4. Mila
MILA
LA, June, 5 Years Ago
M y stepfather is fucking my older sister.
I can see it in the ways his eyes follow her. The sneer underneath the perfectly poised smirk on his face. How she throws back another glass of champagne as if she can chase away the feeling of his hands on her.
My stomach is sick, knowing there’s nothing I can do. There’s no handbook for how to navigate life. How do you save your sister when you know she’s being abused? She doesn’t talk about it, but I see the bruises on her when she comes home sometimes. How I’ll catch them in a quiet, heated discussion. How she seems like just an empty shell now, covered in ice and thorns, compared to who she used to be.
I feel guilty. I’m disgusted that he could do that to her. Do that to our mother, who’s never done anything but stand by his side. I know that’s part of why Savannah keeps it quiet.
Telling someone would do nothing but piss Marcus Parker off. Our stepfather has more money than God and a history of violence. All the cops in LA are in his pocket, and all the guards work for him.
Telling someone is pointless.
So . . . she lives with the revulsion and the pain and the abuse because that’s the only choice women in our world have.
Whether you’re thirteen or nighty-two, the men in our society control everything, right down to the fake smiles we plaster on our faces.
“Mila? What are you doing?”
My spine stiffens from my spot on the ground, and I tear my eyes away from Savannah.
God, smite me dead right here.
Drew Marshall, my oldest sister Bailey’s boyfriend and soon to be fiancé—unfortunately . . .
“Misplace your personality?” I ask, and he snickers, his posse of limp dicks that follow him around like lost puppies smirking from behind him.
“You’re missing the party.”
I look around us. I wouldn’t call it a party. It’s Bailey’s graduation party, but Mom heard word the party and jumped at the chance to show off Marcus’s money. Every celebrity, wealthy socialite, or influencer in the vast LA area is here.
Boring.
“Bummer.”
“You know, Corbin was going to ask if you wanted to dance.” He nods to the guy beside him. I look him over. Lush hair. Blue eyes. Louis Vuitton shoes.
No, thank you.
I turn back to the Gameboy in my hand. Bailey gave it to me earlier today, and forgive me, but Mario is far more fascinating than any of Drew’s “friends”.
“I don’t dance.”
Drew has always gotten on my nerves, and I do everything I can to get on his. He’s condescending, using his father’s money to get whatever he wants. He treats Bailey like shit, though she refuses to see it. He cheats, he does drugs. He works for Marcus.
If you ask me, a squirrel would be a better boyfriend than Drew fucking Marshall.
“Come on, sweetheart. Put the game down and be a big girl.”
I grit my teeth. I’m not a fucking child who needs coaching. I’m twenty, for God’s sake.
“Hey, Drew?” I ask, my voice as sweet as arsenic.
“What?”
“Is it true that you’re struggling with erectile dysfunction? I overheard you and Bailey arguing the other night, and I was concerned.” I wasn’t concerned. I actually think it’s hilarious.
“You’re a mouthy little brat, you know that?” His friends are still chortling over my little E.D. comment. No shame to anyone who actually suffers from E.D. I just hate Drew, and I hope his dick falls off from gangrene sometime in the next five minutes.
I shrug at his comment. I have no desire to impress Drew Marshall. In fact, I would go as far as to say it’s the exact opposite.
Letting out a sigh, I slip to my bare feet. The cobblestone terrace is cool on my toes, and my lavender heels lay abandoned at the foot of the statue. I hate shoes, especially ones with heels.
“This has been a lot of fun, but I think I’ve had my fill of frat tonight.”
If Mason, can skip out on this party, then so can I.
I’m turning to walk away when a hand darts out and grabs my wrist, dragging me to a stop. I jerk back from Drew, but his fingers remain steadfast, a sinister smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Did you forget who I am, little sister?” Drew steps closer, pushing the hair off my face. I wince when I pull in his grasp, and his fingers tighten, cutting off my circulation. “Like it or not, I’m going to be your brother-in-law,” he murmurs darkly. “Imagine what Bailey will say when she finds out her little sister sucked her husband’s cock.”
“Nothing, because the only way your cock would come anywhere near my mouth is if I were slicing it off to feed it to you for cheating on my sister.”
His eyes flash wickedly, his fingers digging into my skin harder. I bite back a wince because I refuse to show him that he’s hurting me.
“Make no mistake, when I marry your sister, you and Savannah will be at my mercy. Whether it’s on your knees or your back, I’ll find a use for you.”
“I’d advise you to drop your hand,” a cool voice says behind me.
Drew pauses, eyes narrowing before he looks over my shoulder.
He must not like whatever he sees there because he drops my wrist like I’d shot flames from my nipples.
I turn, my heart pausing unsteadily in my chest, when I meet the dark blue gaze of the man standing beside the statue.
He, on the other hand, looks as calm and collected as he would be walking down the street. His gaze sweeps over me, a quick assessment to verify I’m not hurt, and my skin heats under his stare.
He’s . . . otherworldly. Dangerous.
Dark hair. Dark blue eyes the color of the Mariana Trench. His suit stretches over muscles so thick, I’m sure he could crush a watermelon—or my head—in his giant hands. Broad shoulders. Slacks stretched over strong, impossibly long legs.
This isn’t a man at all . . .
—It’s the devil in an Armani suit.
I fall back a step, and finally, his gaze leaves mine. He turns to Drew.
“I’m just having a little conversation with my favorite sister-in-law, right, Mila?”
I glower back at him, but before I can respond, the mystery man speaks up.
“And now, you’re not.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Drew asks, cocking his chin back like he’s prepared for a fight. I don’t know why. He couldn’t even fight a wet paper bag, much less the man standing before us who’s at least a foot taller than he or I and a whole lot bigger.
“The man telling you to get out.”
The silence in the air is so thick, it steals my breath away. All of Drew’s friends are still, no longer snickering now that the mystery man has arrived. A shiver rolls through me, and I wrap my arms around myself as a chill settles in my veins at the look he gives Drew.
It’s as if he’s death himself, come to collect the soul of an innocent and just stopped off for a quick appearance at this party.
“I’m not leaving,” Drew argues, and I don’t miss the little flash of fear in his gaze hidden beneath that cocky exterior.
Under different circumstances, I would laugh.
Mystery man steps closer, between me and Drew, and I fall back until my shoulders are pressed into the statue behind me. He peels his suit jacket open, and Drew’s eyes widen at whatever he sees. I can’t see what it is from where I stand, but I can guess.
“I’ve been authorized to remove anyone I see fit, and . . . as it stands, I see fit to remove you.”
“Under who’s order?”
Mystery man cocks his head. “Mr. Parker.”
“I’m Parker’s assistant.”
“Not for much longer.”
When Drew doesn’t move, he cocks one dangerous brow at him as if daring him to refuse, and finally, one of his friends speaks up.
“Come on, Drew. This shit’s boring, anyway,” one of the guys says, his gaze refusing to meet the man. “Let’s go.”
Drew glares at me over tall, dark, and devastating’s shoulder but falls back into his posse. With a dark look, he slips around the mystery man, albeit awkwardly, because the man doesn’t move to let him by. Drew’s friends scramble, and Drew shoulder-checks him on his way. I watch them go through the party on the terrace until they disappear up the sidewalk.
“Are you hurt?” the man asks as soon as they’re gone, voice gruff, as if he swallowed sandpaper.
I force a breath past the growing lump in my throat, shaking my head.
“No . . . thank you. He’s just a dick,” I grumble, rubbing the sore spot on my wrist. I fucking hate Drew, and I’ll celebrate the day he takes his last breath. “I don’t know what my sister sees in him.”
“Everything happens for a reason. You can’t control the evil in the world. You can only remove it.”
“Maybe so, but then someone will just step in to take its place.”
“You shouldn’t allow people to treat you that way,” he murmurs, straightening the cuffs of his shirt without looking at me. “You’ll never be anything if you continue to let people walk all over you.”
“I . . .” Ouch. Talk about tough love. “Who are you?”
He smirks, his gaze filling with dark amusement. When they finally meet mine, it feels like staring down the loaded barrel of a gun. I get the feeling this isn’t a man who stumbled upon a college graduation party for fun.
“Your new bodyguard,” he smirks devilishly. “And you’ve got a lot to learn, little devil.”