“He’s…”
“A racist fuck,” Carlo huffs catching on. He’s heard many of Dad’s vitriolic rants before. He knows how Dad will react seeing anyone with a different colour to his. A rich Asian man like Dax just poses two reasons for Dad to resent him.
“He’ll not be the first bigoted prick I’ve faced in my lifetime.”
“I don’t want him to say those things to you,” I whisper. Three pairs of eyes watch me. All of them hearing something in my words that even I don’t understand. Why do I care? Am I protecting Dad from making the mistake of spouting his prejudice and hate? Or am I protecting Dax from hearing it and being poisoned by that kind of venom?
“I can handle it, Jules.”
“Okay.” I give in. “Whatever, but one of you needs to keep Casey safe. You can figure it out between you. Just DON’T let her near him. He threatened to drown her in a bath of bleach and blame it on me.” I hold up my hands and what would have been hisevidence. “I’m pretty sure he meant it.”
A loud thump echoes through the elevator car as Carlo whacks the side wall with his fist. “Fuck! That fucking bastard. You should have told me he was threatening her.”
“Why would I? Until today, you were just a reluctant employer. You knew he beat me and Mum. You didn’t care.” This time I’m not reprimanding him so much as stating facts.
“I fucking care,” he insists. “Mara made me stay out of it.”
“That’s your argument to have with her then, not me. I won’t carry guilt for surviving.”
The argument cuts off as soon as the elevator judders to a halt. We hear Mum’s cries as soon as the doors ping open. I’m not ready for this, but when am I ever?
“I’ll leave the door open,” I tell them in a whisper. “If Mum’s clear, do what you want.” I stride to the door, turn my key in the lock and slip wordlessly into the fight.
I tiptoe, avoiding all the sections of floor that creek or rock when walked on, and reach for the golf-sized umbrella that nobody uses because it’s too damn heavy. I grip it at the top with two hands, like I’m holding a bat, and prop it over my shoulder with the thick handle sticking up in the air.
I ignore the throbbing protest of pain. If anything, I grip harder hoping to numb my burnt palms.
They’re in the living room. The boys press against the far wall. Dad has Mum pinned to the floor, face down with his hand wrapped in her hair, shoving her hard into the stained carpet. Her begging is a high-pitched drone of words only punctuated by sharp air-sucking sobs. They have their backs to me, but I notice that her skirt is bunched up around her waist and although her underwear is still on, he’s grinding against her in a way that suggests he’s planning on taking this to the next step.
In front of his sons? Is this another lesson on how to be a Feelan man? I can only hope that they don’t understand what Dad’s threatening to do.
The viciousness out of his mouth isn’t hard to understand, though.
“Fucking slut. Did he touch you? Did you fuck him? You’re mine, you stupid cunt. MY WIFE. I own you. I’ll be the last fuck you’ll ever know…I warned you, you stupid bitch. I fucking warned you what would happen!”
His free hand viciously punches her again and again, aiming for stomach ribs and kidneys. All the places that do the most damage. He likes it when we feel his punishments for weeks. Although this time I suspect he wants to make the damage permanent.
I’m almost right behind them when the boys notice me, but they are too afraid to make a sound and give me away.
I raise the umbrella, and swing it hard in a downward arc, right across Eric Feelan’s head.
He slumps over Mum, but I know better than to relax. He rolls off her faster than a man his size should be able to, and pulls himself backward, narrowly escaping my second swing. His eyes burn with promises of retribution. I risk a quick glance at Mum. She’s motionless. Her breaths are shallow hisses. Bruised or broken ribs, maybe? Despite her injuries, she needs to move. If she pulls herself toward the boys and out of his range, I can call in reinforcements.
“Oh, look, the prodigal mongrel returns.” Dad sneers despite his split lip and prods the spot on his head where I hit him. I catch the wince that crosses his face right before anger flares to replace it. “You’ve grown some balls, Juliet. Think your new friends will protect you, huh? Well, where are they now?”
“I don’t need friends to stand up to you, you fucking coward. Thought I proved that earlier?” I widen my stance and cross the umbrella over my body, readying to deflect or swing again.
He pulls himself to his feet. He’s steady despite how hard I hit him.
He glowers at me in a way that I’ve never seen before. Like he’s re-evaluating who he thinks I am. “I want to know how you have the head of Trevainne Industries running after your dirty littlepussy. How did you manage to hook such a wealthy fish? You’re not smart enough or pretty enough for a catch like that.” I balk at the insinuation. Not just that he assumes I’m sleeping with Dax—that’s nothing new—but that he knows more about Dax than I do. Trevainne? Dax is the head of Trevainne Industries? I bookmark it for later. Distractions will only hurt me right now.
“Always so obsessed with what lies between a woman’s legs. Anyone would think you had mummy issues, or maybe you’re jealous? Have you always been a perverted bastard? Why do you assume a woman can only earn if it’s on her back? You’re a sicko…do you know that? And a fucking rapist, it seems. Nothing but SCUM.” I spit accusations at him, provoking him to attack or move toward me and away from them.
He huffs, unbothered. “It’s not rape if you own it, or you bought it.”
I fucking lose it. Sick of his twisted sense of ownership and entitlement. “It’s rape if she doesn’t want it. Its rape if she says no. It’s rape if you take something that wasn’t consensually given, you fucking piece of shit!”
Too late, I realise that I’ve swung the umbrella out to my side one-handed.
