Page 238 of Wicked Brutal

The words scare me almost as much as they anger him. His face darkens. “You think you have choices because you’re eighteen?” I say nothing. “You will do what I tell you while you live beneath my roof, and if you continue challenging me, I will remind you exactly how little control you have over what happens in this house.”

His eyes move past me. To Tobias. Cold crawls down my spine. “Don’t use him to threaten me.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to!”

“You hit an six-year-old because he wanted his sister!”

“I disciplined my son!”

“No.” My voice shakes now. I don’t care. “You hit him.”

Dad takes another step. “You need to be very careful.”

“Why?” My heart feels like it might break through my ribs. “You’ll hit me again?”

His face changes. Mom sucks in a breath. Dad reaches for me. His phone rings. Nobody moves. It stops. Dad’s eyes stay on mine. Then it rings again. He looks at the screen. And the rage on his face changes shape.

He answers. “What?” Silence. His jaw clenches. “I’m dealing with something here.” Another pause. “I know what happened. I’ve been trying to contain it since you left the school.”

Victor. Mom looks at me.

Dad turns away. “You never should have engaged—“ He stops. Just stops. Someone cut Dad off. And Dad lets him. His jaw works. “Fine.” Silence. “I said I’ll handle it.” Another pause. Then, quieter, “I’ll be there.”

He hangs up. The kitchen looks destroyed. Glass on the floor. A picture broken against the wall. Mom holding her side. Tobias crying behind me. Blood on my lip.

Dad looks at all of it. “This conversation is not over.” Mom’s face loses what little color it had left. I see it. Dad sees me see it. His gaze moves to the ring on my hand. “Celeste. Seven.” I don’t answer. “Did you hear me?”

“I heard you.”

His eyes narrow. Then he grabs his keys and walks out. The front door slams hard enough to shake the glass. Nobody moves until his car starts.

Mom’s knees buckle. I catch her before she hits the floor. “Mom.”

“I’m fine.”

“Stop saying that.”

“I need to check Tobias.”

“He’s right here.”

Tobias throws himself at her. Mom wraps both arms around him and winces.

“Your side.”

“I’m okay.”

“No, you’re not.”

She looks at me. Neither am I. None of us are. Tobias starts crying harder against her. Mom kisses the top of his head again and again.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.”

I don’t know which one of us she’s saying it to. Maybe all of us.

I look at the broken glass. The picture on the floor. My mother’s shaking hands.

“How long?” Mom closes her eyes. “How long has he been hitting you?”