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RYLEE
"Where is she, you stupid bitch?!"
I despise the way I flinch away from Mason's roar of rage. My own anger bubbles to the surface, but the only outward expression of it is in the twitch of my hands.
"She's sleeping." I try to keep my voice soft. Every atom in my body is itching to fight the bastard, but I learned the hard way never to show my feelings. Placating this monster gets us past his tantrums sooner.
His meaty hand grabs a fistful of my hair, forcing my body to bend and contort to avoid the pain. "Why are you keeping my daughter from me, Rylee?!" My name on Mason's lips is atrocious with the way he laces it with disgust.
"Mason, please, that hurts!" The phantom pains of my past broken wrist and bruises throb in tune with the stinging of my scalp.
"You know what else hurts?" I hiss, knowing damn well he just yanked a patch of hair out. "Having my child turned against me!"
"I would never intentionally keep you from her, I swear." Lie. "Layla has to sleep by eight. She's still growing, I promise." I barely get the words out before a loud slap rings out, followed by the heating of my cheek and my body collapsing on the hard floors of the kitchen.
"Mommy?"
No, no, no, no!
Dread fills me as my gaze lands on the sickly wide smile Mason shoots at my little Bug. "You're awake! Your mom fell, but no need to worry, darling. I got you a gift."
Shit.
The beautiful teddy bear he pulls out of his bag would be a wonderful surprise for my sweet girl if she weren't so damn smart.
"Don't hurt Mommy!" Her big blue eyes widen with fear even as she shuffles her little body towards me.
"What have you been telling my child, Rylee?" Mason doesn't need to yell or change his facial expression to instill fear. I see the promise of pain in his dark eyes. The same orbs of hell that my almost-four-year-old watches with mistrust.
"Nothing, I swear." Finally on my feet, I don't even have to nudge Layla away from him. She clutches onto the back of my pajama pants like her life depends on it.
A knock on my bedroom door almost makes me throw up and scream, I swear. With a hand to my chest, sweat sliding down my back, I stare at the door with barely concealed fear.
"Mommy?" Bug peeks her head in through the crack, her hair a wild mess of white curls. And just like that, tears spring to my eyes. "Cuddle?"
I nod, swallowing down my sobs. "Yes, please, baby." Covers in hand after latching the door behind her, Layla burrows into my side. "I love you. I got you now."
A small puff of a content sigh on my collarbone settles my racing heart. "Love you. I got you, Mommy."
I allow the tears the fall once I click off my lamp. Someday I hope my little one learns she doesn't need to protect me; it's my job to protect her.
The drive home was silent from the guys’ house earlier. Layla didn’t ask any questions from her spot in the car seat, and I threw all my attention on getting us home. By the time we had our shoes off, it was far later than normal for Bug to go to bed. So, sleep was next on our checklists.
In companionable silence, we brushed our teeth together and read a book of her choice. It’s moments like tonight that make my heart clench, and my mind wander to all that we have been through. For a five-year-old, Layla has seen too much and understands far more than normal.
My little girlknowsmy trauma, and that's not something I can take back. She has her own, and we will always have to work through it. Maybe when we settle down, just her and I, we can see a therapist. I have no doubt that Bug will grow into an amazing woman. I just hope she learns to harness her past and knowledge rather than letting it drown her.
I'm trying not to drown. For her. Without Layla, I don't know what would have become of me.Would my parents still love me? Better question, did they ever love me? Would I be going to galas and have turned into the worst kind of rich girl?
I stifle a sigh, trying not to wake my sweet girl on my chest. She went to sleep in her own bed over an hour ago, but my mind hasn't been able to stop. Old wounds are throbbing and demanding my attention.
What-ifs and guilt wreak havoc on my muscles. I would live a thousand lives of abuse and neglect to have Layla. My regret in life is not getting her out of his clutches sooner.
My sweet girl won't ever be able to look at a gift from a man the same again.Will she always be fiercely protective of me? What does that mean for when she starts dating? Will she learn to trust again? Would Tate have made a good role model and male figure in her life?
On and on, my mind swirls with chaos and half-cocked ideas. I fight like hell to keep the guys out of my thoughts. Yet when their faces flash through my mind, my body settles even if they are the cause of my despair tonight.
Even if I can never have them, at least they brought me comfort on this fitful night.
