But I didn’t recognize them, so I felt nothing. Blank emptiness. Not sadness at their death because they were kind, not joy because they were a monster. Just nothing.
I pursed my lips, squeezed them together, and clambered closer, stepping over car parts and glass until I was against the rear window, on the side where Theo couldn’t see. It was blown out, and inside, half conscious, my father lay.
There he was — pathetic, broken, subdued.
I gasped, but really, I think I knew. Whatever had compelled me toward this car settled. The sight of his face took me right back to the past, to the pain and resentment he caused in me. To the look on his face as he handed me over to Rafael.
My father lay before me — weak, unconscious, a gift. My heart skipped a beat.
Reaching into the car, ignoring the blood and viscera of the other men brutalized by the crash, I tugged on his shoulder, shoving away the way touching him made my belly claw. He didn’t budge.
I had to climb in, my stomach scraping and cutting on the shards of glass still protruding from the window frame. I gulped, squeezed my eyes shut as I pressed into the man, leaned on him to reach the strained belt buckle he lay wedged over. My finger grazed it, and it popped open, the belt flying back as I scrambled from the car as fast as possible, sucking in a deep, shuddering breath.
No one moved. My father didn’t so much as groan. I yanked open his door and fought off vomit when his body tumbled out, landing with a wet smack to the ground.
“Violet!” Theo yelled, his tone panicked. He couldn’t see me. I was behind the car, but I still ducked. The gunshots and screaming had stopped, I realized. Only a faint whimper and Theo yelling for me some more. Crunching glass like someone was walking over it.
But I didn’t want to stop, didn’t want this to be over. I glanced around, panting and trying to squash back the panic still rumbling under the surface of my skin. This was urgent. A necessity.
I opened my mouth to call for Theo when he shouted my name again, this time with an undercurrent of fury in his tone. He was afraid; I was missing. I understood. But. “Screw this,” I muttered to myself and, ignoring how much it made me want to hurl, I wrapped my arms under Father’s armpits and dragged his injured body away from the wreckage. He was heavy, but I had adrenaline and hatred fueling me like a terrified mother lifting a car to save her child. I was saving my inner child, myself. This was for that sad, scared girl who kept getting sicker, quieter, lonelier.
Breathing through my nose, bracing myself, I dragged that piece of shit into the wilderness.
Seventeen
Violet
“Shutup,”hesaid,staring down at me with so much disdain in his eyes. Why was I even worth wasting any time on? His treatment was a confliction — my father told me I was important, to be revered in this church of his he was desperately trying to be a part of, but then he looked at me like I was a wasp in his tea.
But I did. I shut my mouth up, my teeth clacking together with the speed in which I obeyed and ducked my head.
It was my birthday.
Today, I was eighteen, and one of the nannies had woken me up with a nudge and a summons from my father. My mother was still in bed, my sisters unaware of anything that pertained to me.
For now, anyway. I’d heard the nannies discuss them, that they would be ‘sold off like the eldest’ — I was getting married, not sold.
“Show me again,” Father commanded, and I nodded, ducking my head and splaying my hands out on my knees. He had me crouched beneath his feet in his office, dressed in a delicate white dress, my hair curled and loose, and extra pink blush on my cheeks. To look innocent, he told the woman who applied it.
His shoes clacked on the flooring as he circled me, his phone pointed, either taking pictures or videos, I wasn’t sure.
“Mr Delucci requested another inspection of you before tomorrow,” he explained. “He wanted you in this position.”
I squeezed my eyes shut to try to stop the tears from falling, but they betrayed me, leaking down my cheek and dropping from my chin, splashing onto my knees.
“He wants proof of your innocence. I told him I won’t send an image of your intact hymen where anyone might come across it.”
My heart stuttered.
“You should feel lucky,” Father continued. “Your brothers will be here soon, your sisters are preparing for the trip, everyone is coming together for you. To witness you.”
“No,” I murmured, then gasped and bit my lip. Oh no.
His hand slammed into the back of my head, making me yelp and gasp, trying to suck in any sound again. He had never hurt me, not like this. This was the first time, and it had me shocked.
I didn’t want this. Any of this. I wanted to be free. Far away from anyone who didn’t want only the good. I swallowed back another tear and forced myself to look up, to meet the eyes of the man who’d caused this.
Tomorrow I was moving to another country, marrying a much older man I’d never met, and becoming a member of a church I knew nothing about. But my innocence was needed. And that filled me with dread.
