13. No Rest For The Wicked

My eyes flew open and panic set in like a wild force. I shot up in bed, my heart loud inside my ears, my eyes shooting frantically across the dark bedroom. The only source of light was from the full moon filtering in through the blinds, creating a pattern of white lines across the walls and floor.

I lifted a shaking hand to wipe the cold sweat beading against my brows, breathing out an annoyed sigh.

It was just a nightmare.

The same nightmare that had been playing on repeat every other night in my sleeping hours like a ghost designated just for me.

This ghost was born the moment my mother had died. See, I had no memory of what had happened that night. All information I had was based on what the adults in my life at the time, which would be my dad, had told me had happened.

Another rival gang had descended on our house, supposedly wanting money and goods from my dad's illegal storage. If he refused, they'd kill us all. My dad claimed to have given them what they wanted, in order to