Page 3 of The Deceptions
I blow out a breath as the thunder rumbles deep and low, vibrating my fucking bones. Everything inside me begs me to run for cover and hide in the darkened SUV parked beyond the towering trees as unwanted memories trickle through my mind and flash before my eyes.
But I stand firm. Just like I did five minutes ago.
Since I was five, thunderstorms have been the bane of my existence, and standing here in the midst of it isn't helping the irrational fear unfurling inside me. It’s happening all over again. The night I spent with rain pouring over my head as tears mixed with the pelting water and I had nowhere to go. No home to seek shelter in. Two parents who didn’t give a shit if I was out in the cold, begging for mercy.
Because my own father kicked me out of our home the moment the storm started to teach me an important lesson. Whatever that was.
I squeeze my eyes shut, ignoring the wind whispering through the trees, carrying faraway voices from my memories. If only I could forget.
“Count the time between the lightning flash and the thunder, Trouble,” Hux grins, peeking out the window of our elaborate tree house nestled deep in the woods, hiding us from the raging storm that came out of nowhere.
“I'm still scared,” I whisper, scooting closer to him and grabbing his hand. “Hux, what if….” The tree falls. Or a tornado comes through. Or the wind makes it impossible for me to make it home before my dad knows I'm gone.
If he knows I've snuck out, he'll brutalize me. Or worse, throw me in the dark basement with no food or water and force me to stay there until he sees fit.
But this is worth it. The time lying in the treehouse with Hux, safely tucked in beside him. He’s my protector.
I trail off when his moss green eyes sparkle with mischief. “Livy, you're ten. You can't be afraid of storms forever. Besides, you have to learn how to ride them out.” His grin does little to soothe my anxiety. His low chuckle fills the space before he grabs and pulls me into him. The faint scent of Christmas spices fills my nose, and my body relaxes. “No matter the storm, I'll always be your fighter.”
I wish I hadn't believed him so hard throughout my childhood and teenage years. It would have saved me this misery piercing my heart and cracking it more at the thought of him and his sparkly green eyes.
Huxley. My former best friend and my ultimate betrayer.
He didn't act alone, though. No. They were like the three musketeers. Always together. They were all complicit, standing around me with the knife in their hands as they slashed my throat and left me burning in the embers of my home with the bodies of my sister and mother.
Sophia Viotto. Espie Viotto. Olivia Viotto.
Now, we're nothing more than a memory etched into marble. The only one missing is my traitorous father, Raphael Viotto—the man who took off the second he knew a storm was coming for us and left my mother, sister, and me to die for his crimes.
Whatever they were.
"Your mom and sister were good people, Liv," Jonathan whispers, clutching my shoulder and pulling me from my thoughts.
If he only knew.
"Yeah," I croak, shaking the emotions from my voice.
Standing out in the open, breathing in the same air as that night that I fled while hanging on to the last thread of my life, has my arm hairs standing on end. My heart sings in my ears,blocking out the storm brewing around me. Absent-mindedly, my fingers trace the scars lining my face, traveling to the one that should have ended my life—across my throat. I swallow the lump lodged in my esophagus beneath my fingertips.
I wasn't supposed to come back to Greenwood, California. No matter what. Jonathan made a promise to me after he found me clinging to life with burns on my face, neck, and shoulders. Injuries courtesy of the fire that took my home, my family, and almost my life. I was barely recognizable, gasping for breath in a secure hospital room, far away from the public eye. No one knew I was there, except for Jonathan.
Somehow, I defied the odds and got out of my home before it collapsed, taking everything with it. Including the bodies of my mother and sister. That was almost me. I was teetering at Death’s door, lightly knocking, looking for entry.
Except I made it out. Death’s door never opened, granting me solace. Instead, I was thrust back into a painful existence.
And the worst part of all? I have no idea how I made it out alive. My last thoughts were filled with darkness. A void before me.
But somehow, I woke up in the hospital with my uncle at my side, begging me to stay alive and granting me a new life without all the pain from before.
"I'll never make you go home," he whispers, clutching my hand as I fight for my life. The machines beep above my head and an IV drips into my veins. "You have a new home with me and Veritas."
"You broke your promise," I mutter, not bothering to look at him again.
I can't.
Or the tears burning the backs of my eyes will fall. I can't have that. I'm strong. Stronger than my tears and emotions. Icould yell until I'm hoarse and my throat is raw. I could punch him in the throat and knock him to his knees.
But I can't. Won't. I'm too frozen by the reality of my situation. I’m back in my own personal hell.
