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“Holy shit,” Elena whispers.
“So, yes. I knew you were safe, and I didn’t need you, so I left you be. You’d endured enough at the hands of your father, piece of shit that he was.”
On that, we could agree.
“So, why now?” Elena asks. “What do you need from me now?”
“Why, nothing. But you came to the funeral. Mistake number one.” He strides across the room and sits on a stool by the kitchen island, leaning an elbow on it as he turns to us conversationally. “I knew the minute you left Bandon with your little friend here.”
His eyes turn to me.
“And I’ll get to you in a moment. I was surprised when I didn’t see you in the crowd at the church, but I was busy mourning my mother-in-law and seeing to the service. I would have left things alone and let you return to Bandon and live your life for a while.
“But Carmine recognized you.”
Carmine shakes his head and rubs his hand over his mouth in frustration. He’s seething. All three brothers look as if they’re ready to kill their father themselves.
“So,” he continues, “I couldn’t very well brush it off, could I? And, I’ll be honest, it didn’t sit well with me when I found out that Archer had found you.”
He turns to me now, his eyes cool.
“You’ve been an issue for my family for way too long, Mr. Montgomery.”
“Uncle Carlo—”
“But I’ll expand on that in a moment. First, there are consequences for what you did, Elena. A price to pay for leaving and for doing so much in your power to stay gone, as if you don’t want any part of us at all.”
“I don’t,” she says and crosses her arms over her chest.
“Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Now—”
“I’ll take her punishment,” Carmine says. “It’s my fault that she’s here. I’ll take it.”
Carlo takes a deep breath. “Noble. But no, that’s not possible. You know that’s not how this works. You have to dole out the punishment, my boy.”
“You won’t touch her,” I say, speaking for the first time since he walked into the room. “I’ll take her punishment.”
“Brave,” Carlo says, his eyes brightening as he thinks it over. “And this becomes an all new ballgame.
“No.” Elena takes my hand in hers. “Archer, no.”
“I accept,” Carlo says, watching Elena. “But you won’t get off scot-free, little one. No, your punishment is that you have to watch. Every moment. Every single thing that’s done, you’ll watch, and you won’t beg for it to stop.”
“Uncle Carlo—”
“It’s settled.” He motions to his sons. “Clear the room and tie him up, then we’ll get started. There’s no time like the present.”Chapter 20~Elena~No. No no no no no. This is my worst nightmare come to life. I watch in horror as Rocco and Carmine move the furniture to the edges of the room, and then Shane places a kitchen chair in the middle.
“Have a seat,” Carmine says, gesturing to the chair.
“No. Please, no.” I grab onto Archer’s arm, but he turns to me, frames my face in that special way he does, and smiles down at me.
“Hey, it’s okay, E. Everything’s going to be okay.” He kisses me softly and then turns away, sitting in the chair. Before Rocco can even start tying his hands down at his sides, securing them to the legs of the chair, Shane hauls off and punches Archer in the face.
“Jesus,” I mutter and crush my fist to my mouth.
“It’ll be over before you know it,” Uncle Carlo says with a wink. “Now, I won’t tie you up unless you do something stupid like run in there and get yourself hurt. Stay on this stool.”
I can’t move. I want to. Everything in me screams to run to him, to cover him with my body so I can absorb the beating and not him.
But if I do, I’ll only make things worse for him.
So, I stay put and feel my eyes glaze over as Rocco pulls a bullwhip out of a gym bag.
“No,” Carmine says, glancing at me. “Not the whip.”
“Why the fuck not?” Rocco asks.
“Show them,” Carmine demands. I shake my head no, but he advances on me, spins me around, and pulls up the back of my shirt.
“What the fuck is this?” Uncle Carlo exclaims. “Did this prick do this to you?”
“Of course, not,” I growl, turning to my uncle with a glare. “My father did it.”
He sputters, and his face flushes with fury as I yank my shirt down and turn back around. His jaw tightens, and he merely nods at my cousins.
Rocco tosses the whip aside but pulls a hammer out of the bag instead. Archer’s eyes don’t leave mine as Rocco rears his arm back and brings the hammer down on Archer’s hand, smashing it against the leg of the chair.
“Motherfucker,” Archer growls, his body shaking in pain and anger, but he still doesn’t look away from me. It’s as if he’s soaking in my strength, my love for him, to use as a shield against what’s about to come.
