of pizza to him and then sit back to watch the movie. Once the credits start, I’m stuffed and pushing away the bag of Twizzlers I decided to eat for dessert. I don’t know why I can’t ever just eat a couple of those damn things. Anytime I open a bag, it’s kind of a done deal that I’m going to eat them all.
I groan and pat my stomach. “Why’d you let me do that?”
Peanut gives a soft yip and licks my hand before crawling into my lap. I pet him for a while before deciding it’s time for bed. Keeping him in my arms, I put my dishes in the sink and carry him up to my bedroom. After getting ready and crawling into bed, I lay on my side and curl my body around Peanut, keeping a hand on him so I can pet him as I fall asleep. It’s how I’ve slept with him since I found him wandering around two years ago. He was scared and way too thin, and I hadn’t thought twice about bringing him home. Without a collar, I’d taken him to the vet to see if he was microchipped, but there wasn’t one. He’d become mine right then and there. I think he’s the best present the universe has ever given me. I kiss his nose before falling asleep with the warmth of his little body against mine.
A loud noise rips me from my deep sleep. My hands immediately look for Peanut. As soon as I feel his fur, I relax a little. He gives a soft whimper when there’s another loud thud and then the sound of a chair being scraped across the floor. This wouldn’t be the first time my dad’s come home drunk after a night of gambling, but something about this feels wrong, and my half-asleep brain can’t figure out why.
I get out of bed and grab Peanut when he runs over to the edge, whining for me to pick him up. Cradling him in my arms, I give his head a kiss and quietly make my way out of my room and down the hall. I don’t know what’s happening, but something tells me to not shout into the darkness for my dad to ask what the hell is going on. Tiptoeing down the hallway, I clutch Peanut to my chest. Right as I turn the corner, I hear what sounds exactly like two muffled gunshots, and it freezes me in place. When I lift my eyes, I see my dad sitting in our dining room chair. It seems like it takes my brain an impossibly long time to process the blood that’s spreading across his shirt. His head hangs down, chin resting on chest, and I don’t realize I’m crying until the tears fall on Peanut, making him give a soft whimper.