Page 53 of Where the Wind Whispers

Not from her father.

“You lied to me—tricked me.” Alberto squeezed her harder, shaking her face just a bit. “Why?”

Violet focused on her father’s rage fueled expression and his words instead of the pain blooming in her face from his rough handling.

She didn’t have a good answer for him.

She had nothing.

“You little … bitch,” Alberto hissed.

Violet stumbled back as her father’s hand shoved against her face, pushing her back into the chair and table. She caught herself in time to keep her from hitting the floor, and she straightened right back up again, refusing to be under her father in any way.

She was not going to give him the chance to hit her when she was down.

Alberto came closer again, but Violet didn’t move.

“You’re a lying, useless fucking whore.”

His words barely stung.

She let them bounce off her.

His fists tightened into balls at his sides, and it was only then that Violet chose to speak again, carefully picking each word she said to make sure her father heard what mattered the most.

“Please don’t hurt my child, Daddy,” Violet said softly.

Alberto hesitated.

Barely.

But he did.

She saw it.

Violet kept going, knowing damn well that if she gave her father the chance to think about his anger for too long, it might not end well for her. “You can hate me forever—you can hate him, too. We did this, I know. But please don’t hurt my baby. What good will it do—what good will punishing me do? You already know what Kaz would do for me. Imagine the hell he will cause you if you hurt his child, too.”

She probably should have stopped at asking him not to hurt the child.

Her intention was not to taunt her father but to warn him.

Violet knew far better than that.

And there was a small part—so very small—that did love him.

Alberto only heard what he wanted to.

She should have expected that, too.

Violet only saw the flash of her father’s hand coming at her fast before it cracked across her cheek. She didn’t get the chance to blink before he hit her again—then again.

The action was profound.

It made her ache.

Not because it hurt, no, but because no matter how much she knew her father was capable of doing, she never truly believed he would physically hurt her. He’d never hit her before. Never even threatened to, really.

Alberto grabbed the collar of the dress she wore, pulling hard and he attempted to drag her away from the table. She felt the fabric bite into her skin before she heard it rip loudly, and then another slap snapped onto her right cheek.