“Bullshit. Try again.”
He bared his teeth. “That isn’t bullshit. Idolove you. When Nila returned to London and you took your medication, I was so fucking proud of you. Never been so proud. I had the son I always knew you were. Capable, courageous, a worthy heir to everything I’d built.”
“I was always those things, Father. Even as a boy, I did my best to make you see that.”
The wood creaked as he shifted in the buckles. “But it was overshadowed by your condition. It made you weak. It made you susceptible. I needed someone strong, not just to look after my legacy but to protect your future family. Was it so wrong of me to want to give you the life skills needed in order to fight what you are?”
“WhatIam?” I choked on a cynical laugh. “What I am is nothing compared to what you are. You talk about life skills and transforming me into a man. I call that disabling your daughter, emotionally crippling your son, and ripping apart the only people who would’ve loved you unconditionally.”
Cut opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
He stared at me, and the one thing I’d hoped wouldn’t happen came true.
His emotional rage petered out, mixing with nervousness that I was right. That he’d done the wrong thing. That somehow...he’d been bad.
Gritting my jaw, my arm flew back with ferocity. “No, you don’t get to think those thoughts. Not after what you’ve done.”
The club whistled through the air, striking his thigh with sickening power. The heavy pummel and resounding aftershock made my fever crest to unbearable heights and nausea to clutch around my throat.
Cut bellowed, his body jerking in the buckles as he writhed.
Being on the opposite end of a scene I was so familiar with twisted my gut.
His agony swamped me. The unravelling sanity. The nastiness inside him giving way to fear. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to cut myself so I could focus onmypain and not his. I wanted to run.
But I couldn’t.
If I tried hard enough, I could turn off my condition. I could return to what he’d taught me. But not today. I owed him this. I owedmyselfthis. Together, we would purge everything I’d been. Everyone we’d hurt.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” I struck again, this time on his other thigh. The denim of his jeans protected him a little, but his cry boomeranged around the space.
A sour taste filled my mouth as self-hatred settled around my heart. I hated that feeling his pain meant I couldn’t enjoy it. I couldn’t appreciate the power as I delivered a dose of his own medicine, finally demonstrating what an awful disciplinarian he’d been.
His breathing stuttered as pain flashed through his system. I hadn’t struck hard enough to break bones, but he would have a hell of a bruise.
Striding around the table, I stroked the black club. The heavy rubber was dense and threatening. There would be no escape. “What did you tell me once? That I could cry and scream as loud as I wanted and no one would hear us...?”
His eyes glowed, meeting mine. Sweat shone on his forehead. His arms fought the buckles as his knees trembled from adrenaline.
“Answer me.” I struck his chest. The side of the club delivered with perfect precision against his lower belly.
“Ah, fuck!” Cut’s spine bowed, his entire psyche wanting to curl up around his injuries and hide. Any sign of regret or shame at doing the wrong thing drowned beneath his sudden need for relief.
That I could deal with. Feeling another’s pain had been a by-product of my condition all my life. I’d never grown used to it. However, if I stood in aroom with someone dying or mortally wounded, I would eventually become numb then catatonic from their agony.
The same would happen if I continued with my father.
I had to finish what I’d started before I slipped into insanity.
He hadn’t paid enough yet. He hadn’t learned what he needed.
I’ve withstood worse.
I could stomach delivering more punishment.
Tucking the club into my waistband, I stalked around the table.
Cut gasped, his eyes watering but doing their best to follow me. “What do you want me to say, Jet? That I’m sorry? That I regret what I did and beg for your forgiveness?”
