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“Let. Her. Go.” Elden commanded, the air seeming to shimmer around him.
People were staring as they walked past, practically tripping over each other as they did so. It was not every day they saw an outlaw biker—who was hot in a way that college boys couldn’t be—looking like he was about to rip the arms off someone.
For a second, I worried this would turn into more of a scene, and I would actually witness my father being beaten to death then have to see Elden carted away and taken to prison for murder.
Something shifted in my father’s eyes, something cold, foreign, evil. Something that made me taste blood as my teeth sank into my lip.
He gave my wrist one last squeeze before letting me go. It was cruel, that squeeze. Born out of a need to inflict pain, prove a point. Exert some kind of power.
My stomach lurched, and I was thankful I hadn’t eaten today.
“Your mother did this,” he hissed. “Brought you down to the gutter with her, made you associate with trash.” He was obviously talking about Elden but not brave enough to look him in the eye as he did. “You’re going to ruin your life. You being around those criminals that whore has obviously forced you to associate with.”
I recoiled as if he’d hit me. My mother, I assumed, was the whore.
Elden tensed further, and I got the impression he was going to do something, so I stepped in front of him, which likely pissed him off to no end, but I didn’t really care at that point.
He was going to protect my honor, or whatever the fuck. Except I could protect my own.
“My mother associated with trash for eighteen years of her life,” I countered coldly. “She’s finally living the life she deserves. With a real man, not some…” I looked him up and down with disgust. “Coward. If I ever see you again, I’m getting a restraining order. Leave now, before I decide to let Elden do what he’s yearning to do and beat you to a pulp just like you did to my mother for fucking years.”
I didn’t give my father a chance to spew anything else. I turned my back on him and walked away.
Elden followed me.
ChapterSeven
For once,no one was at the house.
It was quiet, smelled of some expensive candle Sariah had left burning—she did this quite often, so it really was a miracle that the house hadn’t burned down yet—and the sage she’d burned just yesterday to protect us from negative energy.
That hadn’t worked.
It was quiet, too quiet, the only sound being Elden’s motorcycle boots on the hardwood floor.
It felt impossibly odd to have him in this space. He was a juxtaposition to every piece of our décor which was varying degrees of girly. Although this renovated Victorian had high ceilings and a large, open plan living room, he made it all look impossibly small. He seemed to take up every inch of space.
Even though I’d been imagining him being here for months, I found myself incredibly nervous in his presence.
He was looking around carefully, as if he was cataloguing every vase shaped like the female form, every framed print of various feminist heroes, every plant hanging from the ceiling or nestled on a bookshelf.
“How did you know?” I asked in a small voice.
We hadn’t spoken.
Not once during the walk home.
He’d just strutted beside me, keeping pace, ignoring every stare from men and women on the way. Even in the midst of my turmoil, I’d noted the looks and hated them. Hated that I couldn’t put his hand in mine. Claim him.
When his eyes finally met mine, electricity crackled in the air. My body sparked with the unique feeling that only he could awaken inside me.
“How did you know that my father was going to be there?” I clarified when he didn’t answer the question straight away.
“We keep tabs on him,” he answered matter-of-factly, eyes never leaving mine. “Got the notification he’d left Carver Springs and was heading this way. I got on the next plane. Obviously not soon enough.” There was an undertone of fury in his voice. “He shouldn’t have set foot on campus,” he bit out, raking a hand through his hair. “He sure as fuck shouldn’t have been able to get close enough to lay his hands on you.”
I looked down to my wrist. It had been throbbing, but I’d ignored it. I blinked at the discolored skin around it, an angry red ring that would eventually turn into a bruise. Though I’d never once doubted what my mother told me about his violence, it was something completely different to see evidence of it on my skin.
A lump formed in my throat, and my eyes burned. I fought against the tears he didn’t deserve.
