He turns from me, not at all concerned that his guard dog might kill me when he isn’t watching. “Archie, I hope you understand the gift I’m giving you. You wanted this woman. I’ll let you keep her. But from here on out, I expect you to keep her in line. Any misstep she makes, I’ll take out on her. Any misstep you make, I’ll take out on her. No more leeway.” He steps closer to Trips, keeping enough distance between them so he won’t have to look up at his son. “You’re mine. Any privileges you once had are now revoked. You have two tasks going forward. You will give me a grandson. And you will do the job I trained you to do, in its entirety, without complaint.”
He strolls to the window, staring down at the lake. “You’re both dismissed. We’ll meet again tomorrow morning, once your adolescent brains are clear enough to listen to details.”
Smith holsters his weapon, then hauls me to my feet, dragging me stumbling past Trevor, who grins at me.
“Welcome home, sister,” he says, the door closing before I can think of a retort.
When I’m shoved into the same blue bedroom I’d stayed in the last time I was in this godforsaken place, I’m sadly unsurprised when the door locks behind me. Leaving me alone, trapped, and already barely holding back a panic attack.
I force myself into the shower to wash off the feeling of unfamiliar hands where they never should have been. Scrubbing my body until my skin is red, I let out only a single sob.
Because there’s a camera here, too.
Chapter 50
Trips
It’s been a while since the asshole progenitor locked me away. The plain white walls, barred windows, and scuffed wood floors have withstood my rage before, but the ball in my gut has never felt this intense, as if acid, fire, and ice are all competing to devour me from the inside out. I back into the safest corner, forcing myself to breathe, just the way Clara reminded me to do in my father’s office.
Fuck.
She was being beaten by my father, medically assaulted at gunpoint, and she still kept it together enough to help me.
I don’t deserve the girl. I never have. This whole mess wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t been so weak, imagining that I could have something with her. If I’d never met her. If I’d never even fucking been born.
She’d be safe.
She’d have found her way out of that fucked-up situation with her ex. Honestly, she did. That was all her. She got herself free, starting with that humid morning when she knocked on our front door, her hair in two braids and her eyes swollen, braced for the worst while hoping for the best. I opened the door and let her into our fucked-up lives.
I try to remind myself that we knew this was coming. That my dad had her medical records, that no measly IUD would keep him from getting what he wants. But we assumed we had time. A week or two at least. That he’d charm us to his way of thinking, lull us into some false calm before tearing us down, a psychological battle more than the straight up hammer he just hit us with.
Curling into the corner, I keep breathing, my vision whiting out, then coming back as the sun moves across the sky. Every moment becomes a battle to stay here, now, the need to just let my body burn to the point of exhaustion, only coming back once the pain overwhelms me, is so goddamn strong my hands shake as I try to keep them flat and relaxed against the floor.
But I keep breathing. I keep trying all the shit I’d been practicing in the early mornings when everyone was more or less asleep in the RV. I made a list of all the ways to keep myself from fucking up like I did last winter, and I practiced them. For months, just in case.
So I force myself through the motions. I listen to the birds out the window, trying to count the different calls I hear. I rub my fingers along the grain of the wood, focusing on each bump and stripe. I watch the shadow of the barred window slowly slide across the wall, distorting more as the day wears on.
I sit, and I struggle.
But I stay here. I stay present.
And when night falls and I curl onto my side, I watch the stars appear. I remember my mom curled up with me late at night, hervoice shaking as she tried to pretend she was fine, asking me to count the stars and make a wish. She told me that every star was born with a wish, and if you find one that hasn’t been taken yet, it’s yours to keep. Yours to make come true.
So I count the stars, and make my wish, over and over again, just in case there’s a single one unclaimed. Because the only thing I have left is a modicum of hope and a plan so fucked-up, I wish I hadn’t agreed to it.
If there’s any karma in the universe, we’re owed it now. The stars might be as silent as this house, but at least they haven’t lost their shine. I’ll need their luck if we want to make it through this. God never answered a single one of my prayers. But wishes? Maybe sometimes those do come true.
The door opens when the sun hints on the horizon. Falk steps through, glancing at the camera in the corner before inching farther in, wary of what he’s going to find.
He was the new guy the last time my father locked me up, sent in without being warned. He’d won the scuffle, but not before I broke his nose and bruised a few ribs. So I can’t blame him when he deals with me like a rabid animal.
“I’m cool,” I say, holding my hands away from my body after I push myself to sitting.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Am I being let out?”
“You’re supposed to shower and change. The boss wants to have a meeting before breakfast.”
