Page 9 of Wicked Savage

I wanted Mom to leave him so badly. But she never did. Well, couldn’t is more like it. You don’t just leave a man like him.

I pinch my eyes shut, my heart hammering in my chest. My hand reaches out, pressing against the wall beside me as I fight to keep it together.

The memory claws at me. That day two years ago. The same nightmare that always haunts me when I close my eyes. I’m unable to escape it even in my subconscious.

It’s like it happened yesterday. And no matter how much I try to move forward, it still drags me back.

CHAPTER3

DINARA

TWO YEARS AGO

“Take Gregory and go upstairs,”I urge my little sister, Tatiana, my body tight with panic.

Tears streak down her face, and I can barely stand to see her so scared—so small, so fragile. She’s only eleven. She should be playing with friends, not cowering from our father’s rage.

From the other room, my father’s voice erupts, sharp and violent. “You open your mouth to me, suka?”

His words are like a whip, followed by the sickening sound of a thud. My mother’s muffled whimper breaks through the air, and my body stiffens with fear.

Tatiana clutches three-year-old Gregory to her chest, his face pale and streaked with tears.

“We need to get help,” she whispers, barely audible. “He’s hurting her so bad… It's worse than ever.”

Her small hand shakes as it wraps around our brother, and I can’t bear the anguish in his eyes. His fear is a mirror of my own.

“I’m going to try to help, okay?” I say, trying to keep my tone steady, though my heart is racing, each beat louder than the last. “Just take him upstairs and keep him safe.”

She nods, barely holding it together. “Be careful.”

I pull them both into a quick, desperate hug—one that feels like I’m giving them everything I have, even as I push them toward the stairs, my fingers trembling.

“Hvatit!” My mother’s cry echoes through the house, raw and pleading. “Leo, pajalista!” Stop. Leo, please.

I don’t wait another second. My feet move on their own as I rush toward the den, my hand gripping the cold doorknob like a lifeline. I close my eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply and trying to silence the terror crashing through me.

Be brave. Be strong. You can do this, Dinara.

When I push the door open, my father’s anger cuts through the silence.

“You will learn your place in my house!” he bellows just as I step into the room, and he turns to me, his eyes dark with malice.

“Leave her alone, Papa!” My heart pounds in my chest, my blood roaring in my ears.

I want to move, to do something—anything—to stop him, but I can’t. Fear has me rooted to the spot, though my body quivers with fury.

My mother tries to push herself off the ground, blood streaking down her face as she swipes at her mouth. But before she can get far, he shoves her back down with his bare foot, crushing her into the floor as if she’s nothing more than an insect beneath his heel.

“Just like your mother.” His lip curls with disgust. “Sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

I step forward, adrenaline pumping through my veins. But then, with a cruel chuckle, he reaches for a small lion statue on the side table, lifting it in the air like it’s a weapon.

His eyes lock on me, and I know what’s coming. My body goes cold, but I stand my ground, refusing to back down.

“Let Mama go and stop it,” I whisper. “Gregory is afraid.”

This isn’t the first time I’ve had to face him. It won’t be the last. And I will never stop fighting. Ever.

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