Chapter 1 #2
“You,” he growls, rising to his full height, angling his body toward my brother.
“Don’t ever fucking talk to me like you’re the head of this house.
You’re lucky I let your ass stay here. Twenty-two and you still don’t have a pack or an omega popping out little alphas.
I want my money. Don’t play dumb with me.
I know you’ve got it.” He glares at Storm, asserting his dominance over him, over us.
With Storm’s defiance, my father forgets me, stomping towards him.
“Run, River! Go to your room and lock the door.” Storm manages to shout before my father lands a punch against his jaw, knocking him backward onto the floor with a thud.
I’m frozen, unable to move, worried that my brother is seriously hurt. All because of me. I’m the only reason he’s even still here.
Stepping back instinctively, my heart hammers against my ribs.
The room seems to shrink, the walls closing in as my dad’s rage fills every inch of the space.
The air crackles with tension, and I brace myself for what might come next, my mind racing to find a way to diffuse the chaos before it consumes me.
“Don’t ever worry about where I spend my time or what I do with the money.
I work hard to earn it.” He pulls back his foot, kicking my brother in his stomach before he’s had a chance to regroup and react to the attack.
If Storm’s attention hadn’t been on me or my safety, my father would never have landed that first hit.
“Unlike your ungrateful, useless ass.” I flinch at the sound of Storm’s breath, the gasp as my father’s boot hits him in the stomach. Hard.
“How I ever managed to father two stupid bitches like the two of you, I’ll never know. Neither of you know your place.” Another hard kick has Storm spitting out something—one glance and I see red. Blood. My body trembles with trepidation, and I have to focus to try and breathe.
“You should have listened to your brother, River,” he bites. I let out an unintentional gasp, regretting it the moment my father turns, locking his gaze on me and charges in my direction.
He’s barely two steps in before his face goes slack, and he falls to the floor in front of me. My brother’s barely on his knees with his hands wrapped around my father’s ankle.
“Run River. Now!” my brother screams as my father kicks his leg back at him, attempting to break his hold.
My father’s head snaps from my brother to me, his gaze narrowing.
His hand shoots out with alarming speed; his fingers clamp around my leg in a vise-like grip as I turn to run.
Panic surges through me as he yanks, pulling my leg out from under me, my balance stolen in an instant.
For a moment, everything feels suspended, as if the very air holds its breath while I plunge forward toward the floor.
The fall feels like it’s stretching into an eternity, my eyes catching sight of the coffee table in my path.
I don’t make a sound until my body hits the floor.
Hard. But not before the sharp corner of the table catches my temple.
Blinding and immediate pain explodes through my skull.
Before I can catch my breath, the impact sends a glass that was teetering on the edge of the table plummeting to the floor.
It shatters, jagged shards scattering in every direction. One of the larger pieces pops upward, slashing across my right cheek, the sting sharp and hot as a river of crimson flows down my face. The coppery tang of blood combined with the fall has me disoriented.
My father uses my moment of confusion to break free from Storm and move to his knees and stand.
He tightens his hold on my ankle, pulling his arm back to his side, dragging me across the rough surface of the old ratty carpet with the movement.
Pain and shock mingle with a surge of adrenaline.
My mind screams at me to move, to fight, to do anything to escape, to break free from his grasp and do just what my brother told me to do. Run.
I stuff all the pain I’m feeling to the back of my mind, refusing to let it cripple me any longer.
I muster up all the strength I have inside of me and kick at him with my free leg, not stopping until I’ve broken free from his grip.
If my dad is fighting to keep hold of me, then Storm has time to take back control of the situation.
Now is not the time to cower and whimper, but to show how strong I am. Not just for me but for Storm.
“You’re going to pay for your disobedience, bitch.
” His words—while a lingering threat in my mind—are also ones I can’t give my time to now.
I need to be free. Storm sits up, moving to his knees and taking hold of my father’s free arm, gaining his attention and opening an opportunity for me.
I line up my shot and kick with all the remaining strength I have.
My foot catches my father right in the kneecap, and he releases his grip.
I don’t think; on instinct, I get up and run, and I don’t look back.
My feet burn as shards of glass penetrate their soles, slicing into my skin.
My heart races as I rush down the hallway, pounding in my chest as I take hold of the handle and swing open the door to my bedroom.
I rush inside, slamming the door shut behind me, and lock it.
My broken body collapses to the floor as I sob, the pain hitting me like a tidal wave as I listen to the fight that continues in the living room between my father and brother.
Pain radiates from my head down to my feet, and I finally take a moment to assess the damage.
My feet are a bloody mess, and I can feel the tiny pieces of glass embedded in my skin.
My face burns, and I’m afraid to look, knowing there’ll be another scar to add to my body.
I lean over, pulling my laundry hamper toward me, taking out a towel.
I wipe my face, grimacing at the pain. When I pull back the towel, it’s covered in crimson.
Next, I tend to my feet, cleaning them the best I can.
Crawling over to my dresser, I open the drawer, pulling out a pair of tweezers and begin removing the slivers of glass from my feet.
Sometimes I wish I’d never been born. Without me, my brother would have escaped this wretched place, free to find his pack and his mates. Instead, I keep him here, nothing more than a burden, a disappointment. I’m as worthless as shattered glass.