Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
The memory of the cell in which they held her keeps me from fighting back when Charlie lands another hit. His fits come quickly, landing repeatedly, driving me to my knees. Bianca lets out a terrifying scream before she starts to plead with her father, only he doesn't listen. It could be that he doesn't hear her, too intent on finally ending me the way he's always wanted to do, or he just doesn't give a fuck.
“Stop, Dad, please stop!” She tries to put herself between us, to shield me, but I shake my head, spitting out blood from the corner of my mouth, well climbing to my feet.
“Let him have what he wants,” I insist, swaying, moving her aside as gently as I can. “Let him hurt me, let him have this, because he can't have you.”
That did it. That hit him harder than my fist ever could. Something overtakes his features. I can't tell what it is, horror? Disgust? Or maybe it's a realization—cold, hard truth. Yeah, I bet that's a hard pill to swallow.
He pulls his fist back, eyes blazing. “You fucking—”
Fireworks explode in my head when he makes contact with my jaw. A perfect punch all around. I fall back, this time landing on my side while the world spins like a merry-go-round. I roll onto my back, and the first drops of rain from the storm that's been threatening with rumbles all morning begin to hit my face.
“Dad, no! Don't!” It's Bianca's yell that warns me, but there's no preparing for the burst of fresh agony that renders me breathless once Charlie's foot makes contact with my side. Fucking Christ. Pain burns across my flesh and deep through my muscles.
My stitches. He tore my fucking stitches.
He's going to kill me. He won't be satisfied until I'm dead.
Considering I've never been anything but a curse to his daughter, I deserve this.
BIANCA
My biggest nightmare is taking place right before my eyes. I can't get my feet or body to move fast enough as I frantically throw myself between them again, shielding Callum's body with my own. I immediately notice the splotch of blood on his shirt and follow the trail oozing from his split lip, then his nose and the cut above his eye.
He's bleeding.
The memory of racing through that basement while Callum was bleeding out makes my heart race painfully, pumping adrenaline throughout my body.
He took care of me. I have to take care of him.
“Stop! Now!” I scream the words with every last bit of strength I have. Silence surrounds me, and I glare up at my father, who stands over me with his fists clenched. The knuckles of his right hand are already turning a sickly black and blue. He stumbles backwards, his shoulders heaving with every breath, while drops of sweat glisten against his skin. “You've made your point!”
Romero rushes to Callum's side, and Ken grabs hold of my father, tugging him back, away from Callum. “I'll take him upstairs,” Romero grumbles, pulling Callum to his feet, wedging himself under his armpit to keep him upright. “I'll check his wound, but I'm warning you, he might need to be stitched back up.”
“I'll be up there as soon as I can.” I nod to Tatum, whose eyes swim with unshed tears as they ping-pong between us. She's weary of leaving me alone with my father, but I don't need her here. I'm not scared of him. “Go ahead. I'll take care of this.”
I vaguely recognize the stranger hanging around the dark sports car with another man. “You should probably go too,” I tell him. Barely bringing myself to look at him, the humiliation of what my father has done twists my organs, making it difficult for me to feel anything other than shame.
“Everything okay here?” There's an edge of concern to his voice, though I don't need the stranger's pity or worry.
“Whatever meeting you had with Callum is over now. I'm sorry for the interruption. I'm sure he'll reach out soon to reschedule something.”
“Are you sure you're okay?” he asks again, and I'm so frustrated I could scream.
“I'm fine, and everything here is fine. Please leave.” He gives me a slight shake of his head, probably questioning the balls of steel I must be carrying to order around a man like him. As he climbs into his car, I notice him peering over at Dad and Ken; they are in a heated argument. At least they aren't punching each other. Yet.
Once he starts to back out and turn around in the driveway, I march down the steps and shove my father with both hands. “How dare you?” I hiss, flicking back a few raindrops that land near my eyes. “What the hell do you think you're doing?”
“He installed a damn camera in your bedroom, to spy on you!! What do you think this is about? What's it going to take to show you what a mistake this all is?”