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I don’t get a chance to answer—not like there’s anything I could say to make this better. I’ve learned to take the beatings and lick your wounds when done. The less fear you show, the less he beats you. That’s what Xander tells me.
My father’s fist hits my jaw, causing my head to snap to the side. I would have fallen to the floor if he didn’t have an iron grip on my arm. Three or four hits follow…I lose count. If he let me go right now, I’d stay down on the floor. I’d give in, letting him win.
I’m halfway passed out, the pain overtaking me, when he shakes me awake.
“Don’t you fucking pass out, you little shit. I’m not done teaching you a lesson. You take your fucking beating and learn something from it. Clearly, I need to teach you in other ways.” His heated breath fans my face, smelling of whiskey. Has he been drinking? He beats us so much when he drinks.
He yanks me to the side and places my hand between the door frame and the heavy iron door. “You want a real reason to cry, then I’m going to give you one.” I shake my head and try to pull my hand away, but he is so much stronger than I am.
He always is.
He swings the door open, and I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for it to crush my hand. Then I hear heavy footfalls and open my eyes.
“No!” Xander cries, and my father releases my hand. I watch with wide eyes as Xander tries to tackle him. Xander is only fourteen, but he’s big for his age, and my father can’t push him around like he used to. But Xander isn’t big enough to overtake father yet, so instead of proving a point to Father, he ends up below him, our father’s huge body crushing his.
“Xander,” I yell, wanting to save him the way he saved me.
I see him mouth the word “run,” and as badly as I want to stay and help, I know when my brother tells me to do something I should do it.
“You’re no better than him, Xander. Two fucking weak, pitiful excuses for men.” My father’s voice carries, following me as I climb the stairs to my room, locking the door. Tears slip down my cheeks.
I wish I was stronger. I wish I could protect us like Momma did.
But Momma’s gone. It’s just Xander and I.
Xander’s voice drags me back to reality, pulling me from the horrendous nightmare.
“Our uncles will be pleased to know you actually showed up tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “Oh, I’m sure they will be.”
Out the corner of my eye, I watch Keira’s face absorb all she’s seeing. The paintings, the marble floor, the high ceilings, the chandelier, the glitz and glam—the part of my life she’s never seen.
I keep a tight grip on her arm and pull her closer to my body. She nearly trips over her own feet, a gasp escaping her lips, but rights herself before doing so. Her heels clack against the flooring, echoing throughout the space. We walk through the foyer and straight into the open kitchen that leads to the garden.
The place is lit up, just as it was when we were kids.
I hear voices, two of which I know, and a few others I don’t.
When we enter the room, the voices dwindle to nothing more than breath. All eyes move to Keira and watch as a soft blush creeps up her cheeks. She has no idea how beautiful she looks tonight. And she has no clue how much these evil fucking men are going to want her by the time the night is over.
“Damon.” Uncle Dom, the man I’m partially named after, breaks the silence first. As he pushes from his chair to stand, the wood scrapes against the floor, causing Keira to jump. I ignore her tells and focus on the task at hand.
Dom’s face is worn, a permanent expression of tired. When he smiles, it seems unnatural.
“Uncle Dom.” I force a smile, letting him hug me.
He pulls back and directs his attention to Keira. His eyes reflect hunger for something other than food as he drinks her in. The gun digging into my back reminds me I could easily shoot each and every one of these fucks in the head…just for looking at her.
But I don’t…I won’t…at least not yet.
“And you must be Keira.”
She nods, nibbling on her bottom lip. She averts her eyes to the floor as if she’s submissive.
“All this trouble over such a small little thing.” Dom shakes his head, as if he doesn’t understand.
Well, he would, if he had a fucking heart.
“Yes, Uncle. All this trouble over Damon refusing to let go of something he doesn’t actually own.”
I clench my jaw. Dom must sense my hostility because a burst of laughter erupts from his throat as he slaps a hand on my back.
