“Yes,” Daddy replies exasperatedly, unfolding his arms. “He’ll grow up weak and unable to survive in this world. Unless you’ve noticed, he’s the son of an Elder. One day, he’ll be expected to follow in my footsteps. The others already make fun of us because Darian is too soft.”
Daddy’s words hurt more than when I fell off my bike the other day and scratched my knee up real bad. Mommy said I shouldn’t ride downhill so fast.
I shrink away from the door, my chin trembling.
“Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry,” a voice in my head scolds. Daddy says tears are for the weak. We are men, and men like us don’t cry. If anyone sees us cry, it’ll be bad for us and Mommy.
“Has it ever occurred to you that not all wars are fought with weapons and hatred? Some are fought with the heart, Cyrus. Some are fought with love.”
“Listen to yourself,” Daddy scoffs, placing his hands on his head and barking a cruel laugh, a harsh sound I haven’t heard my daddy make before. “Some are fought with love? Don’t be ridiculous.” Lowering his hands by his sides, he stares at Mommy for a long moment before leaning in. “There’s no room for love in the Exodus. I’m teaching the kid to use a gun.”
As he strides toward the house, I spin on my feet and run to my room.If Daddy finds me eavesdropping, I’ll get my butt whooped.
Mommy doesn’t speak to Daddy for a week. When I finally knock the soda can off the tree stump, I see her watching me in the doorway with a soft yet sad smile. Daddy swoops me up and runs me around the backyard while I pretend to be an airplane. I think I like summer and insect bites and scraped knees, after all.
“Cecilia?”
Is it really her? A spark of hope ignites inside me. I barely dare believe she’s here in front of me, unhurt.
I shake my head to clear the haze, but it’s heavy, my chin lolling uselessly against my chest. She’s so beautiful and bright it’s almost blinding, like an angel in the darkness.
I croak her name again. My dry mouth feels like sandpaper, and a pounding headache throbs behind my temples. How long have I been out? Days? Weeks? Wait a minute? My eyes widen, and I squirm in the chair I’m tied to as I inspect the room, or rather, the wardrobe. “Where am I?”
I’m torn from my thoughts when Cecilia crouches in front of me and places her gentle hands on my knees with a tender look in her regretful eyes. “You need to be brave, Darian. Promise me that you’ll be brave.”
Her smooth fingers brush against my cheekbone when I fail to respond, and my attention flitters around the confined space.
She cradles my cheek in her palm and tilts her head slightly as she studies my face. “You were brave once. You can be brave again, for me.”
My eyes clash with hers. “Why am I in a wardrobe?”
Fear crawls over my clammy skin beneath my clothes, like countless little spiders with eight legs and pincers.
I thrash in my chair, suddenly overcome with the immediate need to escape. “I have to get out of here NOW. I can’t be here. I can’t?—”
“Sshh,” Cecilia soothes. “Be brave, remember.” She’s closer now, leaning up on her knees and pressing her lips to my brow. “You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”
A bucket of icy water is poured over my head, and I shoot upright, spluttering and cursing as a sharp pain spreads out between my shoulder blades.
Within seconds, I’m shivering violently, my teeth are chattering, and I feel like I’ve been simultaneously doused in gasoline and set on fire and then dunked in a frozen lake.
“Good morning, princess.”
A closed fist flies out and punches me in the cheek.
CRACK.
My head whips to the side with such force stars circle me like a damn cartoon, but whoever my tormentor is, he’s not done. Another punch follows, this time in my gut, and I double over in my chair with a grunt.
My stomach rolls, nausea climbing up my throat, and he laughs as he grips my face, squishing my cheeks together with fingers that smell of unwashed cock and tobacco. “You don’t look like such a big shot now, pretty boy.”
“That’s enough,” a different voice says from the door. The man shoves me back and steps away, leering at Lauren on his way out, but she pays him no attention, arms crossed, as she stares at me just inside the door. “You look a little pale and cold,Delacroix.” Stepping deeper into the small walk-in wardrobe, she glances around. “How do you like the setting? Are you comfortable enough?”
“Drop the fucking act,” I growl, twisting my wrists against the restraints securing me to the chair. Lauren better pray I don’t find a way to escape, because she’ll be the first person I come for.
“Oh, baby…” She pouts as she walks up to me with a predatory gleam in her eyes and a sway in her hips that spells trouble, her unruly amber hair spilling over her shoulders.
When she reaches out to stroke my hair away from my brow, I flinch back, which makes her lips twitch with amusement. “So angry.”
