His Urge by Ana W. Fawkes Page A

father.
    “I’m sorry,” John said.
    “For what?” Jonathan asked.
    Right on cue, a crashing sound came.  Someone else was inside the house.

-10-
     
    “You have to go,” John said. 
    “What the fuck is this?” Jonathan asked.
    John lowered his eyes. “It’s detectives.”
    “You set me up,” Jonathan said.  “My own father...”
    John grabbed Jonathan’s arm, squeezing with a shaking hold.  “You have to take her and protect her.”  Both men looked at me.  I was naked and I only wanted one set of eyes upon me.  “She’s worth dying for, Jonathan.  Now go.”
    “How?” Jonathan asked.  “They’re here.  They’ll see...”
    It was perhaps the weakest I had ever seen Jonathan Black.  He wasn’t shaking, he wasn’t scared, but for the first time, he lacked a full plan. 
    John nodded at his son then set his attention to Peter Cresh.  Cresh was still standing, touching the end of the knife, his breaths counting down.  John grabbed the end of the knife and pulled.  He grunted as he pulled, sliding the knife out of Cresh’s body.  Then he stabbed Cresh, again and again... and again...
    John was going to take the fall for Peter’s Cresh’s murder.
    Jonathan wasted no time, moving to the bed, taking the handcuffs off me.  The feeling of being released, being free, was enough that I let out a whimpering cry of relief.  I jumped into Jonathan’s strong arms and he held me tight.
    “Mr. Black,” I whispered.
    “Oh, Isabella Grace, did anyone hurt you?”
    “No.  But I think we have to go.”
    Jonathan walked me to the other side of the bed.  He found me a fresh set of clothes in his black bag.  As I dressed myself, he dressed too.  Sounds above us told me detectives were upstairs searching for bodies and they’d find what they were looking for, soon enough.
    Once we were dressed, Jonathan took my hand.  “Come.”
    I looked at the bed and stopped to get the four sets of cuffs.  I handed them to Jonathan.  “Wouldn’t want to waste these, right?”
    “Isabella Grace, good girl.”
    We started to walk again as another horrible crashing sound came.
    “They’re down here,” John said.  Both the knife and his hand were covered in blood.
    He looked at me.  The look we shared was enough.  I could still see deception behind his eyes, whether taking the fall for this murder was part of his plan or not.  Maybe he had a better lawyer than Jonathan did.  Or maybe he really meant his words when he said I deserved to be protected.
    Jonathan took me into the bathroom and he grabbed the gun from the floor.  He stuck it into the bag and as we turned, standing in the hallway, was a group of men, holding guns, ready to fire. 
    “Don’t shoot,” Jonathan said.  “We’re trying to escape.”
    The two men in front were dressed in armored black clothing.  Behind them were two more men, in long tan trench coats, pistols by their sides, looking angry but calm.  Their faces were tough looking.  The man on the left had the eyes of a rattlesnake.  He eyed me and Jonathan. 
    The man on the right asked, “Where’s the problem?”
    The problem a s if he knew what was happening...
    “In the bedroom,” Jonathan said.  “He has a knife.”
    “Is Mr. Black dead?” the man on the left asked.  His voice was rough and deep.
    “No,” Jonathan said.  “Mr. Black is alive and well.”
    I couldn’t tell if he was referring to himself or his father.
    The group went into the bedroom and the look on face of the trench coat men was nothing but shock and awe.  The one with the rattlesnake eyes looked to his partner and shook his head.
    “What the fuck is this mess?” he growled.
    “Calm down Niles,” the other man said.
    “He called this on himself then Harper,” Niles said.
    I looked at Jonathan and he took a step.
    Niles threw his arm out and said, “Don’t fucking move a muscle.”
    So we froze.  I shivered in fear and Jonathan put his arm around me and squeezed.   He