CHAPTER 10 #2
My father had erupted then, throwing a glass so quickly no one had a chance to dodge it. It shattered against the man’s head, slicing a clean cut into his face immediately. Blood dripped onto the table, the cigar forgotten and burning a hole in the seventy-thousand-dollar rug under his feet.
“I have made myself clear!” He boomed to the room shocked into silence, “My daughter is none of your concern, and you speak of her like that again and I will castrate you myself and feed you your own cock, do you hear me?”
While there was no unanimous yes, there were nods and hands thrown up in surrender. But the one with the cut looked furious. His eyes had turned dark with hatred, his lips curled in disgust.
I think it was the humiliation that tripped him, sending him into a spiral that he would never find himself out of.
I was too close to him, within grabbing distance, and he moved before any guns could be drawn to stop him. He shoved my back to his chest, and his hand went around my throat, pinning me in place as he cut off my air supply.
“You dare humiliate me?” He roared at my father, “Stand against me?”
Something came over the room, not calm per se, but a quiet that settled into your bones and washed ice over your skin. My father stared at the man, his face void of emotion.
“Unhand my daughter,” He warned.
“Perhaps I’ll take her myself,” He challenged, “Fuck her, marry her, breed her and take over the empire.”
“One.” My father counted.
I remember the fear and how it made me tremble.
“Two.”
The man behind me laughed. “You realize I have a Glock pointed at her right now?”
He didn’t, and my father knew that too. His face twisted into a cruel grin.
“Three.”
The room erupted, and I’d gone down, hitting my head against the table. It didn’t knock me out, but it made my head fuzzy enough that the next few seconds are lost to the fog, but when I was pulled up by my father’s right-hand man, both he and his men had been restrained.
My father had taken me into his arms, cradled my head with his hand and hugged me.
“Take the gun from my holster,” He’d whispered, “Put it to his head and pull the trigger. Do not hesitate, Elena. No mercy.”
The weapon had rattled in my hand where I was shaking so much, but I took it out and I pressed it to his head, right between his eyes. Two of my father's men held him on his knees with blood all over his face.
“No, no,” He begged, “Wait. I’m sorry!”
“You are replaceable,” My father had told him simply. “Kill him.”
My finger found the trigger, palms sweating. I knew why he was making me do it. Why I had to be the one, but it didn’t make it easier. Seeing it happen and being the one to deal the blow are two very different things.
My father had started to walk away, back toward his seat at the head of the table, but as he went, he started to hum.
Twinkle, Twinkle little star…
He sang it to me anytime I had nightmares growing up, anytime I was upset or anxious, anytime I needed comfort.
And in this moment of violence and bloodshed, he was offering a branch of comfort.
So I pulled the trigger, and I watched a man’s life drain.
He let the others go after that, with a message and an order to replace him with someone better. I don’t know if they ever did because I was never invited back into one of those meetings, and I never got a chance to head one after he died.
I’m startled from the memory at the heavy huff of air that hits my hands dangling over the other side of the fence. The bull had moved closer at some point during the memory, close enough I feel his breath, the condensation of it dampening my skin.
I jump back, but pain shoots up my thigh, taking out my knees. I land in the dirt, adding more pain to my already broken body, and I can’t stop the cry that leaves my lips. Tears prick my eyes, the memory and the pain working together to weaken me.
The bull lets out another grunt before he makes a deep kind of bellowing noise, his tail swishing back and forth as he watches me through a gap in the fencing.
A laugh escapes me, breathy and pained. Surely this two thousand pound plus animal could knock this down if he wanted, right? It’s just some timber and nails.
I go to move to my feet, using the fencing to pull me up and stand face to face with the bull.
“I think you just need a friend,” I tell him, but as I reach my hand over to scratch the bump between his horns, he swings his head, removing it from my reach. “Okay then, not today.”
He ambles his way back toward the fence line on the other side and returns to watching his unreachable herd.
I stay a little bit longer to watch him, but when the lights switch off in the house behind me, I know it’s safe to return.
I bid my goodnight to the bull and make my way to the house, slipping in through the open front door. The living room light is off, same as the kitchen, but he left the hallway that leads to my bedroom on and there’s a hum coming from the oven.
When I open it, I see my plate of food sitting on the middle rack; the oven is set to keep it warm, and on the table are an empty glass and the bottle of whiskey.
Letting go of a heavy sigh, I pull it out and place it on the table, filling the glass with only a small amount before I take a seat and finish the meal he got for me.
Knox is good when he has every reason not to be.
I’m his enemy, and yet he feeds me, clothes me and houses me. I didn’t believe such a thing existed when I’ve met with some of the most despicable humans on earth, but I guess I was looking in all the wrong places.
But that made sense. A man like him would be killed in a world like mine.