24. Lucie
Lucie’s hands trembled as she wiped Finn’s blood from the floor. It would stain the carpet. But she was good at getting blood out of things.
Even the lovesick voice in her head was quiet, mourning the fantasy.
Finn’s communicator was heavy in her pocket. She recalled everything he’d told her about the bracelet. It seemed like magic to fit so much into a small device: messaging, calls, a heart monitor, GPS, and more. Tiny but mighty.
His words and his expressions would stick with her until the day she died.
Now, after all this, he finally was comfortable telling her the truth. Why couldn’t he have told her on the beach? After being persuaded with food and kisses, she might have responded better. Not him bleeding out in her room and begging her to listen.
Was he really a secret agent? It sounded unbelievable, but it would make a lot of sense: Why he was gone all the time, why his body was so chiseled or bruised half the time.
She couldn’t discount the way his eyes would dart around the room, assessing everyone.
Or his actual freaking government badge or the spy gadget on his wrist.
She just needed a little bit of time to?—
The door downstairs opened.
She looked at the clock.
No.
He couldn’t be.
It was two hours earlier than normal.
Glass shattered down below.
The bloody mess zeroed in around her. It was too soon. She could never clean up in time. She rushed to hide the bloody cloth in her hamper.
Usually, her father’s footsteps were uncoordinated this time of night. Sloppy. Far apart. But tonight, they were determined.
Bad night. His team must have lost.
Just go to bed, she prayed, shoving the bloodied gauze in her fist.
More footsteps, but they sounded closer; the pounding got louder as he came up the steps toward her room.
Panicked, she looked around. Her first aid kit was still out, and Finn’s blood was on the floor leading from the balcony.
Her dad couldn’t know about this. About Finn.
Or how he had been coming up to her room.
If her dad found out, he would . . . she stopped the thought, grabbed paint and papers, and tossed them onto the ground, hiding the evidence.
The mess would bother her father, but he wouldn’t see the blood.
Even now, she had to protect Finn from whatever mood her father was in.
She jumped at the sound of her door slamming open behind her. Her father stood in her doorway. He didn’t say a word at first, just stood there, his chest heaving from the exertion. His dark eyes narrowed as they scanned the mess she’d created.
Lucie’s stomach dropped.
“Who the hell was in here?” he demanded, gripping the brass doorknob.
Anger simmered underneath his red face, waiting to boil. Lucie wished she could black out for what she knew was coming next.
Only she could wake up to whatever happened and deal with the aftermath. She thought about Finn’s communicator in her pocket. She could call him. He might be close by. Finn would protect her.
But she didn’t want him to see her father like this. He wasn’t like this, not all the time. She didn’t want Finn’s opinion of her to change when she looked weak.
Besides, Finn had left her. He hadn’t put up much of a fight when she kicked him out. He was never coming back for her. She had done this herself and needed to deal with the consequences.
“No one was here. I was talking to myself.” Lucie swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “Sorry about the mess. I cut myself working on?—”
“How stupid do you think I am?” he cut her off, his face turning red. “I know everything.” Her heart dropped to her stomach, and she looked at the pair of scissors in her first aid kit. She had never fought back before, but this was the maddest she had ever seen him.
“What are you talking about I haven’t?—”
“I have cameras, girl. All around the shop.” He waved his fingers around in a full circular motion. “I know that boy was just here.”
Her blood ran cold.
What? How? The security camera hadn’t worked in years.
An expense they couldn’t afford. He’d said they were just there to scare people off. When did he get them fixed? Why didn’t he tell her?
Oh.
He’d been waiting for a moment like this.
For her to slip up. To ruin the life they had.
Lucie backed up as he stepped forward. “It’s not what you think?—”
“Not what I think?” he snarled, lunging forward and gripping her jaw. “You snuck out this morning with him. You were gone for hours. Then, I watched him come in here, bleeding like a damn pig. What kind of mess have you gotten me into?”
Lucie winced as his grip tightened.
“I was just helping him?—”
He threw her back, the force making her stumble over her chair.
Lucie hit the floor hard enough to knock the air out of her lungs. The sound that left her was a sharp, humiliating wheeze. She tasted copper and dust.
Each steady step he took closer to her made her shrink back into the wall.
“You’re a whore. A boy shows you a little affection, and you let him do whatever he wants. You think you can get away with that in my house?” he roared.
Lucie barely heard the words. All of her focus was bent on watching his legs.
Her palms scraped against the old wood as she tried to push herself up.
Her father had always had a limp since his big fall, dragged the left foot, favored his right hip, and complained about the ache she’d adjusted her life to. The groceries, ice packs, and pills. She could chart his pain when the symptoms would act up in her sleep.
He took another step.
Still no limp.
He stopped in front of her, shifting his weight, looming over her.
Both feet planted. Steady. Too even. Not even a tremor.
Clarity hit her between the ribs harder than any of his hits.
Lucie’s brain did what it had been trained to do, running through the possibilities of his sudden change. Adrenaline? Pain meds?
None of it fit.
“You’re not limping,” she accused softly.
The room went silent as the grave.
Her father’s jaw tightened.
She pushed herself onto one elbow, staring, consumed like she was in clinicals when something didn’t match one of her patients’ charts.
“You said you couldn’t put any weight on it,” she whispered. “Your pain was constant. You said the doctors told you that you would never be the same after your accident.”
He scoffed. “What, you’re going to diagnose me? Last I checked, you never became a doctor.”
Not yet. But she would be.
She stood up, feeling stronger than she’d ever been in his presence.
“You just walked across the room,” she said, louder. “You haven’t done that in years.”
He took another unwavering step back.
Something in her chest split open.
“You lied,” she said. The words were unnatural in her mouth. “This whole time. You lied!”
“You know I fell,” he said, puffing out his chest. “You think I wanted this constant pain?”
“You said you couldn’t drive,” she pressed, taking a step closer to him. “You said you needed me to come home. To take care of the shop. Cook. Clean. That if I left?—”
His eyes went dark.
“What are you going to do about it?” he threatened.
Her father’s countenance changed in the blink of an eye.
A pig.
Disgusting.
Filthy.
He had pushed her down. Spit on her art and what she loved. He didn’t love her. He wouldn’t know what real love was if it hit him with a car, which was something she wanted to do at the moment.
“You made me give up everything,” she spat, pointing at him. “I put my life on hold for you. You let me think I was a bad daughter because I wanted to leave this place. Leave you. All this time you were faking it?”
He stepped toward her again, fast and angry. “Watch your mouth, girl.”
“I’m done,” she said, her voice louder than she expected. Love for herself filled her veins. “I’m leaving,” she said, clenching her fists, summoning the courage to stand up to him.
She pulled a duffel bag from under her bed and started stuffing random things in. She was leaving. She had to. She couldn’t do this anymore. Live like this anymore. It wasn’t much of a life anyway, but she would build one. Far away from here.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going, your majesty?” he said, grabbing onto her arm.
“Anywhere but here,” she said, ripping her arm out of his grip and forcing herself to keep packing.
She grabbed her sketch pads and the paintbrushes Finn had gifted to her and shoved them into the bag.
“You think that boy’s gonna take you back? You think you’ve got a future with him?” her father teased, tugging her arm again. “I know boys like him. They don’t like commitment. Or broken girls, and baby, let’s face it, you’re broken.”
“Stop it!” she yelled.
He continued, “You’ll come crawling back. You’ve got nowhere to go. You’re nothing without me.”
For a moment, Lucie’s heart stuttered—a flicker of doubt. But even if Finn didn’t want her, she would go somewhere else. Find a home. Maybe somewhere near the beach. A safe place to paint. Where she never had to be afraid of her father again.
The towering monster threw his weight around and went to her duffel bag, ripping things out. His hand found the leather pouch with her new pink brushes.
“Give me those back!” Lucie screamed, jumping up to grab them, but he shoved her back. She fell into her dresser, knocking over bottles of paint and scattering pencils across the floor. Her ribs ached. They were bruised, most likely broken, judging by how much it hurt to take a full breath.
“I paid for all of these things,” he snarled, grabbing at the rest of her things.
His hands swept across her desk, knocking over her canvases and breaking the legs off her easel.
He threw her gift to the ground. Two of the paintbrushes snapped in half.
“You can’t have them. I’ve wasted thousands feeding you and keeping a roof over your head.
I should have tossed you out when your whore of a mother died. ”
Lucie scrambled to her feet, tears blurring her vision as she tried to gather what little remained. But her father was relentless in pulling clothes from her bag, ranging from begging to threatening.
“Then I’ll never come back,” she promised.
“If you leave, I will kill myself, and it will all be your fault. Do you want that over your head?” he threatened.
Lucie faltered but pushed her shoulders back.
“I’ve never made you do anything,” she yelled. “All of the kicks, scrapes, bruises, and broken bones I had to lie about at the hospital. That was your fault. Not mine.”
With each word, she got louder, more powerful. This was the last time she would say this. After tonight, she was done. Gone. Forever.
She didn’t need her things. Lucie would start over fresh. With things her father had never touched or bought. It didn’t matter if she lived on the street. Any life was better than this.
But as she made for the door, his hand shot out and grabbed her arm, pulling her violently.
“You’re not going anywhere!” he shouted, dragging her by her hair, pulling her away from the exit, and throwing her into the wall.
The impact knocked her next breath out of her, her head swimming as she crumpled to the floor.
Her vision blurred, and her body was too weak to fight back as the monster growled and loomed over her.
He grabbed her face again, pulling her up by her throat, until she could smell stale beer on his breath.
Something glinted under the light.
A knife.
He was holding a red box cutter—one she used to open up their packages and shipments.
“You will not leave me. Now, tell me who he is,” the monster roared, squeezing her throat, his eyes as red as burning coals.
“I won’t tell you,” she gritted out, wishing she could spit on him.
Pulling back, she struggled to get out of his grasp. She didn’t make it an inch. He was stronger. He licked his lips and smiled at her weakness. Lucie tried to kick him between the legs, but the towering monster moved out of the way.
“Last chance. Tell me his name or—” He lightly drew the box cutter’s tip down her cheek.
“I won’t let you hurt him,” she sobbed.
All the air rushed out of her lungs, and she would’ve collapsed if he hadn’t been holding tightly onto her.
“You think you’re better than me? It’s time you learned you don’t make the rules around here. I do,” her father said, grinning.
She wanted to scream.
Maybe Finn was still there in his car? Maybe he would come back and save her?
Her dad rested the box cutter against her cheek.
A drop of her sweat hit the blade.
“I’m going to make sure that boy never wants to look at you again.”