I don’t care.
Not giving a f**k about the repercussions, I reach behind my back and pull out my Glock. With my next breath, an animalistic roar leaves my throat, and I send the bullet flying between the eyes of the motherfucker who just shot my stepbrother.
Chapter 3
Eleven years later
(Zahara, age 14)
Zahara
“Hey, check it out! Isn’t that our resident leper girl?”
Laughter rings out around me. I drop my chin even lower and gripping the stack of books in my arms, hasten my steps. The sickening tingle at the back of my neck ratchets up as I squeeze between the students in the hallway and their judgmental stares.
I should be used to all of this by now. Teasing. Mean, spiteful name-calling. It goes way back to elementary school. The questions came first. What happened to you? Does it
