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Flesh hitting flesh.
Something sick entered my soul then.
I hadn’t seen anybody enter or exit the hallway since I’d retaken my seat.
There were only two options here.
Either Swayze was beating the shit out of her dad, or her dad was beating the shit out of her.
The song playing went off, and the bar went momentarily silent.
That was when I heard the whimpering.
Without conscious thought, I opened the door and pushed inside.
What I saw had me calling out for Shawn and hoping that he would hear me.
I moved before I even realized what I was doing.
All it took was one glance at the person on the floor for my heart to react before my brain.
It was the curly blonde hair stained with bright red that was my trigger.
Boom.
CHAPTER 3
I’m not always a bitch. Sometimes I’m asleep.
-Swayze’s secret thoughts
SWAYZE
Six months later
Former Marine Patrick Moore Wheat pleads not guilty to manslaughter.
Wheat was just getting off leave when he ruthlessly beat a man to death in his own bar.
More to come on Channel Six news when we come back.
I quickly turned off the television, sick to my stomach all over again.
I stood up stiffly, still to this day, six months later, sore from the beating that my father had inflicted on me.
“You ready, baby?” my stepfather asked, looking at me from the carport door.
I swallowed hard and walked toward him, my conservative outfit making me feel dumb as hell.
My mother said that it looked nice, though, so I kept it on despite my discomfort.
“Ready,” I replied softly, no longer able to say anything above a husky whisper thanks to the damage to my vocal cords that my father had inflicted when he’d punched me in the throat.
“It’ll be okay,” my mother assured me. “You’ll see.”
When we arrived at the courtroom thirty minutes later, my heart lurched in my chest at the sight of him.
God, even in the orange jumpsuit he was wearing, he still looked beautiful.
His jaw was clean shaven, but that was the only thing left about the man that I’d met in the bar that day.
It was my fault he was in jail right now.
About to be in prison.
Because he’d all but given up on all the bullshit that had been laid at his feet since his arrest.
The moment that he’d been taken in, it had started.
Apparently, my father had been mixed up with some people that had wanted him where he was. And they’d taken offense when they’d lost their mule. Their mule that had hidden some drugs and couldn’t be asked where they’d been hidden.
And, to let their ire be known, they’d bribed, blackmailed, or downright threatened every single person that might be able to help Patrick out.
Everyone but my stepfather and mother.
They, thank God, believed him and stepped in to help.
Only, it wouldn’t help when the men and women on the jury, as well as the judge, had all been brought to the dark side.
Which was where we were at now.
The sentencing.
Out of all the things I’d done wrong in my life, Trick was the worst mistake of all.
I wished, for his sake, that I’d never met him.
Fresh off deployment, wanting to help with his sister, he’d innocently been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
I would’ve rather died than seen him go to jail.
Yet, we all knew that was where this was going.
Me getting on the stand was the last-ditch effort that my stepfather was taking.
I watched him across the crowded courtroom, my breath in my throat.
My arm throbbed, and the last thing I wanted to do was get up on that stand and relive what my father had done to me all over again.
But I’d do anything for Trick.
He’d saved my life.
Throughout the entire process, Trick never once looked at me.
He stared at the wall behind my head, and I felt like a hollowness had taken root in my soul.
“I call Swayze Marrin to the stand,” my stepfather’s voice filled me with horror.
God, this was the last thing I wanted to do.
I was still fucked up.
I walked with a limp, might always.
My nose was crooked as hell now thanks to my father breaking it.
And my arm still ached from where my father had snapped the two bones in half by stomping on my forearm.
I tried not to limp too badly as I took the stand.
I also tried not to look at anyone else but my stepfather.
He was safest.
“State your full name.”
I felt my insides churn. “Swayze Molly Marrin.”
My stepfather smiled warmly.
“Swayze, can you tell us about that night? Why were you there?”
“My father called and told me that he wanted to see me for my birthday, that he had something for me,” I explained.
“And was he on time?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“How late was he?” my stepfather pushed.
“Um,” I hesitated, thinking back. “About three hours or so. I don’t know the exact time that I got there.”
