Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 135958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135958 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
When I’d heard him bark orders in the house. When something made him furious at a meal—if there wasn’t enough salt or he suddenly decided we needed ketchup even though he’d banned it, saying it was “beneath his palate.” The way he’d sounded when he had colleagues over, how he spoke to my mother in a way that forced her to be nice, be polite, and not say a damn word. She’d better fucking smile or she wouldn’t be able to walk the next day.
From his beating.
His laugh rolled over me, and I felt nausea moving up my throat. It was the same laugh he’d used when I’d heard him bring a woman to the house. He’d taken her to the basement, and I knew there were others. My mom knew too.
I’d been nine, but I knew what he was doing with her.
My mom.
I hadn’t seen her in so long. It was three years ago that I saw her for the States’ Thanksgiving Day. It was one holiday we both enjoyed, and that day was special to me. She had met someone a year after leaving my father. It’d seemed quick to me, because that’s when I’d left too, but I had no place for any emotions other than happiness that we were both alive. Safe.
She had someone who loved her, protected her, and while he didn’t know about her past, I also knew what else she was trying to tell me.
She was going to start over. I never told anyone, but that’s why I became a Hider.
I agreed to the separation from her because I wanted her to start over. I didn’t want my face to be a reminder of her past, of the torture he had put her through, and I found a new purpose in life.
I was better. I was alive. She was alive.
She’d had two more children, a boy and girl. I’d seen their pictures. Blade kept track of them for me. Both were in sports, getting top scores in their years. I was happy for them.
I was proud.
They were close to the age I’d been when I went to Hillcrest. Somehow, knowing I was about to face my father, that hit me hard. It sat with me, giving me a sense of life’s brevity.
I’d been thirteen when I thought my mother died, fourteen when I found out she was alive, and still fourteen when I lost her again. All because of him.
And suddenly, here I was now, burning with renewed loathing.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
I stepped out of the tent, and a guard nodded for me to move a few steps behind a podium.
“You okay?” Kai was next to me in a heartbeat, his hand finding my elbow.
I looked over his face. He was tired. He was tense, but he was alert. I recognized the other look in his eyes. He was hunting. He was my father’s predator, and I swear, a part of my heart swelled, though it shouldn’t have.
I nodded, feeling everything from my chest down go numb. I no longer wanted to feel. “I’m good.” I nodded again, firming my shoulders, raising my chin. “I’m ready.”
He stared at me, a full five beats before his hand fell to mine. “Good.” He moved to stand beside me, facing where my father stood.
He was talking to another couple, an older man and woman. My cousin was beside him, her arm around his waist, and his hand spread over her back. It slid down, cupping her ass, and remained there. She pressed closer to his side, touching his chest and tilting her head back for a laugh.
This was another world.
This would’ve been mine, if he’d let me live.
I would’ve been one of those girls in a sequined dress, arm candy for another man. Perhaps that wasn’t always the case, but my father would’ve wished it. He would’ve wanted me to be with someone who could bring him more power, more money, just more, more, more. And if I hadn’t, he would have gotten rid of me.
I fought back a full-body tremble.
Kai felt it. He glanced at me.
I ignored him, raising my head again.
He let it pass. He was biding his time. He would hunt his first prey, then target his second one: me. But that would be after.
As he turned back to my father, my thoughts wandered again.
I searched for a good memory of my father, but I had none.
That said something, didn’t it?
Most dads, even if they’re assholes, still leave some cherished memory with a child. But I had none. I only remembered when he would hurt my mother, when he would bark at her or me at dinner.
I remembered the effects of him.
I remembered how she would shake at the dining table, how she would spill soup from her spoon if she did something he didn’t like.