Jesus, he’s not even my husband yet, why should I give a shit what he’s doing?
“Are you even listening to me, you stupid fucking tramp?” My father spits in my face, and I close my eyes, trying not to laugh at the ridicule. Like he hasn’t been trying to pimp me out to the people funding his campaign since I was a teenager. “Do you have any idea how much shit you’ve fucked up for me?”
His free hand comes up and wraps around my neck as well, squeezing hard. This isn’t a new dance, but the force with which he’s applying pressure is amplified—probably exacerbated by my defiance.
A smile works its way through my mouth; I can’t stop it. I love seeing him like this. So powerless after the last decade of being in complete control. And there’s not a thing he can do about it.
Except kill me.Although he’d be doing me a service by freeing me, I’d only be failing my sister.
“Guess you’ll have to find someone else to do your bidding,” I grit out, barely able to inhale enough oxygen to speak. My vision explodes with light at the corners, heat slamming into my head, as his grip tightens.
“Yeah? And what’s to stop me from using that bratty little sister of yours?”
I bare my teeth at him. “Touch Juliet, and I swear it’ll be the last thing you do.”
“You’re going to get us all killed.” With a nasty grunt, he releases me, and I gasp, my lungs trying to refill as quickly as possible. My hand flies to my throat, rubbing at the prints I already feel forming, and he turns away from me in disgust. “I always knew you were a bitch, but I didn’t think you were stupid, too.”
As he walks away, not stopping even to see if I’m able to come after him, my heart shatters.What did I do to make you hate me?
The kid in me aches, unsure of what changed between the point that I hit puberty and everything that came before. He wasn’t always like this—angry, violent. Iknowthere was a time when he read me bedtime stories about princesses slaying dragons and let me fantasize about my dream wedding, saying no man would ever be good enough for me. Normal dad things, and all of a sudden, they were gone, replaced with an evil determined to destroy me.
With no way to distinguish what I did, what exactly caused him to act this way, I’ve been forced to absorb it, internalize it. But I never stopped wonderingwhy me. Worst of all, I can’t stop wishing he’d come back. Be my dad again.
Parents have that ability; they create you, and in return, you spend your whole life craving their approval, even if they don’t deserve it.
Especiallythen.
I scramble to my feet, glancing at myself in the window reflection. Red fingerprints bloom on my skin, evidence of my father’s rage. Digging into my purse, I pull out a bandana and quickly tie it around my neck, enough to at least cover half the bruising. Running to catch up to where my father now stands with my mother and Juliet, I can see the question in my mother’s eyes, but she doesn’t say a word.
She never does. That’d mean facing the monster she married.
My pain feels invisible, like a tiny shard of glass embedded into your skin. Something stepped on and absorbed, but otherwise imperceptible to the naked eye. It’s not, though. It’s real, and it splinters inside of me each time no one notices. But there’s nothing I can do about it.
Yet.
THE LITTLE REDHEAD sits back on her heels between my thighs, freshly manicured hands gripping my knees through the black slacks I wear, mouth dangerously close to my dick. It comes to life, twitching beneath her hooded, lustful gaze, and I clench my jaw to steel myself away from the thought of taking her a third time.
“Is something wrong, Elia?” Siena’s piercing green eyes peer up at me from fluttering lashes, fingers squeezing me. She’s completely naked, her pale, freckled body on display in my office, even though Orlando Montalto sits across from us, gaze trained on the wooden surface. Not my fault he came in while I was busy.
I ignore Siena, staring daggers into my father’s hollow face. His fingers tap on the large oak desk in my office, nestled in the upstairs corner of Crimson, the club we’ve owned and operated since our arrival in King’s Trace. He leans into the leather wingback chair, crosses his ankle over his knee, and cups his jaw.
Waiting. Watching. A made man through and through, several times over.
The speculation is killing me.
Our nightclub, Crimson, is basically a dirty front for mafia business; this town is a massive tourist town because it’s so small and nearly off-the-grid, so rich folk from Quebec and Portland like to vacation here and party hard during their visits. We set up deals in the back alley during the day when we’re less likely to be raided, and at night they come back and pump money into cover charges, over-priced drinks, and sex in our VIP lounge, occasionally with strippers.
I’m not a huge fan of the whole prostitution thing, but I let the girls make the final decision. Most of them don’t double, because they’re paid enough with my gig, but there are a few that do it for the control.
Siena doesn’t like control. She wants to be treated like dirt, which is why she’s the only girl I do repeats with; it’s why she sits here still, despite my father’s presence.
Uncrossing his legs, my father shifts, the rustling fabric of his Brioni suit the only sound in the room. Even the ice cubes in our glasses are still, as if the discomfort swarming around froze them in the liquid.
The temptation to take Siena again, just to spite him, is heavy. Unfortunately, I’ve already had her twice this evening; once, bent over my desk, legs spread as wide as they could go. I pummeled into her tight little ass over and over again until she screamed out in agony, the sound making me come harder than usual.
Then again, against the tall, double-paned window overlooking the streets of Maine’s smallest, most corrupt town, enjoying the way she exploded on my dick at the prospect of being watched.
That’s how I know she’s got a voyeurism kick. While any other time, I might tell her to stay right where she sits and suck my cock until Gia finally fucking shows up and my father dies of embarrassment, today I’m not really in the mood.