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How broken does he think I am?
A thick work boot stomps into view, followed by the second. His boots are looking a bit worse for the wear, like he’s been too busy beating the shit out of me to care about the state of his shoes.
“So this is the thanks I get?” Uncle Clint grunts.
I roll onto my back so that I can see his face. Not because I care to lock eyes with the man who hurt me for so long, but because I can’t glare at him with the full extent of hatred in my soul if I’m staring at his boots.
“This is the thanks I get for raising your useless ass,” he goes on, glaring down at me. The arm I sliced is wrapped in a heavy white bandage, and the sight of it gives me a grim sort of satisfaction. “You running away. Takin’ off in the middle of the road like that, makin’ me chase after you. I just tore the countryside apart to find you, you stupid bitch.”
I ignore his final slur and focus on the words that send a harsh laugh bursting up my throat.
“Raising me?” The words don’t even feel real as they trip off my tongue. “If you ‘raised me,’ that would imply you did something good for my well-being. And you’ve never been good to me a day in your life.”
Uncle Clint stares at me for a long moment, shock clear on his weathered face. I’ve never talked back to him like this. Usually, his long rants are just met by silence from me, because I know anything I say will only piss him off more.
But right now, I don’t care.
Clint’s lip curls, an ugly sneer contorting his features. Then he drops to his knees with a lot more ease than a man his age and weight should have. He backhands me so hard that stars fill my vision, and I struggle to suck in air around the pain. He grabs my taped hands and pins them to my chest. With his other hand, he tugs the knife from his pocket and flips it open.
No!
I refuse to let him hurt me anymore. I’m not the girl I once was. I’m not. I was able to run away from him, to rise above my fear and get the hell out. I won’t be de
faulting to my old ways, where I just closed my eyes and took whatever punishment he meted out.
Fuck. No.
I buck wildly, yanking my wrists out of his hand. He reaches for me again, brandishing the knife, but I lean into his legs and nail him in the junk with an elbow.
Clint yowls, falling sideways and dropping the knife in the process. As he hits the concrete, I roll over onto my knees and start crawling away, moving at a snail’s pace thanks to my duct taped hands.
He recuperates too fast. One meaty fist reaches into my hair and drags me back toward him.
But I won’t go down without a fight. I will shred him to pieces with every last breath in my body, even if I still die in the end.
I refuse to cower in fear anymore.
Suddenly, a chorus of howls reach my ears. My stomach flips over at the haunting noise, and relief surges through me in a rush. There’s no other sound in the world right now that could bring me so much joy.
“What the fuck…”
Clint mutters a curse under his breath. He still has me by the hair, and I’m on my knees clutching the hem of his shirt to try to take some of the pressure off my scalp. I can’t see his face from my vantage point, but I wish I could.
I wish I could see his expression when four massive wolves burst into his basement.
My shifter companions are the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen as they hurtle down the stairs and across the cement floor. They look magnificent and predatory, their teeth bared and their sights set on my uncle.
Clint lets go of my hair with an almost feminine shriek, and I collapse onto the concrete. I take the full force of my weight with my shoulder, grunting from the pain. My scalp is on fire from the way he slung me around, which probably means I lost a good chunk of hair. But I’ll take a few bald spots if it means I walk out of this alive.
Before Clint can reach for me again, I barrel roll away from him. The wolves are charging toward him with jaws snapping, and I don’t want to get in their way as they leap for him. My legs flail and my arms gain some new bruises as I roll across the floor, everything spinning in my vision.
A gunshot ricochets through the basement, and my heart crashes against my ribs as I come to a stop against the workbench.
Fuck. He’s shooting at them.
The shifters are powerful, but they’re not invincible. He could kill them if he gets in a good shot.
Scrambling to my knees, I watch as Ridge’s light brown wolf latches onto Clint’s arm. Clint cries out, his fingers jolting from the pain, and the gun slips from his grasp. Archer darts in to bat it away, while Dare and Trystan lunge to take the old man down.
