TWELVE
Amillion warnings play out in my head. All of them are reasons why Dax and Aiden being here is a bad idea. My face is a riot of blooming bruises; I have missing chunks of hair; my hands are swollen, scarlet, throbbing monstrosities and likely broken. My eyes are watering; throat burns; I have egg and yogurt all over my clothes, and I’m fairly sure I smell like rotten milk and cleaning chemicals. That doesn’t even consider my embarrassment, or Gargoyle-Gresh, or my dad and the kids inside.
“What are you doing here?” The words carry my guilt and shame and the instant I say them, I feel so damn ungrateful.
“It’s five-forty-five, Jules. You didn’t show for classes and you didn’t answer our calls,” Aiden explains when Dax only continues to glare at Gresh.
“What?” Wait, I slept out here for four hours? Did they go to my college? “Oh, yeah…uh…something came up.”
Aiden raises his brow. Yeah, I didn’t think that excuse would wash either, but the less I say in front of Gresh, the better.
“Why the hell are you on the corridor floor?” Dax asks. His question might seem innocuous, but it’s impossible to miss the crackle of danger in the slow, purposeful way he asks. His eyes don’t flicker from Gresh for even a second.
I don’t answer. He finally scans his gaze in my direction and looks me over, taking extra time to stare at my latest bruises, rat-nest hair and burned hands. I know he sees it all, but he doesn’t call me out.
“You’ve slept out here?” he asks, coming to the correct conclusion immediately. “What happened after your shift this morning?”
God knows I don’t want to repeat it, and certainly not to Aiden or Dax. I just want it to go away. I want everything to go away. “I pissed off my dad. He sent me outside.”
“What?” Aiden snaps.
“Why the fuck would he do that?” Dax roars.
I shrug. It’s easier than telling him my dad is a sadistic arsehole, or worse, that Dax’s gift set him off. Realising he isn’t getting a better answer, Dax jerks his head in Gresh’s direction.
“Did he hurt you? Touch you?”
I stare at Gresh and wonder what to say. Had he hurt me? Not in the grand scheme of hurts. A bruised tit is nothing compared to what could have happened. Gresh shakes his head at me, begging silently for me not to say anything. Always the coward.
It turns out I don’t need to open my mouth. Dax scrutinises our reactions, particularly Gresh’s panic. He marches toward him — six unfaltering steps — and lifts him away from the wall by his lapel. If he is bothered by Gresh’s stink, he doesn’t show it. He sneers, baring his top teeth in an animalistic snarl and sticks his face in Gresh’s space.
“Why were you staring at her chest? Did you fucking lay your filthy hands on her?”
“I...I…no…I…” Gresh drains of colour. His eyes widen until I can see the veins throbbing at the corners. His jaw works as he tries to find a response or an excuse.
“You don’t come near her again. If you get so much as within fifty-feet of her, I will have you picked up by my security team and dumped where no one will ever find you. Understand?”
Gresh nods maniacally. Dax drops his hold, shoving him into the wall as he does so.
“Leave.”
He doesn’t hang around. Dashing down the corridor, he ignores the lift and slams through the fire door to the staircase.
I stare at Dax’s back. He’s swapped his suit for a shirt and sweater combo with jeans. He looks good. Fresh. When he turns to me, I notice his stubble is gone, making him seem years younger. Or at least it would, if not for the severe expression he wears.
“Are you okay?” he asks, a bite of annoyance sharpening his tone.
“Fine,” I throw back just as tersely.
He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then tries again; softer, steadier.
“Do you sleep out here often?” He delivers the words without a note of concern or sympathy, and it’s only for that reason that I bother to answer. If I thought for a second, he pitied me, I’d tell him and Aiden to fuck right off. Call it pride or stupidity.
“Whenever I’ve pissed off my dad or came home after curfew.”
“When is curfew?” he fires back quickly.
I answer before I can think. “Fifteen minutes after the bar closes on work nights.”
“Carlito’s is a twenty-minute walk from here,” Aiden states.
Yeah, I’m used to doing the impossible. I learned a long time ago that the only way to make it to Carlito’s on time—or almost on time—was to run like a knife-wielding maniac was behind me. Not too far-fetched for the Vale.
“Ten if I run,” I explain, seeing Aiden’s confusion and Dax’s burgeoning doubt.
“I see.” Dax nods.
The longer we sit here, the more likely we are to get caught by Dad. He’ll check on the voices…he’ll check to be sure I’m not causing him trouble. I give the only excuse I’m good at…the only one that might be believable.
“I need to get to work.”
“Your shift at Carlito’s isn’t for a couple of hours yet,” Aiden reminds us both. I could kick him in the shin. Can’t he see this is making me uncomfortable?
“Why are you even here? I mean, thank you for…uh…Gresh, but I’m not sure what else you need from me.”
Dax huffs. “I’ve tried calling you twice, Jules. You’ve not answered or messaged back. I went to your college and found out you didn’t attend today. I spoke to Carlo, but he hasn’t heard from you either. Nor Charlie. Nor Koko…you see where I’m going with this?”
It almost sounds like he…no way…“You were worried?”
“Ding ding ding!” I’m blessed with rolling eyes and a shake of his head. He only saw me this morning. I gave and told him everything I knew. Why was he looking for me at all?
“Why?” I ask concisely.
“Because the people who came for my brother are serious. They didn’t get what they wanted, and they’ll be looking for whoever has it,” he explains.
“The envelope.”
“The envelope,” he confirms. “Now, are you going to invite me inside?”
“I…can’t.”
“Then I’ll invite myself inside.” He takes a step toward the door.
I hold out my hand to stop him. I grab at his leg but the second my skin makes contact with his trousers, I flinch back with a squeak.
“My mum’s not home.”
“So?”
“The kids are resting.” Shit, I’m just throwing statements at him. How do I make him go away? I pull myself onto my knees, but I can’t move any further. It all hurts.
“And?”
“I haven’t apologised to my dad, and he won’t let me inside, much less you and the kids are resting…and I don’t want him to use them…if Mum were here…” I ramble. The words flow so fast from my lips that they take all my breath with them and leave me a panting mess of wide-eyed panic.
He takes a small step back and I let myself suck in a quick breath.
“Fuck. You’re really afraid of me going in.”
I nod my head. I’m so stupid. I’m useless. Pathetic. Scum.
“Is he the one who hurt you?”
I don’t move. I don’t breathe.
“Okay, Jules. It’s okay,” he whispers, crouching down to squat in front of me. “Will you let Aiden go inside with you?”
“Why?”
“Because something tells me you’re only sitting out here because those kids are still in there.” How could he know that? Am I so transparent? “…and I’d feel safer if you had back up when you went in to get them.”
“Get them?”
“Yes.” He brushes my hair off my face, his brows furrowing when I flinch. But instead of being angry or insulted, he remains soft and calm. “You’re taking the kids out for the afternoon,” he insists.
It’s exactly what I wanted to do before. Could I? Yes, is the literal answer. If I go in with Aiden, I could get the kids, but what about after? What happens when I bring them home again? I can’t keep them outside forever. And what about Mum? She’ll be walking into a punishment; one he’ll give her because he couldn’t get me.
Weigh your wins and losses, Jules. Getting them out means keeping them safe from him. Perhaps if I can talk to Mum before she gets home, we can go to a shelter tonight? Worst case scenario, I could ask Charlie and Koko to put us up for the night.
Let’s do it.
“Okay. Aiden can come inside. Do you…uh…I’ll need to get them dressed. It might take some time and Dad won’t…he won’t let us go quietly,” I warn.
“That’s okay. Aiden has dealt with men like your father before. We’ll keep everything as peaceful as possible until you and the kids are outside and safe, okay?”
“Sounds impossible, but okay.” He helps me to my feet, holding onto my wrists and not my fucked-up hands. He doesn’t even ask; he just accepts that they’re messed up and goes with it. I’m grateful.
“Do you have keys?” he asks.
I hand him the set I keep in my bag and watch him open the door. For a moment I panic thinking he’s going to step foot inside. I can’t bear to see what my father does or says if he comes in. The racist arsehole would make this whole thing a million times worse. Dax seems to understand though, because he stays at the door and holds it wide open for us.
“I’ll be right here unless I think you or Aiden need my help, okay?”
“Okay. Thank you.”
A huge sigh fills the room when I find it deserted. I expect a fight the instant we enter but Dad must have gone to his room. As if thinking about him summons the bastard, his voice rumbles through the apartment.
“Mara?”
Shit. I do not want to speak with him, but if I ignore him, he’ll only grow more pissed off.
“Mara? That you?” he calls. His voice a warning growl. Just like a bear in his den.
Aiden nods encouragingly.
I suck in a breath that sounds suspiciously like a sigh and answer. “It’s me, Dad.”
“Don’t you dare ‘it’s me, Dad’ me. Get your skank-arse back outside. Where the fuck is that little toad anyway. He should be here by now.”
Aiden’s brow raises. He shoots me a look that asks if he means the incident with Gresh. I nod. He’s only been here two minutes and he already worked out what a piece of shit my father is? It doesn’t matter though because Dad’s not letting up.
“You think you can just walk back inside whenever you want? You’ll be sleeping out there from now on or you’ll be sleeping in the dorms at Hanson’s with the other wastrel cunts!”He yells totally oblivious to our audience, but I’m not going to tell him. My only concern is getting the kids ready, so I rush through the house checking for Casey with Aiden hot on my heels. I find her in the bathroom with her diaper hanging at her ankles, playing in the toilet water. She looks up as I sweep in and grins wide. I immediately put my finger to my lips and warn her to “shhh.” First task: change Casey’s diaper.
The ever-present white noise of Dad cussing me out plays in the background like the theme song to my life.
“…waste of fucking space. You ruined everything! I fucking drained money into feeding you, clothing you, sending you to that shitty school. You could have been making me a small fortune by now. Though, I should have made your mother kill you before you had the fucking chance to be born. You waste of FUCKING AIR!”
His anger builds with every vile word he yells. There’s a menacing thrum of discordance in the air; an energy that chokes. The words are nothing new to me. I’ve heard them all before. I should leave before he decides kicking my arse is worth getting out of bed for.
I finish attaching the sticky strips of Casey’s new diaper, grab a pile of wipes, a spare towel, and her powder, roll it all up together and tuck it tight under my arm. Then attach Casey to my hip and rush her through to the boy’s bedroom where Mum keeps all of their clothes.
I launch a t-shirt to each of the boys and a clean pair of shorts. “Get dressed. Be quiet and fast.” They do a slow job of dressing themselves but at least they get the task started while I take care of Casey.
Aiden stands guard in the hallway, blocking the area directly in front of Dad’s door so we have a clean line of escape. There’s a permanence to this that has my stomach knotting. There’ll be no going back to normal now that I’ve let strangers intervene.
Ugh. Think later. Kids first.
As soon as Casey is dressed, I help the boys and notice neither of them wants to look at me. I know why and I’ll clear it all up once we are free of this dump, but for now, I let it slide.
Their shoes, as usual, are missing. TJ has one on and no sign of the other and AJ looks like he’ll be going barefoot. Casey, for once, actually helps me out by sitting pretty and not trying to undress herself the second the buttons are fixed on her dress.
Dad continues shouting from his room. I only have minutes before he brings the argument to me.
“It’s been a horrible morning, but I promised you a trip to the park.” They don’t respond. AJ rams a toy truck into the wall beside him; not hard enough to make noise, but enough that I see his fingers are deliberately getting crushed too. “AJ, stop. It wasn’t your fault, boys. I love you both and think you deserve ice cream for being so brave today. You in?” I whisper as enthusiastically as I can. TJ’s face lights up and even Casey claps her hands with excitement. AJ checks for lies. I watch him run his little eyes all over my face and then when he sees it’s the truth, he agrees.
Did he learn that from me?
“Okay. Great. I need you boys to march into the living room like little soldiers and stand by the door. I will find your shoes and you can put them on in the elevator, okay?” It’s a game I play with them to keep them engaged and responsive. They perform mini secret missions or go on patrols when I manage to take them out. The game seems to perk AJ up and boosts both boys with a little extra pep. Casey continues her clapping. The minute I mention shoes, AJ flicks a nervous glance under his bed. He probably hid the ones Dad made him wear under there. But if he never wants to put them on again, that’s fine by me. His sneakers should be around somewhere.
“Good, ready? Three, two, one…march.” They jump up and straighten their backs, marching in synchronicity to the door. I scoop up Casey and pull a few extra things into my towel bundle, including TJ’s missing shoe—which he’d been sitting on—and a change of clothes. It never matters where we go, one of them inevitably gets mussed up.
Casey’s diaper bag hangs on the back of the sofa, still fully stocked from the last time we were out, so I know I’m safe to just grab it and go. A tiny pair of blue shoes peek out of the opening. I probably put them there for safekeeping because AJ has a habit of kicking off his shoes the second we get into the Tower. Even before we hit the elevator, he’ll have the laces loose and one or both shoes off his feet. I can’t blame him. I suspect they’re too small for him. AJ is a couple of inches taller than TJ. It wouldn’t surprise me to find his feet have grown.
“Aiden, there are bottles on the rack in the kitchen. Can you grab one for Casey and two screw lid ones for the twins? I’ll fill them up while we are out.” The gruff sentry nods and hustles to the kitchen. His feet tentatively pick a route over the smashed bread and mess still lingering from this morning. Will he ask about it or connect the dots for himself?
The creaking yawn of Dad’s bedroom door tells me I’m out of time.
Reaching over the boys, I open the front door expecting to find Dax, but the corridor is deserted. I sit Casey on the floor with the bag pinning her to the wall and tell the boys to “stand guard over the princess.” I don’t get to say much more because I’m yanked inside with the door slamming shut behind me. The kids are alone, but at least he can’t threaten me with them this time.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“I need to get the kids,” I argue, struggling to point back to the door.
“They can fucking wait. You owe me an answer.”
I owe him? What the fuck do I owe him? I’m sick of being told I owe him. Money, respect, my silence, my submission, he gets it all and deserves none of it. Sure, I fight back but mostly I stay quiet for an easy life. For Mum who doesn’t need another cracked rib or for the kids who didn’t need to see yet another act of violence in their home. But after today, I know my efforts were a waste of time. With them outside, or maybe it’s the culmination of the last twenty-four hours, I suddenly don’t give a shit about an easy life. Fuck it, when has it ever been easy?
“Do you know what?” I spit, squaring my shoulders. “I owe you shit!” The force of his hand across my face spins my head so fast I expect it to go all the way around. He says nothing, only staring at me with a look that dares me to make him do it again. So, I do.
“You make me sick; do you know that? You literally make me retch. You’re a disgusting excuse for a human being, and you don’t deserve what you have.” The second slap stings a little worse. It’s delivered with precision. I wince but don’t stop running my mouth despite the fact he’s grinning, and his eyes are alight with the pleasure he gets from being cruel.
“You done?” He laughs.
“Not nearly. I saved a man’s life last night. I stood there with my finger in his chest and gave him the chance to survive despite some arsehole trying to take that from him. And then I come home to this…this house…this hovel and this fucked up life where you act as though you’re king almighty. When do I get to survive? Why is it I can save him, but not the people I love?” Another slap sends spots dancing in front of my eyes, but he lets me continue to talk. “You think you’re tough? You’re shit. You are a fucking loser; a coward and the worst part is I think you know it!”
He lifts his hand and takes the liberty of showing me his fingers curling into a fist so I know what’s coming. But I’m not afraid. I’m tired, but no longer afraid of him and if my mother won’t leave this place, well that isn’t my problem anymore. He pulls his hand back. I take a breath and glare straight at his face, ready for the punch.
It doesn’t come.
Instead, Aiden holds my father’s wrist in a vice tight grip. I didn’t even notice him enter the room.
Dad flushes puce. I’ve never seen him so mad.
“Go outside with the kids, Jules,” Aiden instructs. He holds out his other hand. In it, he holds a bag of bottles and a pack of juice cartons that somehow survived Dad’s tantrum.
I clutch them to my chest. “What are you going to do?”
“Just go outside with the kids,” Aiden warns, his face a professional mask.
I make it through the door and stop to hear my father’s parting words spat from between bared teeth. “You bring my boys back in here, Juliet.”
It draws me back into the argument like nothing else could. “And what about your daughter, Dad? Huh? What about that little girl that you force to live like a dog?”
“She is a dog. Just like you. Mutts the pair of you, only good for putting down,” he sneers. His suspended hand shakes with the effort of trying to pull it from Aiden’s grip.
Aiden glares at me over his shoulder and I know better than to stay. I get out of there and shut the door behind me. I have no idea of the consequences my words or my actions will bring, but I know that staying under his roof, living with him, is just living to die. He already beats me and Mum, how long before he lifts a hand to Casey too? How long before the boys get caught in the crossfire again? Or worse, what if they become just like him?
AJ and TJ are still where I left them. Casey however is quite cleverly hogtied with the strap of the diaper bag.
“How on earth did you two—?”
“She tried to get away.” TJ grins, clearly proud of their ingenuity.
“Ice cream now, Juju?” AJ asks. A small nervous smile plays at his mouth but his eyes flicker everywhere other than me or the front door. He might not have seen what just happened, but he knows enough to be afraid.
I stare down at the three of them—AJ waiting nervously, TJ watching Casey like she might cause an international incident, and Casey excitedly shouting, “ass cream, ass cream,” into the corridor carpet—and I hope that I’ve done right by them. I’ll sort something out. It’ll be okay but, for right now, I made the kids a promise I plan on keeping.
“Are you ready?” Aiden asks as he saunters casually out of the apartment. He holds his smart jacket in one hand and rolls down his shirt sleeves with the other. I don’t want to ask about what he’s done to Dad, so I kept my mouth shut about it.
“Yes. We are all good to go.” I plaster a fake smile on my face, as much for the kids as it is for Aiden.
“Your work?” he asks looking down at a strapped Casey, her legs up behind her and her wrists attached to her ankles. It doesn’t seem to faze her in the slightest and it confirms something I already knew; those boys learn way too much from daytime TV. Reruns of old westerns from the looks of it.
“Nope. The boys can be resourceful when they need to be.” I release her and prop her on my hip to save our ‘quick escape’ taking thirty minutes. With a breath and a lot of fake enthusiasm, I instruct the boys to “forward march!”
“Clever little cadets, huh?” Aiden comments at my side.
“We’re natural born survivors.” More so than even I realised.
“So, I see,” Aiden confirms. I catch the twinkle of something suspiciously like pride in his eyes. A compliment then? It earns him a far more genuine smile.
“Perhaps I’ll treat you to an ice cream at the marina too, if you are a good boy,” I tease, and enjoy the way Aiden’s laughter fills the entire corridor with a little burst of happiness.