Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
The darkness presses in on me from all sides, so complete it’s almost heavy. Heavy enough that I can hardly breathe with all this weight on my chest.
My shoes make very little noise beneath the gravel, and I hold my breath, afraid that the slightest sound will give me away. The closer I venture to the house, moving slowly both from dread and caution, the more I wish I hadn’t gotten out of the car. Goose bumps cover my body, and I’m shivering like I took a headfirst dive into an ice-covered pond.
I want to go home.
Yet something keeps me moving, drawing me closer. I have no choice but to put one foot in front of the other. Like there’s an invisible lasso around me, pulling me in. I couldn’t stop if I tried. I must know what’s happening inside that house.
Is Ren the villain, or is he the knight?
23
REN
“Are you ready to admit what you’ve done?”
I’m so sleepy. I can barely hold my head up, but I can’t let it drop. He’ll hurt me if I let it drop.
I’m not supposed to go to sleep until I tell him what I did. Only I didn’t do anything. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.
It’s so dark in here. So cold. We’re alone.
Nobody’s going to help me. My chin quivers when I remember that.
“You know what you’ve done.” He bends down, hands on his knees, and stares at me. I have seen his face like this so many times. “God knows what you’ve done. And most important, Joseph knows.” The mention of his name gets my chin quivering again.
“I didn’t do anything.” I can hardly talk; I’m so tired and hungry. Pain gnaws at me. I wish I could sleep because then I wouldn’t feel it.
My head snaps to the side, and I know I shouldn’t cry when he slaps me, but I always do. It hurts so much. I can taste blood.
I don’t know what he wants me to say. I didn’t do anything bad. I didn’t take extra food at breakfast yesterday. Somebody else must have done it.
My head snaps to the other side as pain explodes in that side of my face, too. The baby’s in the other room but must feel how much I’m hurting. “Look what your lies have done,” he grunts. “You made the baby cry. You’re hurting everybody in your life with your lies.”
He always says that just like he always sounds so calm when he’s hurting me. That’s what he does. It’s his job.
“You know it pains me to punish you, but your mother and father know it needs to be done, so they called me in.” He stands up straight, sighing—and he starts unbuckling his belt. He’s so tall, like a giant next to me.
I know what’s coming, and tears fill my eyes, but he won’t stop if I cry. He might hit me harder like he did last time.
I hate him.
I fucking hate him.
So many years have passed, and I still hate him. I hate him for what he did to all those kids, for what he did to my family. But most of all, I hate how my fingers are shaking. Even now, he has that power over me. A fear that’s seated so deeply, it has become a permanent part of me.
I peek over my shoulder, making sure Scarlet listened. I can’t do this if I worry she’s in danger.
My feet are heavy as I drag them to the house, knowing my worst nightmare lies behind those walls. Most people would turn back, letting their fears dictate their actions. I let them fuel me.
Moving faster than before, I make my way around the corner of the brick house. I stay in the shadows, letting darkness camouflage me. My breathing is calm, my heartbeat even. My fingers brush against the gun inside my waistband. I hope not to use it. I’d rather make it slow and painful. Maybe a knife or some other sharp tool. A saw would be nice as well. I could cut off a limb and watch him bleed out.
Instead of going into the front door, where Scarlet can see, I head for the back. A single, bare bulb hangs over the door, which I reach up and unscrew. I doubt the fucker would be able to recognize me all these years later, but I don't want to take a chance. All I need is for him to open the door to me.
Taking the gun in hand, I hold it close to my side before knocking. He's in there. I hear him, and my heart pounds as I wait. Come on, Christian. Let's catch up.
His shadow fills the window beside the door, the curtains parting slightly for him to look out. Come on, come on, don't keep me waiting. “I need help,” I mutter in a last-ditch effort to get him to open the door. “Please, I'm lost. I just need help finding my way.”