“My brother, Tate is a star. Russel is his father. Tate was just a toddler when I left.” I looked off at the stained cross window near his bed. “T-that’s probably why. . .”
“That’s probably why what?”
“That’s probably why my mom stayed with Russel.”
He walked up to me and placed his hands on the bookshelf, trapping me between the shelf and him. “The games are the only time you see them?”
“There’s other ways.”
“What are those?”
“It’s too weird to say.”
He gave me a warm smile. “To weird to say that to a man that cuts people?”
“Good point.” I cleared my throat and looked at him. “Sometimes. . .I sneak back into my neighborhood late at night.”
“They stay in the same house?”
I nodded. “There’s a treehouse in the back. When I ran away, I would come there to sleep, if I couldn’t absolutely find anywhere else.”
“And sometimes?”
“Sometimes, I would look into my brother’s room and watch him sleep.”
“Why?”
“It calms me.”
He tilted forward. “Why?”
I trembled. “I already told you why.”
“You didn’t.” He leaned my way and brushed his mouth against my ear. “Why do you watch him sleep?”
My bottom lip quivered. “I want to make sure Russel doesn’t go into his room.”
“Does he?”
For some reason, I beamed with pride. “Never. Tate is okay. He’s safe. He has a nice, normal life. He ended up being okay. . .even though. . .”
“Even though what?”
Tears left my eyes. “Even though I left him there.”
“That makes you feel guilty?”
“Of course it does.” I tried to duck under his arm and move away.
He wouldn’t let me.
Sighing, I leaned against the shelf and gave up. If Cain wanted to be near me, I had no choice. Plus, in some ways his nearness was comforting.
Still, I didn’t like that his presence soothed me.
“Hmmm.”
I arched my brows. “What?”
“You’re always changing plans.”
“What plans?”
“I had other ideas for today. Now, I’m thinking we can do other things.”
I widened my eyes. “Like what?”
“Do you want to kill him?”
“W-what?” I widened my eyes. “My brother?”
“No. Do you want to kill your stepfather, Russel?”
Chapter 17
The Windows of the Heart
Cain
P
hoenix stared at me with her mouth open wide in shock.
What’s going on in that beautiful, broken mind?
She probably thought I was crazy. Psycho. Sick and insane. And she would be right. None of that mattered anymore. I’d stopped trying to be a part of society a long time ago.
What happened in this chapel changed me forever.
I accepted the truth of me long.
She’s freaking out. I should explain.
“You don’t have to kill him yourself.” I leaned in closer, inhaling her sweet scent. “I’ll do it for you.”
Her bottom lip shivered.
“Give me the address.”
“N-no.” She shook her head. “You can’t do that.”
Why not?
I leaned my head to the side. “You don’t want him to be dead?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“W-what if I was wrong about him?”
“You weren’t.”
“Maybe he just sat by the bed.”
“He didn’t. He did more. You’re just not ready to see it.”
She shut her eyes as if she could close the truth away. As if she could blot it out from her past.
Frustrated, I remained quiet.
I have to slow down. I don’t want to break her.
I stepped back and ran my fingers through my hair.
She may not be ready to face this.
Something had happened to her and her mind repressed it. Her psyche shut it away until she could deal with it better.
When Russel visited, he did inappropriate things to her.
Some people coped with severe trauma by detaching from what happened. And that detachment blurred or blocked the memory.
Kids that experienced abuse or trauma couldn’t even begin recalling events until they were older and more ready to deal with them, more prepared to dissect and understand the moments.
That fucking monster. He forced her to live on the streets. And her mother remained with him.
I fisted my hands.
To rape a child was a brutal, unforgivable act of evil violence. It damaged the child’s body. It shattered their soul. It tore at their spirit. It ripped apart their self-worth.
Children were blessings—vessels of unimaginable possibilities. They were born with innocent emptiness and the hunger to be beautifully filled.
But, she never had a chance. That monster hurt her, then made her run away.
Rage spiraled in my chest.
Phoenix was smart, an undisputed survivor, and impossibly resourceful.
She could have been a world-renowned violinist. She surely had a natural love for music. But then, she could have been so much more. She could have been a scientist and discovered a cure for cancer. She might have been a billionaire, running several corporations.
The possibilities of her potential were endless.
Even if she doesn’t want it. I’m going to kill him for her.
Russel didn’t deserve to breathe air, to see the beautiful sun rise in the sky, or the bright moon at night.
All those fucking years he sat in that house eating warm nutritious food, while she starved on the street. All those goddamn years he slept in a soft, comfortable bed, while she shivered on cold, concrete.