Meet Me Where the Oak Tree Grows novel Chapter 8

My dad was nodding like a bobblehead, too afraid to make even a peep. I was huddled behind the door, sneaking a peek through the crack. Suddenly, my eyes locked with a pair of dark, piercing ones, and the guy let out this mysterious little chuckle. By the time I snapped back to reality, he was gone, leaving me with a cold sweat trickling down my back. Even gangsters have their code, I guess—no messing with the innocent.

That night, I faked being asleep, listening to my dad moan and curse up a storm in the next room. Oddly enough, there was a tiny thrill in that. The thug had been ruthless. My dad was bedridden for three days, too weak to even lay a finger on me.

After that, I was careful to steer clear of that alley to stir up any more trouble. I never even crossed paths with the guy again. Honestly, I couldn't think of anyone else who could handle my dad like that.

So, there I was, at the crack of dawn, stepping into that narrow alley for the first time. The cobblestone path was lined with soft green moss, and at the end stood a two-story house. Its old, weathered walls had been spruced up with a fresh coat of white paint. A little lilac tree out front was just about to bloom, its faint scent hanging in the air.

I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. The living room was in view, with all kinds of hand-drawn sketches adorning the walls. The guy stood with his back to the door, wearing a white tank top that showed off his muscular arms. A cigarette dangled from his fingers as he sorted tools on the workbench. He flicked the ash when he heard me, but didn’t even bother to turn around.

“We’re not open yet,” he said, as cool as a cucumber. I knew—there was a sign outside saying they opened from 3:00 PM to midnight.

I wanted to tell him I wasn’t there for a tattoo, but my lips wouldn’t budge. Last night’s untreated wounds had them stuck together.