2. Kayden
KAYDEN
I’ve always been drawn to fragile things.
Not in a good way. It’s not that I want to protect them, shield them from harm. Quite the opposite. When I see something weak, it wakes up an animalistic instinct in me.
I want to wrap my hand around their pathetic little neck and snap it. Make them break.
Whenever I see a withered flower, I want to smash it, destroy it, set it on fire. Vanish it from existence.
Watch it burn.
There’s no room for weakness in this world, so why should they cohabit with us?
Only the strong survive.
That’s what Father says. That’s what I’ve been told all my life.
Man up. Toughen up, Kayden. You can’t cry. You can’t feel. That’s not how a real man acts.
We take, we break, we thrive.
We stand strong.
If you’re weak, you die.
“Behave,” he tells me now. “Don’t fuck things up.”
I expect him to add a ‘like you always do’ to that, but he doesn’t.
“Can I at least know what we’re doing here?”
He’s never taken me to a business meeting. He doesn’t have them often, since he works remotely.
And I’m sure as hell he isn’t treating me to a fancy meal.
“We’re meeting someone.”
No kidding. I attempt to compose myself instead of scoffing.
“A woman?”
My father clears his throat and glares at me.
He doesn’t like me asking questions.
“Yes. My fiancée.”
I jump out of my seat, palms flat on the table. “You have a fiancée?”
There’s a woman on earth who can actually stand him and is delusional enough to accept a proposal from him?
“Close that mouth of yours and listen to me. You better not fuck this up.”
I do as he says, sitting back down, straightening and letting my thoughts simmer.
It makes sense. All the working outside until late. I know his work doesn’t require him much more than a laptop, which makes it easy for him to do it anywhere, but he’s been going out a lot in the past few months.
What I can’t wrap my head around is who in the world would want him?
Fuck.
I don’t need a woman in our lives, someone to worry about, but I relent.
Get ready for whatever the fuck he’s got prepared.
Anything is better than the belt on my back, the red marks.
It’s happened quite a few times this year, but less than usual.
That’s why. He’s always less violent when there’s someone else occupying his mind. He’s forced to show small glimpses of humanity. Except they never last.
I didn’t expect someone to come into our lives again so soon. It’s only been a year since the accident he forced us both to repress. Since we moved to New Jersey from Maryland. Since we pretended nothing happened.
We’ve been so good at pretending that I actually started believing the mundanity of our lives.
I’ve always been good at talking myself out of things, justifying actions. Me, myself, and I. And the voices in my head.
Adjusting in my seat at the table, I can’t help but dread what’s about to happen. I opt to look around at the mid-tone lights, the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, the rustic patterns on the walls. Of course, he’s chosen somewhere fancy.
My father is all about appearances and looking good.
The food shows up, despite our guests being nowhere to be seen.
It’s tempting, and I’m starving. But my father sends a dark look my way when I extend a hand. Don’t you dare.
I rub my stomach and lean back, letting it grunt.
My father clears his throat. “They’re here, be decent.”
I almost cuss.
Motherfucker.
One day, I’ll be able to get away from him and his toxic environment.
Today’s not the day. But I busy myself with fantasies about that.
Freedom from this fucking life. Me, somewhere far away, playing hockey and paying my own bills with it.
Not having to depend on his dirty ass money.
It hasn’t been easy, being the sole attention of the house, now that my brother’s not with us.
He was the compliant one. I’ve always been the punching bag—the one who talked back, the one with a rebel streak. And I don’t plan on changing that.
But for now, I behave.
I stare at the entrance of the restaurant, visible from our table, as a middle-aged woman with short blonde hair and a great rack in a pale blue dress walks in.
But it’s not her view that causes my breath to catch.
It’s the girl behind her. The one I locked eyes with, who was peeking at us from the glass doors a few minutes ago. Our gazes interlock again, those intriguing, big brown eyes set on me before she breaks contact.
She looks around my age, long brown hair with hints of pink, pulled back, and a dress that gives me doll-straight-out-of-the-package vibes.
She’s fucking beautiful, and I want to take her out of that plastic package and corrupt her.
An animalistic instinct awakens in me with her presence. My heart’s beating so fast. It almost pushes me to go feral.
Be strong, Kayden. Be fucking strong.
I want to press my fingers against her throat and tighten my grip and watch the light disappear from her eyes.
The woman approaches us, and my father stands up.
“Oh, darling. You’re here.” He leans in for a kiss.
His whole posture relaxes as the woman massages the back of his head and gives him a peck. The view is both repulsive and fascinating at the same time.
I’ve never seen my father act like such a pussy.
“Sorry, we’re late.”
“That’s alright. Take a seat, my dears.” My father turns to face me. “Kayden, this is my fiancée, Miranda. And that’s Madelyn, her daughter. Your new sister.” He directs his attention to them again. “Ladies, my son, Kayden.”
“Hi, Kayden. It’s so nice to finally meet you. You’re so tall and handsome.” Miranda’s compliments goes in one ear and out the other. Sugar coating doesn’t work for me.
“Take a seat, dears.” My dad motions for them to sit down. The words hit a nerve with him. He doesn’t like to repeat himself. “Food is here, and we should eat before it gets cold.”
Finally, the two of them sit down.
Miranda, next to my father. And Madelyn, on the seat next to mine.
Her big doll-like eyes gaze at me with clear interest. She doesn’t say a word.
“Do I have something on my face?” I ask.
“N-no.” I succeeded in my mission of getting her to talk. “S-sorry.”
Her voice is nothing like I imagined. Actually, it’s exactly like I imagined. Sweet and soft.
A fucking angel in disguise.
It makes me want to jerk off under the table and ruin her stupid dress.
I hate it.
“Then what are you looking at?” I mutter.
“You.”
She’s more honest than I expected. No bullshit with her.
“Hi. Brother, I guess.” She gives me an attempt at a half-smile. A dimple forms on one corner of her cheek.
I bite my tongue, almost extracting blood.
Fuckity fuck.
“Nice to meet you?” She turns to the side and extends her hand my way.
I’m not surprised. She looks as much of a suck-up as her mom.
But since she’s so honest with me, I agree that I, at least, will give her the same amount of honesty as she does.
I won’t ruin anything, like my father asked me to.
For now.
I catch her palm in mine, hold onto it, and lean forward. “Madelyn, right?”
“I prefer Maddy.”
She gives me an innocent look, eyes painfully big and brown that I could drown in.
I twist and twist, tightening the grip on her hand.
“Maddy.”
It hurts. I know it hurts.
She swallows and struggles to pull her hand away.
Once she does, she turns the other way, pretending nothing happened.
I mutter under my breath, “The pleasure is all mine, little sister.”
Dusting off imaginary particles off my pants, I turn back to the table, occupying my mind with the new subject of my attention. She doesn’t know it yet, but I’m going to make her life a living hell.
I’m gonna fuck her up so bad, she’ll regret the moment she entered mine.