Released (Devil's Blaze MC #3)(80)

Slowly but surely as my sisters returned to Lakeview, it’s helped rein in his fits of anger. My father is aware of their presence and won’t act out while they are around. In their own way, they are protecting us. Ensuring he walks the line...straight and narrow. Addie is the one who’s benefited the most from their presence. He’s never touched her in anger, and they won’t allow him to. Thank God.

My father’s abusive nature was bred from his father’s. It’s a dirty secret the infamous Blackwood family has tried to contain, and only a few have witnessed the brutality. He’s a well-respected deacon in the church, rubs noses with politicians around the State, and sits on several committees for some of the wealthiest businessmen in the Panhandle. Shit! He’s one of those wealthy men! Looking in from the outside, he is the perfect husband and father.

"I love you, my sweet boy," mom whispers. Standing with difficulty, she takes Addie by the hand and leaves my room.

I'm left feeling bereft. My body is on fire as a constant reminder of what started this mess. Earlier, we were all sitting around the dining room table eating dinner. Mom had made the best chicken potpie, and I was on my second helping when I casually mentioned my intention to apply to West Point. That was the moment his fist flew across the table and connected with my body. Dishes crashed to the floor along with me. From there it escalated to his favorite leather belt and several unwanted bruises along my back and torso.

How would I know that he had other plans for furthering my education? He's never before called attention to where I should go. That's the problem. He never asks me anything. When he decides it's time for whatever he has concocted in his head, I'm told what to do and how to do it. Some things never change.

The next morning, I'm woken to the light blaring in my eyes and my father fiercely shaking me. In an unconscious moment, I move quickly, escaping his reach. Years of practice and know-how have taught me that maneuver. Sleeping lightly is the other. I'm on the other side of my bed, using it as a barrier between us. Trusting my instincts to keep me from harm and out of his reach.

"Grayson, you're making us late, and I need to leave here in the next five minutes!" my father yells as he exits my room. It’s his usual demeanor. You can't change the spots on a leopard, I'm told.

I remind him as he retreats down the hallway, “I have ROTC practice today, sir.” He mumbles his disgust as his heavy footsteps retreat down the hall. My whispered hope is that he’ll leave and I can drive my truck today. One can always hope.

Another day in the life of Grayson Blackwood. Stumbling into my bathroom, I jump in the shower and get ready for school. School. It's the only venue I have to express myself. I'm not an artist. Couldn't draw stick figures. No artistic talent here. Although each member of my family is musically gifted in one way or another. My talent lies with a six-string guitar.

Just one more year, I tell myself, one more year until I can leave this wretched house and never return to Lakeview, Florida, I vow to myself as the water washes away all of the filth from the day before, washes it away down the drain along with my free will. For now, I have to bide my time. Just like my older sisters, I’ll make it out. I have to.





"I'm coming, just a minute!" I yell through the stuffy little house. I finish my makeup, then with one more glance in the mirror at the image staring back at me, I'm ready for whatever the day holds.

My family and I live in a cramped, insignificant dwelling with nondescript white siding and blue trim. The front porch has just enough room for my mom's favorite pastime, her rocking chair. It's one of the few moments of peace in her existence from the disease that cripples her body. She enjoys gazing at the small flowerbed with pink azaleas in the front yard. The yard has been neglected for weeks. Not to mention, it's in a really poor, unnerving part of town close to the railroad tracks. Just like my dad craves. The more we blend in with the natives, the less attention we attract. He's the reason we are here.

"Sure thing, Ella honey. Hurry up 'cause you're going to be late!" my mom hollers back from the kitchen.

This is my usual morning. Wake up, fix breakfast for everyone, and then hurry up and get dressed in enough time to leave for school, but not before making sure that my little brother is getting ready and on his way as well. I guess I should be thankful, and really, I am, but it's just that sometimes I wish I didn't have to take care of everything that goes on in our house.

You see, that's my life. I'm sixteen years old with all the responsibilities of most grown-ups. My parents, well, they aren't really what you'd call typical parents. Mom is sick and has been for a long while now. They'd called it terminal years ago, but by the grace of God, she's still with us. However, it's only a matter of time before her roll is called. I pray every night that God will let her stay with us just a little longer, and so far, He's answered my prayers. She just can't help out in the normal ways a mother should or could. But that’s alright, because one more day with her is worth all of it.

Then there's my dad. Well...he's a grifter of sorts, a con artist. That's what brought us to this little town here in Florida two years ago. He was once again running away from another con, another fella he wronged. Lately, he's started dabbling in drugs. He keeps telling me it's not true, but I know what makes him tick. He lives for the thrill of the chase and the almighty dollar. Like I said, I'm much too old for my age!