Page 126 of Shattered Souls
“Call me Daddy,” Bertram says sternly, unaware of the crushing wave of revulsion that crashes over me. He pierces Aurora with a look that renders her incapable of saying anything. She merely nods, and I encourage her to go back to eating, hoping Bertram will turn his attention elsewhere.
He does. He begins rambling about how good life will be now, just the three of us. He talks as though my mother never existed, and if I cared, perhaps I’d ask him about her, but I don’t.I tune him out, simply nodding at the appropriate times. I keep one ear on the conversation and an eye on Aurora while I devise a way for us to get out of here.
I spent the day hoping the guys would show up and break down the door. I trust that they’re doing everything they can to find us, but whatever Bertram has done to hide the fact he owns this house from prying eyes, it’s clearly working. I don’t know how long it will take Dax’s IT guy to find this place and for the guys to get here, and I’m acutely aware that the clock is counting down. It’s only a matter of time until Bertram wants more. Until his facade cracks, and I’m unable to put him off.
My gaze catches on a large, wrought-iron candlestick to one side of the fireplace, and I imagine snatching it up and wielding it like a bat as I smash it into Bertram’s skull…
“Mommy.” Aurora tugs on the maroon dress I’m wearing. Leaning in, she keeps her eyes on me and whispers, “Is he really my daddy?”
Unfortunately, her whisper is an average person’s voice, and Bertram hears every word. “Of course I’m your father,” he barks. “Who else would I be?” His gaze snaps to mine, hardening. “Have you not been telling her about me?”
Ha.
Holding Aurora against me, I keep my attention on Bertram. “She’s just confused. It’s a lot of change in such a short time. It’ll take her a while to understand and adjust.”
Rage simmers in the dark depths of his eyes, and I realize the falsely sweet front is gone. “Aurora, go to your room.” Bertram’s demanding tone cracks like a whip through the otherwise quiet room. Aurora stiffens at my side. Unsurprisingly, she doesn't leave the table, instead staring up at me with wide, fear-filled eyes.
“Now!” Bertram smacks his hand against the tabletop, making the cutlery clatter and glasses wobble precariously. “Don’t make me tell you twice.”
“Go on, sweetie,” I say softly, pasting on my best attempt at a reassuring smile. “I’ll be up for bath time and to tuck you in.”I hope.
Aurora still hesitates, and I ask, “Do you remember where you’re going?”
She gives a shaky nod, and I help her down from her chair, pushing her toward the exit before Bertram completely loses his shit. I don’t breathe until she’s out of the room and her footsteps have disappeared upstairs.
The scrape of chair legs squealing against the floor reminds me that I’m not so unfortunate as to have escaped this hell. Bertram pushes his seat away from the table before patting his thigh. “Come here.”
Those two words are said with the same commanding tone he used on Aurora.
I don’t want to.
Everything in me revolts against the idea, my body seizing up in its attempt to disobey. I’d remain obstinately in my chair if it weren’t for some primal part of my brain, functioning based on survival, that takes control of my extremities and forces me to my feet.
The games have officially begun.
Aurora. Aurora. Aurora.
Her name repeats with everyclackof my heels against the floor as, with laden steps, I close the distance between us.
Only when I’m standing at his side do my steps falter. He arches a knowing eyebrow in challenge. It’s a dare. A command. A threat all rolled into one. With stiff movements, I step between his parted legs and lower myself to perch on the edge of his thigh.
Fuck, I hate this.
My breaths are shallow, my skin cold and clammy as I force myself to stay in the present. To resist the memories slamming like wrecking balls against my rapidly crumbling defenses.
With a concentrated effort, I force my mind back into that corner I would retreat to on those cold, hopeless nights when he’d sneak into my room. I shut down all thoughts, all emotions, until, when I look down and see his hand sliding up my thigh, it feels as though it’s happening to someone else.
Except, as I feel his breath dance along skin that isn’t mine, I realize I’m not alone in the corner anymore.
A tingle of sensation races over my palm—Logan’s comforting hand.
A warmth envelops my back—Royce’s protective presence.
Dark, fierce eyes raze my skin and lift the hairs along my arms—Grayson’s silent strength.
This time, I’m not alone.
They might not be with me, but they arewithme. Offering me what they can.
