Kellin scoffs. “He wasn’t unarmed. And at least I care enough about Maeve to want to keep her safe.”
My father punches Kellin again.
“Dad, stop!” I rush to Kellin, but my father inserts himself between us, a mountain of flesh and fury intent on holding me back.
Kellin’s struggles increase, and the men grappling him grunt with the effort. “Let go of her!”
“Son, get your sister the hell out of here. Now.”
Though I try to circle past my father, Brody intercedes.
I glare at him. “Don’t you dare.”
He gently but firmly maintains a grip on my arm while steering me out of the storage-room-slash-torture chamber.
I’d run for it, except my earlier babysitter’s tailing us, so there’s no point. I doubt I’d succeed in fooling him twice.
The three of us take the back elevator up to the sixth floor.
“Please, Brody.” I’m not above begging. I know what my father is capable of. And I can’t remember the last time I saw the man this incensed. “Please, don’t let Dad kill him.”
The plea burns like acid on my tongue, and everything in me wants to pretend this isn’t happening.
But Kellin’s death has become a real possibility. My father’s killed men for less.
“What the hell, Maeve? After what he did to you, why do you care what happens to him? Plus, he killed our guy. You want to save a fucking murderer?”
“He did thatforme. I realize it’s messed up and totally warped, but Shout was going to rape me. If Kellin hadn’t heard me, the man might’ve even killed me.”
Brody regards me like I’m a stranger. Probably accurate enough for all the interest he’s shown in my life since I entered my twenties. Before that, even.
I cross my arms over my chest. “What are you staring at?”
“I thought you wanted to stay away from that kind of life?” Brody’s voice is…tender.
I hate his pity.
“Look, I did. I do. I…” How do I respond when I don’t even know who I am anymore? “It’s not right, what Kellin did. But he killed a bad man. For me. He killed him for me.”
Brody laughs under his breath.
The elevator doors open on my floor. Bald Tat waits off to the side as Brody escorts me down the hall.
I clutch my brother’s sleeve. “When has Dad ever done anything to keep me safe?”
“He doesn’t know how to show his emotions, Maeve. You can’t do what he does and be soft.”
I curl my lip. “How can you defend him? You do what he does, and you’re not like him.”
At that, Brody shuts up.
Defending our father’s actions is an exercise in futility. The man has never truly cared about any of us, apart from our ability to carry on his legacy.
I’ve wondered more times than I care to count why he even had a family. Our mother was so miserable, she chose a slow march to death over all of us. Dying was her only comfort.
She hated my father more than she loved us. Whenever I reflect on her tragic life, that’s all I circle back to. In the end, no one ever chooses me.
We reach my door.
