Page 28 of Brutal Titan

Victoria

Morning comes too soon, although it was technically already morning when I arrived back home. Unfortunately, being in my bed hadn’t done anything to settle the twisted knots in my mind. Then the early morning message from Elliot that he fixed my car really didn’t help.

Opening the bedroom door, I’m met with the familiar shouts of my father coming from the kitchen. Asher is usually the unlucky winner in his crosshairs because out of everyone in the house, Asher is the only one who goes out of his way to push our father’s buttons. My mother and I both do our best to avoid stoking the fire because once Victor Hastings gets going, there is always hell to pay, which is why I can’t understand why Asher insists on challenging him at every turn. The yelling and shouting matches are enough to drive me insane, but when it turns physical, that’s when I really get frightened. I don’t think my dad would ever intentionally hurt one of us, but I fear when he’s in his blinding rage that he could, so I usually do my best to defuse the situation. It works when my mom is involved, not so much where Asher is concerned because he never knows when to stop.

Walking into the kitchen, I discover that my mom is at the receiving of his wrath, so I make an attempt to intervene. “Hey Dad, can you take a look at my car? It’s starting up, but I want to make sure everything is okay before I leave.”

His furious expression turns to me, softening as he speaks. “Sure, princess. I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks.” I hesitate when he looks back at my mom but doesn’t move to stand from the table.

Leaning forward, he glares at my mother. “If I find out that you had anything to do with it, I can guarantee that you both will regret it.”

Her face pales as she shakes her head, speaking in shaky breaths, “I didn’t. I haven’t talked to Nathan in weeks.”

Nathan?My dad’s best friend and Quinn’s stepdad. I know he and my dad have had their struggles over the years, even not speaking after a falling out with their business, but I thought they’d worked everything out. Maybe I’m reading too much into it. Their companies are direct competitors in the marketing industry, but from what I know, it hasn’t created any issues since they’ve patched up their friendship.

“It’d better stay that way,” my dad says, kicking the chair back as he stands from the table, yanking the crisp white linen napkin from his lap before slamming it down on a plate of breakfast that looks untouched.

Nervously, my mom looks to me before her eyes drop to the table, reaching for the glass of water in front of her. Hopefully, she isn’t in the wrong of whatever he’s accusing her of, but from the uneasy look in her posture, she has guilt written all over her.

Tension fills my muscles as I step into the garage, my father behind me. I pull open the driver’s side door and reach for the lever that unlatches the hood. Moving in front of the car, I watch my dad tugging and pulling on a few things before he says, “Start her up.”

I sit in the car just long enough to crank it, then join my father where he’s glancing around. “Has it given you any trouble other than yesterday?”

“No sir.” I force the idiot who sabotaged it and then repaired it out of my mind. Hesitantly I ask, “Is everything okay with Nathan?”

“Oh, yes,” he says, giving me a reassuring smile. But he must note the concerned look on my face as he continues, “It’s just a little friendly competition between buddies. I can’t compete fairly when your mother goes behind my back to disrupt my efforts.”

“I don’t think Mom would do that to you.” There’s uncertainty in my gut, but I wouldn’t think she’d interfere with anything business related that would result in hurting Ruby Flame Marketing because Monica Hastings enjoys her exorbitant lifestyle way too much. And I can’t say that I don’t love the lavish lifestyle myself, but I’d hope that I could find pleasure in the simple things in life—like children. But fancy clothes, expensive jewelry, and an extravagant house seem to be the few things that bring her joy because not much else ever has, including myself.

That’s how I’d become so close to Olivia Bass. She found such joy in being a mother, in art, and in the simple pleasures of life. It was those things that made me long for my mother to be more like her and why I still can’t fathom her inconceivable decision to end her life. She seemed so full of life, excitedly planning a trip to Paris for us to visit all the art museums. She would laugh that no one would ever tour them with her and the one time she’d talked Elliot into it, he spent the entire time complaining and rolling his eyes, so she was happy to have someone to share her love of art with—which I understand perfectly. The one time I’d attempted to show my mom a sketch, her response was, “That’s nice.”

It wasn’t just the fact that she was less than thrilled with something I’d worked on for weeks, it was the utter disregard for the portrait of her mother. In that moment, I realized she didn’t have an emotional attachment to anyone, just material items. Maybe I should’ve sketched her a new diamond bracelet instead. My dad, on the other hand, struggled to contain his heartfelt emotions when I presented him with a drawing of his mother. I guess that’s why I tend to be closer with my dad. Even with his horrible temper, he’s the more affectionate, doting parent. Between outbursts, I couldn’t ask for a better father, which is why I can’t understand Asher’s need to push him away and to the brink of maddening insanity.

“Well, everything appears perfectly fine. Just keep your phone handy in case you have any issues.” Slamming the hood closed, my dad leans forward, placing a loving kiss on my cheek.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Anytime, princess. Love you.” He gives me a warm smile and waves as he walks across the garage before heading inside the house. It’s unsettling how different his demeanor is with me opposed to the man he was moments earlier with my mom, reminding me again of Elliot. One minute he’s kind, the next he’s like a madman, hell-bent on leaving nothing but destruction in his path. The scene that played out with my parents might not be exactly the same, but it just as well could be. I don’t want to tiptoe around someone. I’d never know what mask he’d be wearing or what would reveal the rage beneath. Elliot reserves his chipper attitude for everyone else and the last thing I want is someone who looks at me the way my father looks at my mother, like he hates the very thought of her in his presence, breathing the same air as him. Shuddering, I shake the thoughts out of my mind. My parents’ issues are theirs. I’ll always try to keep the peace but the one thing I have control over (sometimes) is staying far away from Elliot Bass and his enticing, maddening face.

Ugh. Why can’t I forget about him? I know it won’t happen anytime soon. I drop into my car, shut the door, then back out of the garage. My destination is all because of him—the art studio to buy a new sketchbook. One without his stupid inscription written inside.

Pulling into the parking lot, I notice there’s a class in full swing. Stopping at the glass, I watch for a few minutes before making my way to the back of the studio where the supplies are kept. Searching around, I find the shelf empty. That’s strange since it’s usually fully stocked with at least two dozen.

“Hi, Victoria.” A smooth voice sounds behind me, and I turn to recognize Dalton.

“Hey.” I clear my throat, a little taken aback by his sudden appearance. I point to the shelf. “Do you have more sketchbooks?”

“No, sorry. We were all bought out first thing this morning.”

“Seriously?” They’ve never been sold out.

“Yeah. Some guy bought them this morning. He even asked if there’s anywhere else he could get some around town. Not sure what he needs with all of them, but he asked for a call when the next shipment arrives too.” Dalton chuckles, but I find no humor in this revelation.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mumble under my breath. There’s no way he’d go this far out of his way to drive me to the brink of insanity, right?

“Was he about yea tall?” I ask holding my hand in the air around the spot where Elliot’s thick skull stops. “Brown hair? An idiotic, arrogant smug face?”