“Buckle up,” she waved at him, “it’s going to get bumpy.”
“It can’t be worse than what I saw.”
His comment was judgemental, cold and it cut to the quick. Anger flashed in her eyes at the snarkiness of his words. “Fine, you want to know what my mother knows, here it is. My father was an abusive, psychotic, raging alcoholic who chased his bourbon with coke, and I don’t mean cola. He got his kicks coming home from his work as a police officer and beating the snot out of his wife and kids. It didn’t matter if Mom called the cops or not because he was one of them. They protected him every single time. And when they didn’t protect him, his insane Sicilian family did.”
She shifted her legs out, folding her hands over her stomach, lacing her fingers to hide the shaking rage she felt just think
