“Do you need help with dinner, Ma?”
Mom turned from the stove where she was stirring a pot of tomato sauce. I caught a glimpse of her cut lip and the ugly bruise forming around her left eye before she quickly turned away. “No, I got it, Adrik. You just get the table set, all right?”
I clenched my jaw, my blood boiling.
“Did Papa hit you again?” I growled low. That asshole.
She gave an adamant shake of her head. “Of course not. I just tripped on the stairs earlier and smacked my face into the wall. You know me. Clumsy Monika.” She laughed.
Right. My mother was a former dancer. If she was clumsy, then I looked like Channing Tatum.
Why did she stay with Papa? I didn’t get it. She was a beautiful lady. She could have any man she wanted.
I stepped closer, gently touching her arm. “I’ve saved up some money, Ma. I can get us out of here. Come with me. We’ll leave and never come back. I’ll make sure he never hits you again.”
A look of horror crossed her face. She jerked away from me. “Adrik, how dare you suggest such a thing! I won’t leave your father. Ever.”
“You’d rather stay with a man who beats you than find happiness somewhere else?”
“I am happy,” she argued, though we both knew it was a lie. She was miserable. But for some stupid reason, she wouldn’t leave him.
The back door slammed, announcing the arrival of my father. Damien’s excited voice filled the back entryway as he rushed to greet Papa.
Confronting Papa right now would be a bad idea. Because I was itching for a fight. I was ready to kill him. At seventeen, I was almost as big as he was now. Though I was still wiry, my muscles were thickening, I’d shot up several inches this past year, and I might be able to take him. Especially if he’d been drinking. Which was more often than not these days. Ever since the Popovs had fired him a year ago, he’d started drinking heavily, saying it was their fault he couldn’t get a job anywhere else. Their fault he’d turned to alcohol. Their fault he beat on his wife…
He blamed everything on them. He’d even convinced Mom and Damien that it was true, that the Popovs were to blame for our hardships.
But I knew better. The blame lay on Papa and Papa alone. He was a loser. A wife beater. A piece of shit.
I’d never met the Popovs, but I knew who they were. Everyone did. The Popovs were one of the top reigning crime families on the west coast. I didn’t know what Papa’s job had been for them because he’d never told us. But he’d apparently screwed up because they’d fired him.
Papa strode into the kitchen with Damien bouncing excitedly at his heels. “Will you play catch with me after dinner, Papa? Please?”
“Ask your brother,” Papa grunted. “I’m not in the mood.”
Papa flicked a glance at me where I stood by the table, glaring at him and clenching my fists.
He cocked an amused brow. “You got something to say to me, you ugly little shit? Spit it out.”
I rose to my full height. “If ever you hit Mom again, I’ll kill you.”
Mom gasped, jerking away from the stove. “Adrik–”
“Shut the fuck up, Monika!” Papa roared. “This is between me and the boy. You want a piece of me, Adrik? Bring it on.” He waved me closer.
Damien’s eyes widened. He glanced from me to Papa before shrinking back out of the way. He wisely didn’t say a word.
Mom dropped her gaze and turned back to the stove, but I didn’t blame her. She couldn’t protect me from Papa and she knew it. He’d hurt her so many times now, she’d probably come to expect it. One of these days, he would probably kill her.
Not if I killed him first.
“Not in here,” I shot back, glaring at him. “Mom’s fixing dinner. Let’s take it outside.” One of us had to be mature about this, and it certainly wouldn’t be him.
Papa snorted, motioning me out of the room. “After you,” he mocked.
Damien gulped as I strode past, his eyes wide with fear. I’d never challenged my father before. But I was tired of seeing bruises on my mother. It was time I stepped up and protected her. Time I put my father in his place.
Only, it didn’t happen that way.