Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“No.”
“One more chance.”
Mom's breathing has gone erratic. She's looking around like there might be someone else around she can get to stop this.
My heart pounds, but I refuse to be scared. I'm not going to let him do this to me again. Maybe I don't have my guys here, but they're here in spirit. I will not be afraid.
But when he comes at me, he doesn't fall for my moves like Janey did. I suppose we've had the same security advisor recommending what to learn. So when I try to use his advance against him, he catches me, spins me around and pins one of my arms against my back.
“Let go!” I yell and kick backwards. I catch his shin, and take a moment's satisfaction in his sharply drawn breath, and then shoves me forward so I'm thrown over the back of the couch.
I land awkwardly on the hardwood floor on the other side, a sharp pain shooting up my arm. One of the lights on the side table topples and when it crashes into the floor next to me, Mom screams.
“Get away!”
I get to my feet as quick as I can, but Dad's faster. He captures my upper arm easily in one hand and slaps my face hard with the other. I see stars for a moment, but he doesn't give me time to recover. He drags me down the hallway towards my room with determined strides, and me stumbling to keep up. His grip digs into my flesh, hurting me.
“Let me go.”
“I've had enough of this bullshit,” he roars. He kicks my door open, then throws me into my room. My shoulder slams against the frame, and I spin around as I fall. My whole side burns with pain. God, he's never been this wild. “You're staying in here, and if I fucking see you out of your room, I'm going to get someone here to weld this fucking door shut. Keep out of my damn sight!”
Then the door slams, leaving me to nurse my side. My face burns. Somewhere along the way, my leg was banged too. I'm going to be all bruises after this, and it's all his freaking fault. I should've taken my chances and stayed with the guys, but it's not like he would've let me do that either, even if he presented this as a choice.
I could have been back at the clubhouse, in bed with the guys. God, I'm such an idiot. Thinking that I could actually change anything. Tomorrow, those reporters will have been convinced to quash the story about me being alive or face trouble. No one will know, and all I've managed to do is to put myself in a worse situation. And the guys don't even know where I am.
I didn't want to grant him the pleasure of seeing me cry, but now that I'm all alone, I can't hold the sobs back anymore.
33
EMILY
Until today, I never thought I'd be this miserable to be back in my room.
My bed is softer than my cot was, but it's not big enough to have all the guys in it, and they're not here anyway. All my books are here, but I find myself missing bold barbarians and wily pirates defeating monsters for half naked damsels, not because the books were so good, but because they belonged to Wild Child. I haven't even finished his journal yet. My guitar is here, which is nice, but it doesn't fill me with the joy it used to, because the right people aren't here to listen to me play.
I wonder what the guys are up to right now. Are they plotting how to get me back? Or are they too busy preparing to defend themselves? Do they even know where I've gone?
I'm sure Dad's wasting no time, but I can't look it up, since I'm not allowed a phone. If anything, I'm more restricted here than I ever was with the Screaming Eagles. Sure, there's no Janey here to threaten me, but Dad more than makes up for it. It's sad that I consider him even more dangerous than a jealous slut who was ready to cut me to pieces.
He can't let it get out that I'm alive, and it chills me to imagine what he might do to keep his secret safe. Until I came home, I never thought he might actually kill me, but now I'm not so sure. I've never seen his expression so wild or him so willing to throw me around. I carefully rub my arm and shoulder, wincing when I pass over the bruises. Last I checked, my cheek was red, but it's fading. He knows how to make sure his abuse isn't too obvious.
So instead of reading, or playing, or sleeping, I'm pacing circles, and sometimes stopping by the window to look out and pretend that I still have the freedom to go outside.