19. Kayden
KAYDEN
A DAY AFTER THE PARTY
“Thousands of dollars on medical bills? You fucking broke a kid’s nose?”
“The asshole had it coming,” I spit out. You’d think I would learn to shut up at this point, after years of my father’s abuse, but the fighting back is instilled in my blood.
“Don’t you dare talk back to me. This is the fucking last straw, Kayden.”
I’m in the home library with my father, and the door is shut.
My father doesn’t want anyone to know he uses physical force on me, but he wants Maddy and her mother to know he’s got the last word and he’s the man of the house. That he doesn’t let things slip by, so his voice is a thundering storm.
I didn’t expect the news to fly so fast, and for what’s-his-name’s parents to attempt to sue us, but the motherfuckers did. Callum’s got a broken nose and tainted pride, that’s all.
I’d say he got away easy.
If he had gotten farther with Madelyn, I’m not sure he would have made it out alive.
My chest burns with fury as I remember the scene. That idiot, over her, about to rip my virgin sister’s cunt apart.
Stupid asshole.
There’s no way on earth I’d let him put his small dick anywhere near my Little Demon—and he never will.
Because if he ever tries again, I’ll rip his dick off.
No one plays with what’s mine, and I claimed my little sister a long time ago.
She’s mine to torment and to ruin. No one else’s.
Sure, I didn’t expect the asshole to take it like a bitch and turn me in to his parents, so the thousands of dollars are collateral damage.
I don’t know why my father even cares. We’ve got money to spare.
Still, I’ve got the belt prepared, taking it off my pants before handing it to him.
I don’t want him to punch me in the face this time.
There’s no way Madelyn will believe me if I say I hit myself one more time.
God, the taste of her sweet virgin pussy is imprinted on the back of my tongue.
“Let’s get this over with, shall we, Father?”
My father frowns, his face red. He’s been drinking, so he takes the belt from me without hesitation.
I lean against one of the bookcases across the wall, indicating exactly where I want him to punish me.
“You don’t get a say on this, son.” He scoffs. And once again I’m reminded why I have such big problems with following rules and control. “Turn the fuck around and put the pants back on.”
I do as I’m told. Despite being bigger than him and probably being able to take him on a fight, I don’t.
I’ve considered it. I really have. How sweet it’d be to give him what he deserves.
But I can’t do that. Not now. Not yet.
If I punch him, he’ll find a way to turn this against me, get me locked up somewhere, or even worse—send me away. I’ll never see Madelyn or the light of day again. And of course, I can forget about money. Reputation. A decent life. He’ll make sure to fuck me up. That’s how much power my father has.
“Now, take off your shirt and turn back around.”
The first hit is always the hardest.
I wince and clench my teeth, transport myself to a different reality, one where my mother is alive, and she doesn’t let my father lay a finger on me.
Where she doesn’t just take me and comfort me after he beats us both, like she used to.
I imagine another world where my father doesn’t exist at all as I take beating after beating.
One where my brother isn’t watching and doing fucking nothing but thanking God every day he wasn’t the disobedient one in my father’s eyes, living his life to the fullest. Trying to take what’s mine and getting away with it.
I may have played a part on him being gone—not saving him from that fire—but I can’t say not having him here hurts.
My back arches with each whack.
I turn my thoughts back to Madelyn, to delighting myself in her sweet pussy. To our places being switched, her on her knees, and me against the top of my car, taking out my cock and forcing her to suck me off.
The pain gets lost in the moment as I distract my mind from what’s going on.
Except thinking of Madelyn makes me angrier. Angry that despite her being so freaking annoying, I still want her. I seek her attention, too. This is all her fault. I shouldn’t let myself get distracted this way. Getting overprotective over her.
My father tosses the belt on the floor, my back sore and no doubt red from all the whipping.
“This is the last time, Kayden,” he says. “I’m really done with you. You don’t want to trigger me again.”
He cracks his knuckles and walks out of the library, leaving the door half-open.
It takes me a few moments to buckle the belt and put my shirt back on, despite the excruciating pain.
My whole body’s on fire.
Footsteps near as I’m buttoning up my shirt, and I try my best to hold back a whimper as I hurry.
I cannot let Maddy see me like this. Not her.
The footsteps stop, and a shadow of a silhouette appears on the floor.
The hand on my back startles me, and I yelp.
The fucking pain.
“Shit.”
Turning around, Miranda stares at me with wide eyes.
“Are you okay?” There’s a tone of concern I really don’t like in her voice.
“I’m fine.”
I push past her. Every step is like walking into the gates of hell. It burns. I’m being marked with fire, and it’s never-ending.
Maddy’s mom rushes to me, forcing me to stop and look at her over my shoulder.
“You’re bleeding through your shirt, Kayden. W-what happened?”
A chill runs down my spine. I do not want to have to explain this.
Does she not know what’s happening behind closed doors?
“N-nothing.” I bite back my words, clenching my fists to my sides. “That’s—”
“You don’t have to say anything.” She pauses. Her eyes tell me all I need to know. She does know. “I’m sorry.”
If you’re so sorry, why do you let him do this? I’m tempted to say.
But she’s not my mother. It’s not her duty to protect me. She’s nothing. No one.
Why would she care? No one ever does. I’ve been hiding my scars for years, masking my tears.
For all I know, she doesn’t really know the gravity of my father’s actions.
“There’s some gauze in the bathroom, let me get it.”
Miranda rushes out of the library.
I’m about to take off, but I’ll give it to her—the woman is fast for her age. She comes back with a package of white gauze and a bottle of alcohol. I resign myself to it, not wanting to make a fuss. If I do, Madelyn might hear.
If I do, my father will hear us, too, and I do not want him to come back here.
I take a seat on the couch in the middle of the room.
Miranda sits by me. She presses her lips together. “I heard you protected Maddy against some guy at a party. Thank you for taking care of her, Kayden.”
Well, at least someone appreciates what I do.
“No need to thank me.” I pause. “I’m her brother, that’s what I do.”
“I’m glad you see yourself that way. I really appreciate everything you do for her.”
Bet she wouldn’t say that if she knew I ate her daughter’s cunt over the hood of my car.
She takes out a piece of gauze and opens the bottle of alcohol, soaking some of the liquid onto it.
“T-take off your shirt, please,” she says. “So, I can patch you up.”
I do.
“This will sting.”
Her warning is no joke. The burning intensifies with her touch.
“Fuuuck,” I groan.
“It’s okay. Let me clean this up.”
“Why do you stay with him?” I ask, attempting to distract myself from the pain as she cleans up my wound. Addressing the big elephant in the room.
“What?”
“Why do you stay with my father if you know what he does?” Another question pops up in my head, and I’m tempted to word it out.
“I love him.”
Fucking lie.
“That monster?”
“I’m not asking for you to understand, Kayden. But he’s not bad all the time.”
“I guess it’s only me who gets the worst version of him.”
She finishes cleaning up my wound and wets another gauze, pressing it against my burning skin, making me bite my tongue.
“Not really.”
“Does he hurt you, too?”
I stare at her over my shoulder; she’s the definition of a trophy wife.
Well put with her short blonde hair and bright lipstick.
Her dress covers all the right spots, long-sleeved and hits right above her knees.
Looking for bruises or signs of any physical abuse is almost impossible.
Wherever they are, she’s good at hiding them. Just like I am.
“Sometimes.”
“Then, why? I’m his son, I have no fucking choice. But you can leave.”
Miranda stops what she’s doing and her lips part.
“Mom? Are you here?”
FUCK.
Miranda stands up and rushes to Maddy.
“Kayden?” My dirty little sinner peeks into the room. Her cheeks flush red at my exposed skin.
I do my best to mask my pained expression, presenting her with a poker face.
“Mom, have you seen my laptop? I can’t find it, and I have to do this presentation for school.”
Miranda switches her whole attention to her daughter, pretending nothing happened between us.
Saved by the bell.
Or by the little intruder that’s always sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong.
Deep down, I have a feeling I know why Miranda’s still here. My father’s got a way to make everyone feel small. And well—he’s got a lot of cash to cover up his mishaps.
“I haven’t seen it, sweetie. But I can look for it.” She hands over the gauze to Madelyn. “Would you do me a favor and patch up your brother while I take a look around the house?”
“Patch up? What happened?”
Her big brown eyes scan my body. From where she is, she can’t see my scars.
I pick up my shirt and put it on again because I’m not fucking doing this.
“He…” Miranda stares at me, her eyes wide with panic.
“I fell on my back when I was playing hockey.” I get up, taking the package of gauze from Maddy’s hands and walking between them. “And I’m fine.”
“Kayden! Wait,” Miranda calls out.
I leave the room, heading upstairs instead of my bedroom for some peace of mind. It’s probably not the best idea to climb up to the attic in my current state, but I don’t give a fuck.
This is exactly what I didn’t want. For Maddy to find out.
A poor attempt at climbing the ladder sends a burst of pain through my muscles and forces me to give up. I throw myself on the floor and sit down in the middle of the corridor.
Slipping off my shirt again, I tear off a gauze pack and attempt to tape it on my back. It’s a special kind that comes with tape on its side, pre-glued already.
The footsteps grow heavy pretty fast.
Madelyn stands a few feet away from at the end of the staircase as I stretch my body to reach my back, the struggle evident as she crouches by me.
“Let me help.”
“I said I’m fine.”
Her eyes widen when she sees what I assume must be open gashes on my back. “That’s not fine.”
“Well, I don’t want your help.”
She doesn’t listen. As usual, the little demon. She leans forward and snatches the gauze from me.
“And I said I want to help.”
I groan. Then cry out as the fabric touches my bare skin. Her fingertips are cold, and it makes me flinch, a mix of pain and electricity running through my spine.
“I need another one,” she says, stretching her hand toward me.
“That’s enough,” I claim.
Getting up, I do my best to get her off me delicately, as if lifting something you don’t want to break and placing it somewhere else.
If I let her do this to me, if I let her take care of me—I’ll get lost in it again.
That part of me I don’t know may take over again.
I’ll get in even deeper trouble.
No matter how much I’m drawn to her. How much I want to ruin her.
She’ll be the death of me if I let her.
I’m done playing. I’m not the Romeo to her Juliet, no matter how much I try.
My father has made sure of that.
She needs to stop making things harder for me.
“Okay,” she resigns. “You’re welcome.”
I don’t respond, taking careful steps toward the stairs. I can’t show her what anything really means to me.
How she’s taking my wounded heart and piecing it back together with every little thing she does.
No matter how annoying she is. How much I hate her for making herself present in my life—for every reason I have to despise her—I want her. And if I let myself lose control with her again, I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back.