“Do you really think I’m the bad guy?!” Charles shouted at the top of his lungs. His voice exploded across the room like a bomb, shaking the air and rattling something deep inside me.
“Answer me! Am I the bad guy?!”
He sprang to his feet and began yanking pillows off the couch, throwing them everywhere. They flew like feathers in a storm. Then, without warning, he lifted the entire couch and flipped it upside down with a roar. The sound of its legs crashing against the floor was deafening.
He kicked a flower vase. Shards flew. He kicked again—chairs, drawers, everything in reach.
Raven had already started crying. Soft at first, then louder as fear gripped her tiny frame. Her body trembled so much I feared she would pass out again.
I had to abandon my attempt to reach for the gun. It n
