Page 77 of Wicked Brutal

“A few days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Her hands stop. “I thought your father had.”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh.” Water keeps running.

“Mom.” She reaches for another plate, and I touch her wrist. She flinches. Not away from me. Just flinches. I let go immediately. “Sorry.”

“No.” She shuts off the water. “I’m sorry.” For a second, neither of us speaks. Then her eyes move toward the study. “Did he make you uncomfortable?”

My chest tightens. “Dad?”

She looks at me. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t have to.

“Victor?” Mom’s eyes drop. I swallow. “Yes.”

Her mouth tightens. “Did he…” She stops. I wait. She tries again. “Did he do anything?”

“No.” She looks at me, searching. “Nothing like that. He just keeps touching me.” Her face goes pale. “My back. My hand. It’s nothing anyone would think was weird.”

“I think it’s weird.” The words come out before she can stop them, and we both freeze. Mom looks toward the hallway. The study door stays closed. When she looks back at me, her voice is barely audible. “I don’t like it.”

My throat closes. “Mom—“

“Not now.” Fear flashes across her face. And there she is. The woman who called Cassandra. The woman who handed her son to someone she trusted and asked her not to tell her husband.

Mom picks up the dish towel. “You need to be careful.”

“I am.”

“I mean with him.” She twists the towel between her hands. “If you can avoid being alone with him…” She doesn’t finish.

“You don’t want me alone with Victor?”

Her eyes snap to mine. “Keep your voice down.”

“Sorry.”

She looks toward the hallway again. “I didn’t say that.”

“You kind of did.”

“Ally.” She’s scared. Not angry. Terrified.

I soften my voice. “Okay.”

Mom closes her eyes for a second. When she opens them, they’re wet. “Just be good.”

The words hit wrong. They’ve always hit wrong. Be good. Behave. Do what Dad says. Don’t cause trouble. She sees something in my face — because her hand suddenly closes around mine. “Ally.” I look at her. She squeezes once. “Be good.”

This time I hear it differently. Not obedient. Careful. My heart starts beating harder. “Okay.”

Her fingers loosen. “Do you understand?”

I nod. “I think so.”