Page 66 of Wicked Scorn
“Get out of my way, you little bitch,” Dad snarls, pushing her backwards.
That’s it. I snap, seeing red, every rational thought blown out of my brain.
“Don’t you fucking touch her!” I lunge for my dad, hands closing around his throat.
We go down in a heap, trading blows and grunts of pain. Dad gets in a solid punch, rocking my head back. I taste copper, thick and metallic in my mouth.
“What the fuck is going on?” Graham’s voice booms from the doorway.
Before I can react, he’s on me, arms like steel bands locked around my chest. With one massive heave, he hauls me off Dad, pinning me against the wall.
“Let me go!” I thrash wildly, hell-bent on ripping my father’s throat out.
“Jeremiah, you need to shut the fuck up and go cool off,” Graham growls in my ear, leaning his weight into me. “We’vegot enough chaos with Lincoln right now. Don’t make this shit worse by boxing Dad in the fucking living room.”
I sag against the wall; the fight draining out of me. Graham’s right. As much as I want to beat Dad’s face in, that won’t solve a damn thing.
Oakley has backed herself into a corner, shoulders hunched, eyes wide with fear. She looks so fucking small, so fragile. Like a scared little rabbit.
The sight of her like that hits me harder than any of Dad’s punches. I shove Graham off me, ignoring his warning glare.
“Oakley,” I say, keeping my voice soft and level. “Let’s go, baby.”
She doesn’t hesitate, darting across the room to my side. I wrap an arm around her, pulling her close as we leave the kitchen. Dad and Graham’s angry shouts follow us down the hall, but I block them out. Graham can be Dad’s golden boy right now because I’m fucking done.
Once we’re in my room, I shut and lock the door behind us. Oakley immediately burrows into my arms, face pressed against my chest. I stroke her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense against the crown of her head.
“Jesus,” I exhale, leaning back against the door. “Is it just me, or does he get worse every time?”
Oakley laughs, the sound brittle but real. “It’s not just you,” she says, squeezing my hand.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, bunny,” I whisper, guilt gnawing at my insides. “I never wanted you to be around that kind of ugliness.”
She tilts her head back, eyes shimmering but determined. “Don’t apologize for him, Rem. You were just protecting me.”
“Christ, I’d kill for a moment of peace.”
Chapter 25
Oakley
“Ican’t stand to be in this house while he’s here,” Jeremiah spits out, rage and anguish twisting his features as he enters his bedroom. “Come on, we’re going to go for a drive.” His voice cracks under the weight of his emotions, eyes burning with anger and sadness that cuts through me like a knife.
I can’t just stand by and do nothing. His father is an ass, always has been and most likely always will be, but I still don’t want to be the reason he and Jeremiah are fighting. I step closer to Jeremiah, reaching out to touch his arm gently. “Pretty boy,” I say softly, trying to infuse my voice with as much understanding and concern as I can muster, “you don’t have to do this for me. I don’t want to be the reason?—”
Jeremiah cuts me off by covering my fingers with his own. He looks down at my hand on his arm, then back up at me. The torment in his eyes makes my heart ache. He’s always been so strong, but right now, he looks like he’s barely holding it together.
My breath hitches as I look into his eyes, feeling theweight of his emotions pressing against me like a tangible force. His gaze is filled with so much love, it feels like it’s branding itself onto my soul. The world around us fades away, leaving just the two of us in this moment.
“The reason for everything I do,” he continues, his voice gaining strength, “is you. Every single thing. I promise you, bunny, nothing else in this world matters to me.” His words wrap around me, and for the first time in years I actually feel what love feels like. My parents were just there, existing, and my anger with Royce has eclipsed my emotions. The room seems to close in, making every word, every breath shared between us as one.
Jeremiah’s lips crash into mine with a force that leaves me breathless. The taste of him floods my senses—warm, intoxicating, and utterly consuming. His hands, strong, slide down to grip my waist, pulling me closer. Every second our lips are locked together, I feel this all-consuming love. His large hands cup my ass, pulling me into his body like he wants to mesh us together.
“Jeremiah,” I gasp against his mouth, but he doesn’t let up. He kisses me like he’s trying to etch himself into my very soul. I have to push up on my tiptoes even though he’s leaning down to my height. My hands find their way to the back of his neck, fingers linking together right beneath the stubble of his hair that’s starting to grow out. The world outside fades into obscurity; it’s just us.
“C’mon Oak, we gotta get outta here,” he murmurs, his voice husky with need and urgency. With a gentle yet firm hold on my hand, he pulls me away from the room.
“Where are we going?” I ask as we briskly walk down the dim corridor of the house, the opulence of it now feeling more like a gilded cage than a home. The Robert Blackwood effect.
