Another stream of curses flew from Brandon. “You almost got my damn boots.”
I didn’t have any apologies in me. The world around me pitched and swayed as my father’s house came into view. I was out of options and time.
A figure stepped onto the back deck. “Brandon.”
My father’s voice intensified my shaking—a combination of fear, dread, and pain. Sweat broke out on my brow.
“Got something you’ve been looking for.”
My father’s gaze swept over me. “She’s in less than pristine condition.”
Brandon gripped the back of my shirt. “Tried to pull a runner on me.”
“Is she shot or stabbed?”
He asked the question with no care, as if he were asking if I was wearing a red shirt or a blue one.
Brandon shifted in the saddle. “Just a little cut is all. Might need a few stitches. Cybil can handle that.”
My father’s lips pursed. “What do you want?”
“Untraceable vehicle, ID, and cash.”
“You can have the first two. I would’ve given you the third if she was brought to me uninjured.”
Brandon’s hand moved from my shirt to my hair, giving it a painful tug. “I’d like to punish you for that,” he hissed.
“Brandon,” my father warned.
Brandon shoved me from the saddle. I landed with a thud on the ground, dust flying into my eyes and mouth. White spots danced in my vision.
“That was unnecessary. She’ll be even harder to clean up.”
Brandon scoffed. “Make Cybil deal with it.”
“Fair enough.” My father descended the stairs and crossed to me. He lifted me by my armpit, and I couldn’t hold in my cry of pain. “The only person you have to blame for the situation you’re in is yourself.”
I fought the urge to throw my head back and try to break his nose. But I didn’t have the strength to run. Not right now. I had to wait for my moment. Instead, I stayed quiet and let my head drop. Let him think he’d beaten me. He hadn’t. He’d never break me again.
“Cybil,” he bellowed.
She appeared so quickly, I knew she’d been watching from the house. “Yes, sir?”
“Take my daughter, get her cleaned up. See if she needs stitches and lock her in her room.”
Cybil gave an almost curtsy. “Of course.”
She took my arm, her grip bruising, and dragged me towards the house. “Hurry up.”
“I’m trying,” I gritted out.
Cybil pulled open the back door and shoved me towards the stairs. “Don’t try anything. There’s nowhere for you to go.”
Tears burned the backs of my eyes, a mixture of rage and grief. I knew I had nowhere to run. Not right now and on this property with too many eyes and ears that were only loyal to my father.
Cybil pushed me into my old bedroom, but not before I saw the new series of locks on the outside of the door. It had always been a jail cell, but now it looked like one, too.
“Rinse off,” Cybil ordered.