too,” Charity said. “Now move. I need to get some stuff.”
“I ain’t got nothin’ of yours here,” he said with a sneer. “Get outta here, you little whore.”
“Someone needs to enter this guy in a Miss Congeniality pageant—he’d clean up,” Andy murmured, probably to Rod.
Devon clamped down on his rage. It would rile Charity up, and she didn’t need any additional distractions.
“I’ll leave when I get what I want, not before,” Charity said with fire in her eyes. “Where’d Mom go?”
His lip curled. “You tell me.”
“If I knew, I wouldn’t need you, now would I? Where’d she go?”
“Get out of here. You don’t think I got another gun? I got another gun. Get off my property before I go and get it.”
Charity tossed the shotgun into the yard. “Answer me,” she said, her voice low, her tone wobbling. A sheen covered her eyes, emotion leaking through her hard exterior.
Walt saw it and laughed, of all things. Rage pulsed hot in Devon’s middle despite his desperate attempts to keep it at bay.
“Fuck that bitch, running out on me. She was a worthless whore, just like you.”
Charity’s jaw clenched. “Did she ever mention anything about magic, or her family?”
Walt stepped into the center of the doorway, staggered, and reached out to steady himself on the doorframe. It was four o’clock in the afternoon and already he was blasted.
“Her family?” His lips curled off his brown teeth, a sick smile filled with gaps. “Sure, she mentioned her family. Her deadbeat dad who couldn’t kick down a damn dime. Her useless mother without a pot to piss in. Yeah, she mentioned them a time or two. But you know what she never did tell me about? Your family. Disgusting whore. She weren’t no virgin, I knew that already, but preemies don’t come in at nearly eight pounds. I knew something was susp’ious about that. I always did. That asshole who came knocking a couple weeks ago knew it, too. Perfect strangers know you’re nothing but a bastard. See? Makes sense why I never did like you none. You were always such a prissy little bitch, just like your mother.” He looked at Devon with foggy eyes before pointing at Charity. “You with this little bitch? Because if you are, you better be careful. Her and her mother are just the same; they’ll fuck anything—”
Devon’s vision went red, and before he knew what happened, he’d stepped forward and smashed his fist into the filthy man’s face. Walt went down like a sack of rocks, hitting the floor, bouncing, and staying there.
“Thank God someone did it,” Steve said. “I was having a hard time keeping my mouth shut.”
Charity stared down at her dad, her back stiff. A tear slid down her cheek.
Devon’s heart broke for her. “Don’t listen to him,” he said softly, this time allowing himself to rub her back. “He was drunk. Drunk and mean. He didn’t really mean those things.”
“Did you hear what he said?” She blinked her eyes to clear them, sending a few more tears gliding down her cheeks.
“He probably won’t remember—”
“He doesn’t think I’m his.”
“She’s smiling,” Rod murmured behind them.
“Wouldn’t you be with a dad like that?” Andy replied.
“That’s a sign of danger in these fraught situations, though, right? I don’t want to get blasted. It looks like it hurts.”
“Good call.”
The sound of shuffling meant everyone was scooting back. Everyone except Devon.
“He thinks I’m someone else’s!” She laughed and threw her arms around Devon. “God, I hope he’s right.”
Devon squeezed her tight, reviewing what Walt had said. One thing stuck out like a sore thumb.
Roger hadn’t sent someone out here a couple of weeks ago. Not even a couple of months ago. He’d tried when they’d first found Charity and elected to wait to try again until she could go herself.
So if it wasn’t Roger, who was checking up on Charity’s past?
Chapter Three
Charity shuddered out a breath as she stepped over Walt’s foot. She couldn’t properly express the hope that this disgusting sack of crap wasn’t her flesh and blood. She guessed that was probably sad to say, but there was no use denying it.
“Why wouldn’t my mom say anything, though?” she wondered aloud, pausing in the living room to look over the crushed cans and empty whiskey bottles littering the floor. Papers and magazines were strewn across the coffee table and couch. Upon closer inspection, none of them had been sent to this address. “When he was yelling and cursing and we were hiding in the bedroom, or when