Page 28 of Possessive Mr. Pen

The burst of violence—and the painful throb of my hip—reminds me of my visit with Uncle Ronan this morning.

His strikes were more poignant than usual.The bruise on my hip may take weeks to heal.A steel-toed boot will win over flesh and bones every time.

When I didn’t include Hilary in my weekly update, he scowled and disappeared into the woods, relaying his disgust at my cowardice without a single word.

I was stupid to think I could omit such a big snafu, but I checked the surveillance records of the boutique and no one of questionable intent was there when she slapped me.Her friend Penelope Miles and Sebastian Sterling saw her stomping out of the changing room, but they have no reason to tell an old man hiding out in the woods.

A suspicion forms in my mind.

After a few more minutes of watching the front of her apartment complex, I sneak around the building and perform a quick security sweep before pulling up my hood and jogging to the nearest subway entrance.

A few minutes later, I stop and wait at the crosswalk three blocks away from my destination.I take off my hood and turn my face up to the streetlamp for a few moments out of respect despite the dots it leaves in my vision.When the light man turns green, I walk the rest of the way with my hands swinging naturally out in the open and my strides purposeful but unaggressive.

This late at night, every inside light is off, but the bulb under the awning illuminates the entryway through the glass door.The shadows shift.My uncle’s face emerges from the darkness.His eyes gleam with the coldness of death.

He twists the lock and pushes the door.

“Took you long enough,” he gripes.

“She came by?”I ask as I step over the threshold.

“Get on the mat.”

Fuck.

I stride down the hall, toe off my shoes, line them up beside the bench, and move to the center of the big blue mats.

He joins me.Without a word, we bow.

That’s the last bit of respect he shows me.With brutal accuracy and force just shy of lethal, he beats the hell out of me without leaving a mark on my face or arms.For a while, I return blow for blow, but then I shift to defensive maneuvers.

He humbles me time and time again until I sweep his legs out from under him.We grapple.He never loses the upper hand.

With our limbs tangled together and his arm around my throat, I fight to escape the headlock, but his body is a living cage wrapped around me.

“What did you do?”he demands.

“I fucked up,” I croak.

“No shit.What.Did.You.Do?”His arm tightens with every syllable.

Blackness hovers along my periphery.

“I hurt her,” I admit.

He squeezes.Inky blackness washes over my senses, and I float in a pool of tar.It clings to me no matter how hard I fight.

I wake with a jolt, flat on my back in the center of the mats.The ceiling mocks me.My limbs refuse to move.

“I warned you, Connor.”

“You did, Uncle Levi.I—”

Histskis all the correction I need.He doesn’t want any association with me right now.I force myself to my knees and face where his voice came from the shadows.

“Thank you for the lesson, Mr.Carter,” I say.

He grunts in his normal taciturn manner.