Page 100 of Ruthless Redemption

“Hear that, boys?” Bishop’s expression turns smug as he holds the ice on his knuckles and leans over the sink. “My beating was lenient. Next time I’ll have far more fun.”

Remy rolls his eyes, grabs his belt from the island counter, and begins threading it through his pants. “Like we said outside—we want to get out.”

“Out of what exactly?” I ask.

“The family.” He looks to Matthew. “We want to walk away from Emmanuel like you did.”

Bishop scoffs. “Like he did? So you’re prepared to become homeless, form a drug addiction, then earn your living by slaughtering strangers?”

Salvatore gives Remy a pointed look. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“You’re damn fucking right about that.” Bishop’s jaw tenses. “You should’ve listened to your brother.”

“I thought you’d understand.” Remy keeps staring at Matthew, undaunted by the judgment. “That you’d have sympathy.”

“Sympathy for what?” Matthew drawls. “Your wealth? Your career? What part is my heart meant to bleed for?”

“We don’t have wealth.” Salvatore shakes his head. “Not a fucking penny. None that we can access anyway. It all goes into a trust that we can’t touch.” He turns his attention to me. “Maybe you’ll understand our position better than anyone. I’m told our father learned his tactics from yours.”

A chill skitters down my spine. “Meaning?”

“Emmanuel has always said Luther Torian used his children like pawns.”

I try not to flinch, but I’m not strong enough. His arrow makes a direct hit to my pride, the shame exploding through my chest.

“Likeweapons,” Remy clarifies. “And that’s exactly how Emmanuel treats us. We never wanted to be a part of this mayhem. We were manipulated into it, and the fucking humiliating part is that we should’ve seen it coming”

“Pathetic is another accurate description,” Bishop mutters.

I have a million questions, each one locked behind a cage of trauma and pain.

I don’t want to believe them. I don’t want to be sympathetic or obliging or lenient. But I can’t help wondering if our lives could possibly be carbon copies. If they’re dealing with emotional wounds like mine.

Salvatore returns his attention to the man at my side. “After you left, Dad lost his fucking mind knowing he could no longer control you.”

Matthew’s jaw twitches. “It was lost well before that. Otherwise Grace would still be alive.”

“Well, it avalanched from there. He began to script every part of our lives. From the classes we attended, to after-school activities. And every time we fought back against his control, he used your disappearance to justify his actions. He said he wouldn’t allow us to ruin our lives the way you did.”

“That’s it?” Bishop asks with incredulity. “Dear ol’ Daddy picked economics instead of trigonometry so now you’re throwing a tantrum?”

Remy’s expression tightens. “The classes were an example, asshole.”

“Well, it wasn’t a fucking good one, was it?”

“How’s this for a better example?” Salvatore bristles. “For Rem’s fifteenth birthday, he was forced to go to a strip club where a woman was paid to take his virginity.”

“That’s not your fucking story to share,” Remy snarls.

Matthew turns rigid. “Is it true?”

My stomach hollows as Remy’s nostrils flare. His fists clench.

“Is it true?” Matthew demands.

“Yeah, it’s true.” Remy pins us with a judgmental stare. “But don’t look at me like that. I was a fucking teenager with a twenty-four-seven hard-on. It wasn’t like I didn’t get my kicks.”

Breath escapes my lips in a rapid vacuum. He’s excusing the abuse. Rationalizing rape.

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