Too late, I try to bolt, to run for the door, but he yanks me back by my hair. Stinging pain assaults my scalp. I grab his wrist, trying to relieve the pull, but my attempt is useless. He drags me with little effort to the fireplace.
Holding me fast in one hand, he takes the old horsewhip that belonged to his great-grandfather from the hook where it’s displayed next to his grandfather’s sword on the mantlepiece.
“His name.” He forces me to my knees. “What’s his name?” His complexion has gone bright red, glowing like the coals in the fireplace. Fumes of alcohol land with spittle on my face. “I swear to God, I’ll kill him.”
“No, please.” I shake in his hold, my eyes watering from how hard he’s fisting my hair. “Father, stop.”
He shakes me. “What is his name?”
“No.” I start crying, cupping my hands over my stomach in an instinctive reaction to protect my baby. “Don’t do this.”
“His fucking name,” my father yells. “Or I’ll beat it out of you.”
“I love him,” I sob.
That’s when something flips inside him. I see it in his eyes. He pushes me down until my face hits the carpet, keeping me in place with a shoe on my nape.
A swoosh breaks the pregnant second of silence that follows. Pain like I’ve never felt lashes over my back and burns into my skin. My body curls into itself, my fingers forming involuntary claws. It feels as if the fabric of my dress melts into my flesh. The burn refuses to stop. It goes on and on, stealing my breath. The pain is so vicious it kills my scream, trapping the sound before it can reach my lips.
Swoosh.
“What is his name?”
My lungs collapse. I try to crawl away, but my father increases the pressure of his shoe on my neck. I think he may break it.
Swoosh.
“His fucking name!”
Finally, my body processes the worst of the shock. My lungs start functioning again, letting in air. The sound stuck in my chest breaks free. It shocks me. It’s a horrible sound that belongs to a wild animal.
Swoosh.
“I’ll fucking kill you if you don’t give me his name. Tell me who he is so I can torture that son of a bitch to death.”
Never. I’ll never betray Dante as long as I live. Sobs rack my body. I love him too much. I refuse to let my father kill him, and if I give him a name, I know he will. I’d suffer this pain ten times over before I let anything happen to Dante.
My father doesn’t stop. The lashes keep coming, each one more punishing than the last. I scream myself hoarse, fighting to get away, but my father is a bulk of a man more than four times my weight.
The pain is everywhere, inside and outside, in the very air I breathe. I’m torched alive in scorching flames. I don’t know where I get the strength from, but I manage to twist around and kick him in the gut. He stumbles back, hitting the desk. Using the chance, I crawl on my hands and knees, sticky wetness trickling over my back and sides and soaking my dress where my skin is on fire.
I dare a frantic glance over my shoulder. My father looks dazed, surprised, but he shakes himself out of it and comes after me again. I claw harder, breaking my nails on the carpet as I fight for traction.
Just as he grabs my ankle, the door opens. Leander stands on the threshold, taking in the scene with a slack jaw.
I reach for my brother. “Help me!”
Leander rushes forward.
“Hold her down,” my father spits out. “The whore got herself pregnant with a bastard.”
Leander hurries to obey, grabbing my arms and stretching them above my head.
“No,” I scream, sobbing hysterically.
“Give me his name,” my father yells.
My vision blurs, drifting in and out of focus.
