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But three simple words, three harmless words, have me wishing I was anywhere but here because those words open up a wound I wish would close over and let me be.
“Merry Christmas…princess.”
“Not so fast,” my father warns as I strike my head back, praying I make contact with his nose.
But he’s too quick and dodges my attack with a menacing chuckle.
“Too slow,” he chides. “Some things never change.”
“Obviously not. You’re still a fucking asshole,” I spit, attempting to twist out of his painful grip, hoping to break free. But he has a strong hold on me, and I’m futilely expending the energy I need to survive.
“I’ll scream,” I threaten. Looking around me, I wish someone would look my way.
But everyone is in party mode, too intoxicated on expensive spirits and Christmas cheer to notice my dilemma.
“Go ahead,” he mocks, and I experience the unmistakable feeling of a gun being pressed into the small of my back.
Most people would be afraid, but I’m not most people.
I respond to my father’s threats of violence by letting out a sarcastic laugh. Is he really that pathetic that he thinks I care about my survival right now?
All I can think of is what happens when Tristan returns.
My father will have no qualms in taking us both prisoner, and that’s the only thing that has me afraid.
“Just in case you missed it, I’m holding a revolver against your spine. One wrong move, and you can say goodbye to your legs.”
I cringe at his marijuana-scented breath as he inches his lips to my ear.
“I know. I just don’t see how that’s supposed to scare me. If you’re going to kill me, just do it already, and stop boring me with your melodramatics,” I say, hoping he buys into my detachment.
Now it’s his turn to laugh as he replies, “Kill you? If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so weeks ago.”
I realize he’s right.
He’s had ample time to do it, so now I know for certain that he has another plan for my fate.
“So what, you’re going to bore me to death?” I laugh, roughly attempting to pull out of his clutches.
“Always the smart-ass,” he growls, pressing the barrel into my back.
“I’ve learned from the best,” I reply, holding the railing as he digs the gun deeper into my spine.
He takes a deep breath.
The fact I’m no longer afraid of him obviously pisses him off. “We’re going to move, and you’re not going to cause a scene.”
I know this is my chance to save Tristan from walking in on me and trying to save the day.
“Fine, but lose the gun. It doesn’t really imply I’m going anywhere willingly with you.” I hope he believes me because the moment he sheathes that gun…I’m going to kill him.
I don’t know how, but there’s no way I’m going anywhere with him because if I do, I’m as good as dead.
“You will come willingly, Mia.”
I’ve never hated my name more than I do right now.
“What makes you so sure?” I ask, attempting again to break free as I buck against his hold.
