Blackbird (A Stepbrother Romance #1)(24)

He glanced at her, his expression wounded.

Victor’s hands fell. For a moment. Then his right arm shot up and he jabbed his finger in my father’s chest, hard enough to make him flinch.

“You want to play house with my mother, fine. You do not put your f*cking hands on me in my house, am I clear? You wanna go, we’ll go. Otherwise, keep your hands to yourself.”

He looked at his mother, then glanced at me.

“I’m not hungry,” he said, and brushed past my father to walk to the house.

Mrs. Amsel let out a long breath.

“He didn’t mean any harm. They should get along.”

“That thing,” he looked at the car, “is dangerous. I won’t have your son putting my daughter in danger, Karen.”

“I wanted to go,” I blurted out.

His eyes widened when he looked at me.

Mrs. Amsel sighed.

“Victor went to a private driving school, Martin. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Yes,” Father said, his voice acid. “I’m sure he knows exactly what he’s doing.”

“Martin,” Mrs. Amsel said, in a warning tone. “I’ll talk to him. I’m sure he just wanted to meet her. They’re going to be brother and sister, after all.”

“What?”

She looked at me, blinking. “Hasn’t your father told you, dear? We’re getting married.”

I swayed on my feet. I thought I might pass out. It was like all the blood just drained out of my head, like someone pulled the plug from a bathtub. The fury slid out of his face and he smiled warmly at me. I looked at his wife-to-be and my head started pounding.

“I’d like an aspirin, please,” I said.

“Of course, sweetie. Come on, let’s head inside.”

“I think we should be going,” Father said.

Karen gave him a curious look. “I thought you had a clear schedule.”

“I’d rather give Victor some time to cool down. I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Man to man.”

She sighed. “Alright, if you insist. I’ll call you tonight.”

The way she smiled at him made her look very young.

For some reason, I felt a stab of fear for her.

Father took my hand and walked me to our car. With every step his grip got tighter, until my hand began to throb. I tugged at his grip a little, and he squeezed harder. I choked down a cry, knowing it would be worse if I made a scene.

“Get in the car, you little slut.”

He let go. I rushed around and curled up in the front seat. He hadn’t used that tone with me in years. I was good. I was good.

Father did not drive like Victor, at all. It was a long, slow drive back to the city, in total silence. Neither of us spoke until we arrived at home.

The first thing Father said was to Imelda.

“Get out,” he snapped.

She gathered her things and was out of the house, dismissed for the day in five minutes.

“Wait for me upstairs,” he said to me coldly, before walking into his office.

Every step was slow, like I was wearing shoes made of lead and walking in water. I closed the door but did not dare lock it, and sat on my bed, hands folded on my lap. I waited.

I waited.

Waited more.

Waited for an hour, without moving.

Finally the door swung open.

“You defied me,” he said.

His words chilled me but it was the belt that caught my eyes. He had one in in his hands, in addition to the one looped through his trousers. I knew that belt. It was old and creaked when he folded it in half. A work belt, too wide for dress pant loops, made of old, careworn leather that was strange soft even if it was rigid and tough to bend.

“Stand up.”

I stood up.

“Take off your dress.”

It was like an icy fist punched me in the stomach, but I did it. I pulled it over my head, turned around and neatly folded it, laid the folded square of powder blue cloth at the foot of the bed and shivered, standing there in my underwear and bra.

“Lie down on the bed. Crossways.”

I laid face down on the bed.

“You understand, I’m doing this for your own good.”

The words struck me just before the belt did, on the backs of my thighs.

I didn’t scream. I choked it down, but tears burned in my closed eyes, forced their way out and I sucked in a sobbing breath just in time for the second blow, and almost screamed. It came out as a gurgling cry. It hurt. Nothing hurt that much, not even when I was smaller and he would burn my arms with the old curling iron. I couldn’t scream so I began sobbing and pleading instead, stop it please stop please stop, but the more I begged for mercy the faster the blows rained on my legs and then on my back, until I was curled up in a flinching ball, red lines of agony burning into my legs and back, and I thought I would die it hurt so much. I lost my voice pleading, lost to a rasping whisper. Only then did he finally stop.

“You will not speak to that boy ever again. If he touches you or speaks to you, you will come to me immediately. If I find out you have defied me in this, I will make you wish you’d never been born, do you understand?”

I swallowed, and choked out a yes.

“Clean yourself up, get dressed, and choose a take out menu for dinner. You will eat in here. I don’t wish to suffer the sight of a defiant little cunt at dinner tonight.”