Sweet Liar (Candy #2)(81)

Crying out, I scrambled to get away from him, frantically pushing against his shoulder. The fire in my leg flared and he held it still, unmoving, unflinching as I writhed before him, tears springing to my eyes.

When his finger pushed right into the hole, my eyes rolled back in my head. The pain was white hot, like a knife slowly slicing into me.

As abruptly as it began, it stopped. He released my leg, leaving me gasping. I sobbed, and tears ran down my face.

“Tell me, Candace,” Victor said, his voice deceptively soft.

At that, I cried harder. There was no way I’d tell him, and I was certain he was going to hurt me again.

His large hand stroked my hair, making me cringe away from his touch, as his voice soothed me at the same time, asking me to tell him what he wanted to know. But still, I said nothing. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to utter the words.

When his hand moved back to the same place on my leg, I tensed, bracing for the pain. He’d just begun to press on it again when I heard the sound of car doors closing outside. They were close, too close not to be in his driveway.

His brow creased with annoyance as he released me to look out the window. Before he could part the curtains, I heard Jonah’s voice outside, followed by banging on the door.

My relief was overwhelming. He came. Jonah was here.

Victor didn’t look worried about Jonah’s arrival as he walked to the door and opened it.

Jonah pushed past his father into the house. The moment he spotted me, his eyes turned stormy, filling with concern and something else much darker. He came around the couch and sat down, his gaze running over me. “Candy,” he whispered, his voice raw with emotion.

“Where have you been?” Victor asked.

Jonah ignored him and continued to look at me. It seemed as if he was afraid to touch me, and I wondered what I must look like.

Victor said Jonah’s name forcefully, and Jonah reluctantly shifted his gaze from me to his father.

“How could you do this?” Jonah asked.

Victor’s expression never changed, but he looked at me as if anything Jonah had to say was my fault, my influence.

“She’s no innocent bystander,” Victor replied.

Jonah took my hand gently and held it. “She did nothing to deserve this.” Flexing his jaw in anger, he turned toward Victor. “I saw Mom.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re doing this because Sebastian helped her leave you, and because they’re together.”

Victor scoffed. “Is that what she told you? The man is a traitor. You know that.”

Jonah nodded. “I also know why he did it, and that it’s something you would never do. Not for anyone.”

Jonah’s gaze shifted toward the front door that still stood open. Placing his hands on my shoulders, he encouraged me to look in the same direction.

I turned and saw someone standing in the doorway. At the sight of him, my heart stopped. It was my father, looking at me with the saddest expression I’d ever seen.

Dressed in an ill-fitting gray sweatshirt and faded jeans, he took in the scene silently before he stepped inside the house and closed the door quietly behind him.

Victor said nothing, but his smug expression held fast, as if the three of us could do or say whatever we wanted and he’d still remain in control. He only asked one question of Jonah. “Who’s the traitor now?”

While Victor was looking at his son with a world of disappointment in his eyes, my father plowed into him from the side and brought them both crashing to the floor. I gasped as Jonah rushed toward them.

With a growl, Victor surged upward, throwing my father off him. Jonah came at Victor then, landing a punch to his jaw, which hardly fazed him. His fist came around and slammed into Jonah’s face with enough force to make his head snap back.

When I saw Jonah stumble with blood pouring from his nose, I realized Victor might be able to take the both of them. Then I remembered the gun.

Turning, I saw it was still on the side table. When I looked back, my father was trying to overtake Victor with Jonah coming at him from the other side, but somehow Victor withstood them both.

I pushed up off the couch and limped across the room, my calf screaming with each step. When I reached out and closed my fingers around the gun, it felt familiar, cool and solid in my hand as I lifted it and aimed.

Victor concentrated on Jonah, glaring at him with such animosity it turned my blood ice cold. I adjusted my aim just as Victor’s fist connected with Jonah’s stomach and then his face again. I flinched with each blow. Jonah’s nose and eye were both swelling, but he fought back as best he could, landing his fist in his father’s side hard enough to make the man grunt in pain, but not enough to stop him.

It was then that my father saw me. His face was taut as he assessed the situation. He crossed the room quickly but said nothing when he held out his hand.

My fingers went slack with relief. Without hesitating, I placed the gun in my father’s waiting palm and he gripped it like it was second nature. His fingers surrounded it with ease and confidence, as if it were an extension of his arm.

When he held up the gun, his expression smoothed out and his dark eyes cooled. He looked preternaturally calm. The change in him was astounding, almost frightening, and I knew he wouldn’t just wound Victor. That wasn’t what he did. I was looking at a cold-blooded killer.