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Dylan just shakes his head like he literally can’t comprehend my words.
But if nothing else, I have to make him understand how dangerous his brother is.
“He hit me, Dylan. He punched me and kicked me and threatened worse.” I lift my shirt to show him the bruises on my ribs. “Please don’t trust him.”
Dylan just keeps shaking his head as he stumbles backwards toward the front door.
“Wait, Dylan, please—” I follow him but he shoves an arm out and I stop.
“Please, Dylan,” I plead. I’m shattering. Can’t he see that being with him was the first time I’ve been whole ever since Bryce. With him I’ve been able to believe that I wasn’t worthless. That I had so much value, I could change someone’s whole life.
But now— Now—
“Dylan, no.” I’m begging now and I don’t even care. “I can’t— Not without you.”
But he’s got his hand on the doorknob. He twists it and then wrenches the door open so hard, I’m shocked it’s not ripped off its hinges.
And then he turns and disappears out into the pounding rain without another look back.
Nineteen
DYLAN
“You’re all wet, honey. But I bet I could warm you right up.”
I glare up at the barely dressed girl leaning over me. “Did I ask for any fucking company?”
Her plastered on smile falters but only slightly. The strobe light from the front of the club flashes our way, illuminating just how much makeup she has caked on her face.
She disgusts me just like this entire place disgusts me. Which is exactly why I’m here. It’s where I fucking belong.
“Leave,” I order when she looks like she’s going to make a second attempt. I don’t want a fucking lap dance. I didn’t come here for that.
“No,” I say as she starts to turn away. I down the glass of whisky in front of me. “First have them bring me two more of these.”
She nods and then scurries away.
I look around at the garish lights. At the girls dancing on poles. At the desperate men lining the catwalks waving cash. At the women grinding on men’s laps in the dark.
This is a place for bottom feeders and perverts.
And monsters like me.
This is where I used to hunt, after all.
A lap dance can be bought for a nominal fee but for just a little more, a girl will go home with you. And for just a little more still, she’ll let you do whatever you want to her.
Choke her. Slap her. Humiliate her. Gag her with your cock. Assfuck her. Be as rough as you fucking want.
Whatever sick shit gets you off.
Another girl shows up with two more glasses of whisky. She makes a big show of leaning over and showing her tits as she puts them on the table.
“Get the fuck out of my fucking face.”
I take the first glass and down it. The fire in my throat fucking burns. It makes my eyes water but I reach for the second glass anyway.
Anything to numb today.
Anything to be numb.
Which is probably fucking stupid.
Now I know what I should have all along. Why have I fought it for so many years? It was inevitable. There was never any hope that Darren or I would turn out any other way. Not with him as our father.
And to think I thought I’d protected Darren.
Ha.
Just goes to show what a fucking fool I’ve been. Walking around thinking I’d made a difference, that any of us could fight against what he made us.
I shake my head and lift the glass to my lips. I don’t down it. I decide to nurse this one. There’s no hurry. I’ll have the rest of my life to simmer in my own shit. Tonight is just the beginning of living with my eyes open.
And the first night of the rest of my life living without her.
My eyes close as pain sears through my stomach.
Motherfucker, I thought this shit was supposed to help make me fucking numb. I down the second glass after all and it burns only slightly less than the first.
But I still see her. On the floor after I knocked her down. Her eyes still pleading with me to stay.
To fucking stay.
Just like my mother.
How many times did I see Mom on the ground, crying after Dad hit her? After he raped her?
I’m fine, Dylan. Leave us alone. Don’t try to get involved in things you don’t understand.
Suddenly all the alcohol in my stomach isn’t sitting well. I’m going to be fucking sick. The thought of me turning Miranda into my mother—
Fuck. I shove my chair back and head for the rest rooms but I’m not sure I’ll make it there in time.
It doesn’t help that now that I’m standing, I feel the effects of the alcohol far more than when I was sitting. It’s hard to walk in a straight line and the flashing lights from the stage are piercing as I stumble in the direction of the bathrooms.
