Page 1 of Wounded Hearts

Prologue

The light blinkedon the answer phone and he knew before he listened who it would be. His father was going to visit his mother. Drew felt his stomach turn knowing his mother would spend hours primping and preening, getting all dolled up to please the man. It never ceased to amaze him how, despite the way Marcus Preedy treated her, his mother worshipped him. Running to do his bidding every time he clicked his fingers.

Drew was tempted to erase the message before she saw it but knew there was no point. It was her life not his. He let out a sigh as he moved towards the kitchen, his appetite now lost. He should be grateful Marcus left him alone for the most part, only checking on him once in a while for abilities or special gifts and making sure his grades were good—after all, he was paying a pretty penny to make sure he’d the top tutors educate him.

At fourteen, Drew felt years older than other kids his age, not that he got to meet many. Marcus didn’t want him associating with other kids. He spent his time on his computer and more recently, he’d started to burn hours in the garage with a punching bag his mum had bought him.

Training on the bag allowed him to free his mind and purge the anger he felt towards his mother and father. Although father was an exaggeration, he was more of a sperm donor or sponsor at best. Willing to spend the money on him but never the time, and certainly never the affection. Drew was a commodity and one that was lacking, as Marcus told him time and again when he’d failed to show any abilities. He wasn’t like the sister he’d never met.

Lauren was special, she had gifts, but unlike his mother, hers had whisked her away from the cold and calculated Marcus Preedy. Hid her so she was never subjected to tests and rules as he was.

Drew loved his mother, she was his mother after all, but he couldn’t ignore his anger that she loved Marcus more than she did him. It wasn’t childish jealousy though, it came from the fact that no matter what Marcus did to him—ridicule, beatings, cruelty—she never, not once, stood up to him. He was second place at best and always would be.

In the quiet of the night he liked to imagine that Martha had been his mum and that he and Lauren were full siblings. That she’d saved him like she’d saved her daughter.

Drew heard the door behind him open and his mother’s excited intake of breath when she saw the light on the answering machine flashing to indicate a message. She knew what it meant too.

“Drew, go clean up, your father is going to visit.”

Drew watched her dash up the stairs, her body full of energy and excitement. It was the only time she was like that. Normally she was apathetic, sitting on the couch watching television as she whiled away the hours until Marcus’s next visit. Drew cooked for himself, did his own washing and ironing, and made sure the shopping was done.

Marcus paid the bills of course; it was just one more way for him to control them. Drew recognised that at fourteen so why didn’t his mum see it?

He strode to the garage and put on the gloves his mum had bought him for his last birthday. The best present she’d ever given him. His body was starting to show the effects of his hours at the bag, muscle and sinew already beginning to form on his tall frame.

He was sweating hard, sweat rolling down his skin, his mind only on the bag in front of him, when the door opened behind him. He knew who it was. Marcus had a presence about him. Drew didn’t turn, pretending he hadn’t heard him as he kicked and punched the bag with the strength of a man rather than the boy he was.

“You have a lot of strength, boy.”

Despite his hatred, the sound of his father’s voice still filled Drew with the need to please him. He grabbed the bag and stilled it before turning to face his father. “Thank you, sir.”

Marcus walked closer, assessing Drew, his eyes watching him, looking for something which Drew never seemed to have. Yet today, as his father circled around him, he felt that perhaps he’d found something worthy.

Marcus began to roll up his sleeves as he faced Drew. “Show me what you have, boy.”

Drew hesitated sure he’d heard him wrong. His father didn’t want him to fight him—did he?

Marcus lashed out, jabbing him in the ribs and he gasped for air as the pain had him gritting his jaw.

“Come on, boy, don’t disappoint me again. Show me there’s something worthy about you. Show me that you were worth the spunk I spent on ya mother’s cunt.”

Drew gritted his teeth as he seethed, his fists clenching, muscles tensing.

“There you go, you do have some spirit. You want to hit me, don’t you? Show me who the boss is? Now’s your chance, lad.”

Drew couldn’t contain his temper any longer and jabbed at his father’s head. The hit connected but he’d pulled his punch at the last second. His father countered with a blow to the ribs which he didn’t pull, and pain exploded in his side. Drew lunged and landed a hit to his father’s gut and the older man grunted and then smiled.

It was on. He didn’t know how long they fought, just that at the end he was bloody and bruised but he wasn’t the only one. His father was breathing hard, his wiry muscled frame covered in sweat. A bruise was already forming on his cheekbone and Drew felt a sense of twisted pleasure.

“You did good, boy. Maybe you’re worth my time after all.” His father rolled his sleeves down as he walked to the door. Drew was almost ashamed of the intense pleasure he got from the back-handed compliment his father paid him.

“Now get showered.” Marcus stepped out but then turned back. “And another thing, if you ever pull your punches again, be it with me or anyone else I tell you to fight, then I’ll beat you so bloody that even your mother won’t recognise you. Do you understand?”

Drew’s heart fell. He should’ve known the praise wouldn’t last. “Yes, sir.”

Marcus Preedy walked away, and Drew felt the first inkling of real hatred seep in. One day he’d escape this place—his mum who didn’t really care and his father who seemed to feel nothing for him except anger and disappointment. He’d leave and he’d find his sister and then they would both be free.

That night he’d a quiet dinner with his mother and father, and for the first time his father engaged him in conversation, even taking an interest in him. His mother smiled and revelled in the attention they were receiving, as if Marcus was the messiah brought to life.