He follows me down and pushes his knee into my thigh, continuing to crush my neck so hard my vision starts to blacken at the edges.
The past is repeating itself. I can see it all so clearly now—what really happened that day. But my lips are sealed—they always will be. Fear. That’s all he instills within me.
His smooth cheek rubs against mine as he whispers, “So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God.” I choke out a sound, my eyes squeezing closed. I hate when he does this: uses his scriptures to excuse what he’s doing. The worst of it is I think he actually believes he’s carrying out the work of God. “I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.” He gives my throat one last squeeze—so hard I’m sure he’ll crush my windpipe—before he moves off me and leaves me a choking, sniveling mess. I hear the front door open and close as he exits without another word.
I clutch at my throat, spluttering as I watch the door for several minutes, praying he doesn’t come back. When he doesn’t and the grandfather clock in the living room chimes three times, I slowly start to stand up, needing to get out of this house.
I haven’t been back in it for twenty minutes, and I already want to escape. But I know I can’t—at least not yet anyway. I have to do the chores because that was only a small percentage of what he’ll do to me—what he has done to me.
Once I’m in my room, I place my bag by my bed and sit down on the hard mattress covered in scratchy white sheets. My gaze tracks the dull room. There’s nothing on the walls, a beige carpet, and a simple bed. You’d never know a teenage girl sleeps in this room. It’s empty, much like I am—or how he wants me to be.
I briefly wonder what everyone else my age would be doing on a Friday night. Parties, drinking, laughing. The complete opposite of what I’ll be doing.
Changing into some leggings and an oversized t-shirt, I consciously stay away from the mirror in the small bathroom as I start to clean it. I’m afraid of what I’ll see staring back at me. I know my throat will bruise and I’ll have to cover it up again. Not that anyone will believe me when they see it, but it’s not them I do it for. It’s for me.
The longer you tell yourself something, the more you start to believe it.
And if I tell myself everything is fine, that I don’t have bruises on my body from the one man who’s meant to protect me, then everything will be okay.
Only it’s a lie; a lie I’m fed up of feeding myself, but I have no idea how to stop doing.
LUKE
I sit down at the meeting table, watching West and Seb while also keeping an eye on Dean at the same time. I don’t trust any of the fuckers. It’s all too fuckin' convenient if you ask me.
All three of them turned up out of the blue, and my instincts are on high alert, screaming at me that something isn’t right—especially with Dean.
My gaze zones in on him as he leans over to talk to Kitty. She may think she knows him, but she doesn’t. She’s still stuck on the person she used to know, not who he is now.
It’s plain as day he’s hiding something, but she can’t see it. I fuckin’ can. I see the way he looks at all of us, the way his gaze darts around the room.
Evan may have contacted him when Kitty went to rehab, but he never told him who we were, where we’re based… nothing. And yet he turns up out of the blue, knowing everything there is to know. First name fuckin' basis.
I don’t trust him. End of. But he’s Kitty’s family—or he used to be—either way, I’ll keep it to myself. I’m trained to spot the traitors, to separate the weak from the strong. It’s just a matter of time before he shows his hand, and when he does, I’ll be there to pounce.
Cracking my knuckles, my gaze continues around the table, taking in everyone’s e
xpressions before I stop on West and Seb. Tilting my head, I try to read their lips, working out what they’re saying and why they’re here.
It’s been over a week since we started investigating Darrell Le’Fraine. The Darrell Le’Fraine. The fucker who got away once—the only one who has. We won’t let that happen this time though. We’ll get him behind bars no matter what it takes.
When I turn to face Ty, I see him watching them in the same way and I know he’s wondering what I am—why now?
I snap my gaze to the door as it flings open, and in walks—wait, dances—Evan.
Grunting, I lean back and watch as he dances around the table, looking like he’s got his fingers in a light socket. I can’t help the grin pulling at my lips, and when I turn to face Kitty, I whisper, “He looks like he’s being electrocuted.”
She throws her head back, laughing so hard that tears start to fall down her cheeks.
He screams the lyrics, moving his head to the beat before he jumps in the air and then starts gyrating at it.
Kay stands up, her lips spread into a wide smile as she moves forward and shouts, “Evan!”
He doesn’t answer her, not that he can hear her anyway.
“I love this jam!”
“Evaaaan!”