“Take it out,” she commands.
I haul the heavy thing out and drop it at my feet.
“Why did you drop it?” she snaps.
I purse my lips. “Don’t you people have any speaking etiquette?”
She narrows her eyes, teeth grinding. “Don’t you dare talk back to me.”
I lift my chin. “Or what?” I challenge her—which is stupid.
We’re in a closed room. She could beat me senseless and no one would hear a thing. But she doesn’t.
She just barks another order. “Take it upstairs to the dog’s room. Find the pump in the cupboard and fill it.”
“He has a name,” I mutter before hauling the damn thing up again.
At the door, I glance back. “Open it.”
She snarls and ignores me.
“Bitch,” I hiss under my breath.
I set it down, open the door myself, drag it out, then haul it up again and walk the short distance to the stairs—which feels like miles. I drop it at the bottom and gasp for air.
I look up at the stairs. My head spins. This isn’t hard. It’s impossible.
I sit on the bottom step until my breathing steadies, then hoist the mattress again and start climbing. Five steps up, I’m ready to black out. I force myself five more before my legs and arms give out completely.
I drop it on the step in front of me and collapse over it. For a moment, I don’t have the strength to pull my hands out from under it.
Heaving, groaning, I wrench my arms free and slump onto the step beside the folded mattress. My back hits the step behind me.
If only I hadn’t made excuses to avoid Pa’s training sessions, I would be in much better shape right now.
I hear footsteps approaching. I crane my neck, looking up the stairs upside down. He’s staring straight at me, that permanent scowl carved into his face.
“What are you doing here?” he asks in his icy voice.
Lounging.The word almost slips out, but I swallow it. I’m not reckless enough to forget that he would cut my tongue out.
I straighten my neck, easing the strain, then turn to face him.
“I’m carrying this mattress to Bruno’s room, but it’s heavy.”
“Get up and lift it,” he orders.
Of course he has to use the opportunity to torture me.Asshole.
Slowly, I push myself up. Taking my time delaying what I’ve fully accepted is beyond me. Then, just as slowly, I slide my hands under the mattress and lift—with every ounce of strength I have. My breath catches under the weight. My core screams as I struggle with what must be fifty pounds.
He steps aside, a silent command to keep climbing.
I raise one shaky leg onto the next step, then drag the other up. I lift my foot to climb higher, and my balance gives.
I scream as I fall backward. The mattress hits the stairs with a thud—but I don’t.
A strong arm catches me, holding me suspended.
