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She backs away before she turns and bends down to the fridge. When she stands, she’s holding a bottle of fresh juice. A smile tugs at my lips. Mara drank that shit nonstop while she was pregnant with Sophia. It was the only thing that helped her morning sickness in the early days, and by the third trimester, I think she was just addicted to it.
That memory is a shot to the chest, one that has the potential to leave me bleeding on the floor.
I resume cleaning, giving her whatever space she needs and also taking a moment to control my pain.
“I’m sorry too.”
It’s the last thing I expect her to say, and it renders me speechless for a moment. “For… for what?”
Skye licks her lips, her discomfort rippling across her face, and I brace for whatever blow she’s about to deliver. “Beau told me what my father did to your wife.”
My mouth dries as I place the cloth on the table, giving myself a breather. Skye is so young, but her eyes hold more trauma than someone her age should have experienced.
All these lives ruined by Desmond fucking Richardson.
The fucker has a lot to answer for, and I hope I get to be the one to deliver justice.
But his daughter is not my enemy. When I look at her, I see Sophia and I imagine it’s her making amends for my sins. Skye is not responsible for her shithead of a father, any more than Sophia is for me.
“I appreciate that, but it’s not your apology to make, Skye.”
She clutches the juice bottle so tight, the skin is stretched over her knuckles. “My father… Desmond…” she amends, as if she can’t bear to call him that. “He’s an evil man, Trick. I had no idea how evil he was until I got out from under him.”
That lump in my throat feels so big as she confesses her hurt. Don’t let Sophia have to do this one day for me.
The shuddering breath she releases is filled with emotion that cuts through me like a fucking knife. “I had no idea he and Tommy were committing such awful acts. Killing pregnant women and little girls…” Her teeth slam together as tears brim in her eyes. “I hate them both.”
“Skye.” Rage’s voice snaps through the air like thunder.
His expression is murderous as he stands in the doorway. The kid is a ball of anger that he’s constantly battling to keep tight reins on. No wonder Ravage shipped him here. The London prez doesn’t take shit, and Rage gives a lot of it.
Skye gives me a half-smile that barely reflects in her eyes before she weaves around the tables toward Rage. As soon as she’s close to him, he pulls her into his side and presses a kiss to her temple.
He loves her, and it manifests so openly. “Go back to the room,” he orders.
Skye’s fingers tangle in his shirt as she peers up at him. “Beau, he didn’t do anything to me.”
I appreciate her trying to fix this, but I can tell from Rage’s face her words aren’t going to help here. He wants his blood, but I’m not feeling inclined to give it to him this time.
“Go,” he repeats, and she casts a glance in my direction before she slips out of the common room, leaving me alone with the kid.
I shift my shoulders back, readying for a fight. Heidi’s and Blackjack’s words reverberate through my mind. I want to make amends, but I’m tired of being his fucking punchbag. I’m doing everything I can to make things right between us, but that requires a little forgiveness on his part, too.
He steps into my space, as if he expects me to back away. I don’t, but it doesn’t stop him from fixing me with a macabre smile. “I’m going to fucking enjoy smashing your teeth down your throat on Friday.”
He wants to hit me now. I see it in his eyes that he would love nothing more than to unleash on me before my beatdown. Well, fucking bring it on.
I hold my arms out at my sides, inviting him forward. “Why wait till Friday? I’m right fucking here, Rage.”
My tone is combative. I want him to take the swing he’s so desperate to make. Maybe then we can start to put this shit to bed.
He doesn’t move, though I can see he’s itching to.
Yeah, that’s what I fucking thought.
The kid is just blowing off steam, and I’m not playing this game with him. If he wants to end shit like men, then we can do that, but Heidi and Blackjack were right, and I’m getting tired of doing this dance with him.
I turn back to the table, grabbing the cloth again. I barely wipe it over the top before his fist lashes out, smashing into the side of my head. The hit rattles my skull and teeth, making the room spin around me.
