“Please.” I tug on his arm, yanking him toward the window. “Please Rick, it will be worse if he catches you here.”
He is reluctant but climbs onto the sill. “Come with me.”
I know there is no time and when my Father rattles my door knob, Rick slips out onto the branch.
“Francesca! You little slut!”
When Rick hears what my father calls me, he heads back to the window, but I close it, slamming the bolt home.
Rick bangs on the glass, “Franny!”
Grabbing the drapes, I fling them across as the door to my room caves in behind me. Silhouetted against the landing light, my father fills the doorframe and he is holding Rick’s T-shirt in his fist.
“Where’s that filthy Prank?”
Chapter 19
RICK
The tips of my fingers on one hand are digging between the closed wooden seams of the windowsill while my other hand maintains a death grip on the branch above to keep my balance. “Franny!”
Brock Hancock jerks in my direction and he appears as though he is walking straight towards me. The shadow of his body gets larger as he approaches but his face is unreadable, masked by the curtains.
The curtains are thrust aside and Franny steps in front of the window, before her father. “No, Daddy!”
Franny’s back lands flush against the glass followed by her palm then fingers. I claw at the glass where her hand is pressed firm and flat, but my fingers just slip as an uneasy feeling of dread rips through me because I can’t touch her.
I bang my fist against the glass. “Franny, open the window.”
Franny’s back disappears. Only the curtain is in view. She’s been pulled away and for a brief second, I’m relieved. I’m waiting, expecting to see her turn around or maybe even her father at the window to open it up. But the window remains sealed. So, I feel around the frame, inspecting the seams with my fingernails this time when a scream erupts...
Followed by another scream...
And another...
Fuck! He’s hurting her.
“Franny!” I shout, wrapping one hand around the branch above me for leverage as I pull my fist back to punch the glass with everything I’ve got.
The glass breaks and, “SHIIIT!” I wail as it feels like I’ve just broken my hand.
“Why you fucking dirty Prank!” shouts Franny’s father pulling open the curtain to see the hole I’ve made. He reaches for me through a web of elongated shards of sharp glass still embedded in the frame, but I swing my body, missing his grasp.
“Daddy, no! Stop. Please, stop!” Franny is still screaming, clinging onto his opposite arm and pulling.
The man withdraws back into the room, raising his hand—the hand he tried to grip me with—and openhandedly slaps Franny so hard across her face, she falls smack down to the ground. But Franny’s father doesn’t stop there and I’m in shock.
I can’t understand what’s happening. I’ve seen plenty of Pricks, Pranks, good-for-nothing jerk-offs, and hoodlums-who-had-it-coming get their asses kicked before, but what I’m seeing now...
This is insane!
Mr. Hancock has his belt in hand and is beating the shit out of his own daughter. His daughter who is smart, adoringly beautiful, and amazing. And she doesn’t fight back. She can’t fight back. She can’t even speak. She can only scream.
I see the window lock and maneuver my hand and then the rest of my arm through the opening of thick window glass fragments when my arm gets pulled. My face lands flush against the upper window pane.
Mr. Hancock is staring me down through the glass, which catches his spit as he speaks. “What are you trying to do, huh? Make a slut out of my baby girl? I’ll teach you to mess with Uptowners. Boy, I’m going to kill you and nobody will miss you, because you’re a piece-of-shit from the gutter.”
Mr. Hancock and I struggle as he tries to shove me off the tree and to my surprise, he succeeds.
A knot twists in my stomach but quickly unravels as I fall to the earth, landing flat and painfully. Dirt and grass fill my mouth and though I try to spit, I can’t. I can’t breathe. My body has become stiff, like a box. My own frame, itself, has become a coffin unable to move air in and out.
Franny screams again. The sound pierces through my ears funneling straight into my core, arousing my angry Prank soul.
Planting my hands firm and pulling my elbows against my ribs with a hard tug, I do a push up and come onto my feet. I stumble but another scream lifts me upright.
I need to get to her.
Something warm drips down my arm and I flick my hand of wet blood.
Making my way towards the Hancock’s front door, I feel pain every time I swing my arm and I have no choice but to peep down. Blood seeps from under my bicep where a small shard of glass is stuck in my flesh. I pull the shard out as I make my way up Franny’s front steps, opening her front door.
A woman, who I assume is Franny’s mother—same hair, same eyes—is sitting at the bottom of the stairwell. She looks up at me, rubbing her temples with both hands. Her body rocks back and forth as if she’s in a daze and points up the stairwell before she goes back to rubbing her head.
Climbing past her, I make my way to the top landing where I round the corner towards Franny’s room and ready my fists before I push my way through the door.
Mr. Hancock is grinding his teeth, calling Franny every filthy word he can think of, but he pauses when he spots me. “You just don’t give up, do you? You’re a dumb kid.”
“I’m no kid, mister, so you’d better get the hell away from her,” I demand.
Franny is still on the floor but her eyes wander over to me. Her face is puffy. She’s the color of a strawberry. Her hair is matted around her cheeks and neck and the welts on her legs...
They make me want to cry.
I swallow. “Franny, come here.”
She wriggles, peeping in my direction.
“Franny, don’t move!” Her father points and Franny puts her head back down into her forearm. He turns his finger waggling in my direction. “Listen, boy. You don’t understand the type of obligations a girl like Franny has to me, to her mother, to the young man I’ve picked out for her. You’re going to ruin everything for us. Now, get the hell out of here, before I have to hurt you. Really hurt you this time.” Mr. Hancock loops the belt in half as he steps towards me.
“I think you’ve hurt enough people for one day, Mr. Hancock.” I also move closer, unafraid. “Franny, come here,” I stress with a grit of my teeth.
Franny puts her head up to look at me once more and scoots herself an inch across her bedroom floor.
“Franny!” Mr. Hancock notices and raises his belt, readying to whack Franny again but I’m on him.
He tries to fight me, defending himself, but I’m all over his ass with a right punch to his throat, a left hook in his ribs, plus a head butt to his forehead. The guy crash lands flat beneath the window with the curtain landing over his face. I stomp to stand over him, brushing the curtain aside, and fisting his hair at the top of his head so I can take another punch. A real punch. That’s what this guy deserves. He needs a knock so hard in the face to the point no amount of plastic surgery will ever fix what he’ll need to remember every time he sees himself, which is to never fuck with a Prank or his own daughter again.
“Ricky.” My eyes well up at the soft sound rolling off sweet lips.
I turn my head and see Franny is sitting upright, blinking, and reaching with a shaky open palm to me but she pales.
“Look out!” she screams and I jerk back as Mr. Hancock swipes a thick shard of glass, which cuts across my gut—stinging as he slices—but it’s not too deep.
I punch the fucker out.
Franny is crying and I walk over to help her up, but she can’t stand. It’s like she’s glued to the floor. I don’t know if she’s weak, in pain, or just delirious with everything that’s gone down, so I just pick her up.
She’s trembling in my arms. Her brea
thing is uneven, choking on leftover sobs, and she lets out a whimper and a sad moan.
“Shh,” I coo. “I got you. Everything is going to be okay. Okay? I got you.”
Maneuvering Franny through her bedroom door and down the stairs, I slow down when I see Mrs. Hancock still sitting where I left her, except now she’s staring at us. She doesn’t say anything or do anything. She looks numb until Franny wraps her arms around me tighter, and Mrs. Hancock finally grins. I grin back when I see the slight dimple in Mrs. Hancock’s cheek—one that matches her daughter’s. Nothing is spoken as Mrs. Hancock continues to grin and watches me stroll right out the front door with her girl in my arms.
Franny’s shaking has not let up, not one bit, and I’m finding it difficult to put her in the passenger seat of my car but I manage.
“Y-y-you’re bleeding,” she stutters as I shut her door and buckle her seat belt.
I shake my arm, flicking the blood away onto the green grass beyond the curb. “It’s okay, baby. It’s not that much. Trust me, I know. Teddy can stitch it up for me, but that means we need to go home. Right now.”
“Is that where—” she chokes on another sob as I round the front of my Thunderbird. “Is that where we’re going?”
“Ah! Fucking Christ, Teddy!” This is the thirtieth stitch he’s threading through my skin, which he has to pinch because he’s using a standard straight sewing needle.
“Don’t be a pussy,” chortles Zane.
“Hey, fuck you.” I cock my head up to Mr. Blond Ambition. “Do you not see where the hell this cut is—right under my pit, man.” I point to the underside of my arm that I have folded, resting over my head. “It’s sensitive under there, you know.”
“It’s sensitive under there,” Zane mocks with a bobble of his head. “Stop being a wuss. You sound like a whiny bitch.”
“Hey! Both of you. Shut up.” Teddy glowers between us. “There’s a chick in the house.”
Both Zane and I tilt our heads to peer through the kitchen door to spy on Franny. She’s hugging herself in silence and it makes me ill. I can’t wait to go over and take care of her, but I figure I’d better get this bleeding stopped first before I just get more blood on her.
As Teddy digs the needle into my arm, I’m trying my damndest to control my mouth. The pain is ridiculously annoying.
What’s more annoying is how pissed I still am with Franny’s father even though I was able to knock him out. I can’t believe how bruised Franny is and I swear to myself, I’m never going to let anyone hurt her like that again.
Never.
“Mmmfuggghrrrr,” I grunt as Teddy threads through me again. Jeez, I want to cuss so bad.
“So, does this mean that we’re always going to have to watch what we say?” Zane scratches his head. “Your Ma is adamant about cussing when there’s a chick around, so how long is Fran planning to stay here?”
“Until we get our own place,” I say firmly.
“Your own place?” Teddy raises an eyebrow. “That’s awfully ambitious of you.”
“I think I can do it.” I sit up straight. “I’ll pick up a couple jobs, two or three, like Ma does.”
“What about Franny?” Teddy pinches, pierces my skin, and threads the needle through. “Does she plan to work, too?”
“No, she can’t work. She needs to go to college.”
Zane pulls a chair out, turning it around to plant his butt down. “If Fran has left her Prick parents, how’s she going to pay for college? That shit costs as much as some of those speedsters we used to steal.”
I sigh. “I don’t know. I’ll have to figure it out.”
“You plannin’ on stealing again?” Teddy questions, finally tying me off.
“No. I’m not going to hustle for anything anymore. Franny needs someone who can protect her and would never put her in danger. Seriously, look at her.” All heads turn to look at the beautiful but heavily bruised girl. “Do you remember when we used to look like that?”
“Lost,” nods Teddy.
“Abused,” affirms Zane.
“Betrayed,” I sigh.
“Well, I’m fine with it, if Fran plans to stay here.” Teddy wipes the needle with alcohol before he plants it back into a pin cushion and rewinds the thread.
“It’s not really up to you, Theodore.” I smirk at him and check out the thirty plus stitches, which don’t hurt but my arm and the thin slash across my waist is beginning to itch from all the dried blood.
“You’re right,” he says standing up. “It’s up to your Ma. Does she know anything about what’s gone down tonight?”
“No, but you said yourself my Ma would love to have a girl around.”
“Your Ma would love who?” says my mother, popping in through the kitchen screen door. Groceries crash land, falling out of their bags, as they hit the floor. “Oh my God, Ricky! What the fuckity fuck happened to you?”
Chapter 20
FRANNY
The woman I find staring at me has long dark hair that is twirled up on the back of her head. She’s wearing a faded waitress’ uniform and there is a deep concern on her face. Half an hour ago that concern was for Rick and he spent the last twenty minutes after she started crying trying to convince her, he’s okay.
Now, she has her hand on my shoulder and is crouching in front of me. “Franny. Are you okay? Will you let me look at you?”
I can see the resemblance between her and Rick. He has her wavy dark hair and olive skin, though I have no clue where he got those blue eyes from, because hers are a deep chocolate brown with gold flecks.
I shrug, because my body aches so much, I don’t even know where to start. Rick hovers behind her and he’s wringing his shirt in his hands. There is a livid scratch across his abdomen and when he reaches up to run his fingers through his hair, I notice the row of stitches all along his underarm. The sight of them makes me burst into tears again. It’s not just a cut to the lip this time, this is serious. I can’t even count the number of stitches before his arm flies down to his side.
Rick is hurt because of me. This whole damn mess is because of me.
“Franny, this is Ginevra, my Mom.”
The woman strokes my hair. “Neve. No one ever calls me by my Sunday name.” She looks to her son and I can see the love she has for him. Putting her hand to his shoulder she says, “Help me get Franny upstairs.”
Rick moves to pick me up, but he winces when he flexes his arm.
“I’ll carry her.” Teddy steps in but Rick keeps a tight grip on me. Teddy sighs and holds up his hands. “Well, don’t blame me if you tear your stitches.”
Upstairs, the place is just as homey as the kitchen. Rick carries me along a corridor past one room and then turns to enter a second.
“No, bring her to mine.” Says Neve, “You need to find sheets and clean up your stuff before she can go in there.”
“Ma.” But the protest is a token because he is following his Mom to the room at the front.
Inside, her bedroom is light and airy with a soft buttery yellow on the wall and long flowing muslin drapes at the windows. He places me on the bed and I try to get off because I don’t want to mess up her pretty handmade quilt.
“You stay where you are.” She goes to the closest and pulls some stuff from it and when she turns back, she frowns at Rick. “Outside, young man.”
“But, Mom.”
She herds him to the door and just as he reaches the threshold she places a huge kiss on his cheek. “Give Franny a few minutes. I want to check her out and I’m sure she’d feel more comfortable without an audience.”
Rick looks over his mother’s shoulder at me and I lower my eyes. I’m so embarrassed by what he has seen tonight and am mortified by what he heard my father call me. I don’t know if I will ever be able to look my father in the eye again.
Rick backs out the room but I know he is waiting outside because I can hear the floor creaking as he paces.
“Okay, let’s get you out of those clothes, shall
we?”
It’s only then that I catch sight of myself in a long mirror on Neve’s closet door. The sleeve of my blouse is ripped from the shoulder and is hanging by a thread. Only two buttons hold the front together and it is covered in blood. My chest heaves at the sight of it because I don’t know if this is my blood or Rick’s.
The tears start falling in earnest and Neve pulls me to her breast, wrapping her arms around me, rocking and cradling me until I stop crying. I can still hear Rick outside and become conscious that I need to hurry up and put him out of his misery.
“S-sorry.” My fingers go to the buttons but they are trembling so much I can’t make them work.
“Let me.”
I nod and Neve undresses me. She tries not to let any emotion appear on her face but I hear the sharp intake of breath as I stand there in my underwear. She gets up and closes the closet door, hiding the mirror. But she isn’t fast enough and I see enough to make me cry again.
Neve goes to her door and opens it a crack. “Get me Teddy’s phone.”
“What? Why?” Rick’s hand appears on the door jamb but I can’t see him and hope he can’t see me.
“I need the camera.”
“No way. Teddy is not taking pictures of my girlfriend.”
“No, he isn’t, Rick. I am. I’ll send them straight to my email before I delete them, but Teddy is the only one that has a camera on his phone.”
Rick cusses but I hear feet crash down the staircase and a few seconds later a double set crash back at the top of the landing.
“Neve, can I do anything?” Teddy’s voice is low and gentle as he calls through the closed door.
“Run to the pharmacy for me and get her some ibuprofen and see what they have for bruising. I think I have a twenty in my purse.”
“No problem, I’ve got cash.”
There is another clatter down the stairs and then the front door slams. Neve sits back down beside me and she has Teddy’s Samsung resting on her lap. “This is up to you, Franny, but what your father has done is a criminal act. We can call the police now, or I can take you down to the station in the morning. But either way, I don’t want you to wash until we have pictures of what your father did to you.
Heart Broke (Broken Home Book 1) Page 15