Vengeance (Burning Beliefs #2)

Chapter Thirty-Five *edited*

GRACIE'S POV

I've learned to hate sunrises. I used to think that they were the prettiest thing in the world, especially here at home. Back when those scars were dashed all over my arms, I used to sit on top of the roof and watch the golden light bleed through the morning mists and pour onto the endless cornfields like a broken dam. It would smell like freedom, and the deafening, impending silence would press against my ears, and I could taste the all-American mulch of the cropfields drifting across the wind. For one second, everything was right in the world. This was a new day. I was able to believe everything would turn out okay.

Yet now I understand Serena's fascination with the Winchester inability to maintain promises. The sunrise always promised hope. Beauty. Dignity, whatever little of it I had left. Now, it's just light. It's just another turn of the earth, a planet that doesn't know its fate, that's unaware of how in a matter of God knows when, it's dirt will run red with the blood of the innocent.

My worst fears are for my baby. He's going to grow up a killer, because he has to kill to survive. I almost thought humans were past the point of ruthless, savage bloodthirst, but recently, I've learned that not only humans can be primal. Angels wage war every damn second like it's the frickin' Old Testament. Monsters are, in their nature, monsters, and hunters stay faithful to whatever delusional justice system they've convinced themselves is working. We all go to Hell in the end, no matter what they say.

"You look angry," Sam says from across the wooden table.

Zephira, the boys, and I are currently engaged in a game of poker. Well, a redneck kind of poker. We've got beer bottles and chocolate as our chips.

"I'm just thinking," I reply, nonchalantly reviewing my cards.

"About what?" the younger brother barely bats an eye.

"Leave the poor girl alone," Zephira nudges his shoulder. "There's a lot she could be thinking about."

I give Z a small smile of gratitude. Our previous rivalry, or whatever the hell that cattiness was, has disintegrated into we're-both-screwed-so-what's-the-point-in-being-bitchy.

"I raise you two Hershey's bars," Dean declares to Sam.

Sam calls. So does his wife. Dad looks at his cards, looks at the bets, back to his cards, and finally decides to call. I feel bad for easily winning against a guy with such a bad poker face, but I've decided if I win any alcohol, I'll be giving it to him.

I call the bet as well.

Dean grins, flips over his cards, and reveals a full house. Sam shrugs, showing his three-of-a-kind.

Zephira sighs. She also had a full house, but while Dean had three fours, she had three twos.

"Just when I thought I could beat you."

"I've had bad experiences with this game," Dean smirks, preparing to shovel his reward onto his end of the table. "So I studied up. I know my shit."

"Not as well as you'd like to think," I give him the most annoying smile I can manage, as I turn over my hand to show a straight flush.

"You've got to be kidding me," his face falls.

I laugh at him and take in his would-be prizes. Chocolate for me, a couple of beers for Dad.

"Take them," I gesture towards the bottle.

This was our last round, and the band has dispersed. Mid-day poker might be fun, but it only creates an illusion of okay for an hour or so.

Dad shakes his head. "I don't want them."

"Well I can't have them."

"Put them back in the fridge."