AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Did he mention how exactly I found him with sixteen-year-old Ophelia?”
He has the decency to glance disapprovingly back at Ethan, but that’s about as far as decency goes. “She’s sixteen. Legal age of consent.”
“Like father, like son?”
“You watch yourself, you little bastard. You walk around here like you’re above it all. Like you belong here. Let me tell you something, boy, there is only one reason you’re here, and that’s because your mother is a blackmailer and an extor?—”
“Say what you will about me, but you do not get to talk about my mother, you piece of shit!”
Sly Fox is calm as can be. I’m the opposite.
He grins. He likes that he got a rise out of me. “You know what? I have defended you time and time again when the rest of my family have told me I’ve been too lenient with you. That I need to remind you of your place. I stuck up for you and for your mother when I should have put you both on the street years ago.”
I snort. I can’t help it.
“But I think it’s about time we revisit some lessons you seem to have forgotten.” He rolls up his sleeves as he’s talking. “Time I remind you where you belong.” He draws his arm back and swings, but I block him. “And it is in the servant’s quarters.” He swings again. I block him again. “Not the big house.”
“Don’t worry, Sly, I’d rather live in a fucking shed than anywhere near you or your family.”
“Yeah?” He swings again, gets blocked again.
I don’t swing because I’m not fucking stupid. The cops will be here in a millisecond the instant I do.
“How about Mommy? How do you think she’d feel waking up to cops arresting her son? To an eviction notice from her employer because you know what? She’s not seventeen anymore, is she?” He puts his arms down. “Ethan! Get your ass over here.” Ethan comes running over, glee in his eyes. Sly never takes his eyes off me. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen now,you piece of shit. I’m going to beat the shit out of you, and you’re going to take it.”
“Like hell I am.”
“Oh, you are. You’re either going to take your long overdue beating or you’re going to swing at me and spend the best years of your life in prison knowing Mommy will be out on the street all alone before you even get to county jail.”
I know I don’t really have a choice. I never did. I knew that the minute I swung at Ethan earlier tonight. This won’t be the first beating I take from Sly Fox, but it’s been a while since he’s raised a fist to me. Since I got big enough to pose an actual threat. He’s a coward, like all bullies are. He wouldn’t get in a physical fight with an equal.
“You’re a son of a bitch, you know that?” I say, but this time, I keep my arms at my sides when he swings, and he does not stop. Not until my face is so fucking bloody, I’ll be sporting two black eyes for the coming weeks. Not until I’m spitting blood and Ethan, fucking Ethan, is holding me up to take more. Not until one final punch sends me crashing through Mira’s glass table, smashing it to pieces.
Only then does he stop. When I’m down and can’t get up. When Mira screams for her precious table. When Ethan gives me one final kick in the gut before my mother, who has been woken up by the commotion, comes running over. Frantic, she drops to herknees in shards of sharp glass to touch me, hold me, to tell me she’s there.
“I want the glass cleaned up before you go to bed, Esmerelda,” Mira snaps. “And repairs on Ethan’s door will come out of your salary.”
I’m not even sure my mother hears the bitch when she carefully hugs me to her, the salt of her tears making my cuts burn. I can’t speak, can’t reassure her. My tongue is swollen and my face throbs. I’m pretty sure Sly broke my nose, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is my mother is safe and I got there in time to stop Ethan hurting Ophelia. I’d take the beating a hundred times over to save Ophelia from that entitled prick.
And as I try to get to my feet to drag myself to the cottage, I vow silently yet again that I will have my revenge. I will bide my time, and I will take from them tenfold all they’ve taken from us.
9
SILAS
Present Day
Isit on the hard chair, arms on the table, hands clasped and wait for Horatio Hart to be brought out. I look around at the other visitors, the other prisoners. It’s a minimum-security prison, but it’s prison all the same.
The door clangs, and I look up to find Horatio being led in. I stand, nod in greeting, trying to keep a neutral expression as I take in his beige jumpsuit and the number stamped on the upper left side.
“Silas,” he says when he gets to me. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Mr. Hart.” I nod.
“Thank you,” he tells the guard, who moves to stand against the far wall as we’re seated. “What are you doing here?”
“Wanted to see how you’re doing now that things look to be finalized.” I raise my eyebrows.
