Page 55 of Dangerous Attraction

But once he knew he was losing the love of his life, and turned to drugs and alcohol, he became a completely different person.

Someone bitter and cruel. A man who only cared about himself and didn't care who he hurt—emotionally, physically, or mentally.

He grabs onto my arms and forces me backward, surprisingly steady and firm for a man who's currently in an inebriated state.

When we reach the front door, he kicks it open, turns me toward it, then shoves me outside.

I stumble down the steps, tripping over the last one and falling forward onto the graveled floor, hissing when the sharp stones dig into the palms of my hands.

The door slams behind me, and I jump as the noise vibrates through my body.

My stomach lurches, and I double over as the contents of my stomach force their way up my throat and onto the ground in front of me.

"Pip?"

Through watery eyes, I look across the road and see Wanda walking toward me.

"Oh, dear," she whispers as she crouches down and rubs her hand along my back.

Wiping my hand across my mouth, I squeeze my eyes shut.

"My dad's home," I mutter.

She sighs, wraps her arms around me, and pulls me into her chest.

Relaxing into her embrace, I allow the remainder of the tears swimming in my eyes to fall down my cheeks.

She presses a kiss to the top of my head, then draws away, squeezing the tops of my arms.

"Let's get you inside and cleaned up," she says.

The Sunday morning sunlight streams through the windows of Wanda's trailer, burning my eyes and making me cringe. It's only 10 a.m. but after the last few hours, it feels like forever ago I was leaving the clubhouse in Reeve's car.

After splashing water on my face, I brush my teeth with a spare toothbrush, then eat some toast.

Wanda went back to bed, leaving me on her sofa with a pillow and a blanket. I should've tried to get a few more hours of sleep, but my brain wouldn't shut off.

Memories from my childhood were plaguing my mind.

Images of my father's face when he used to beat me and curse me out for being a painful reminder of my mother swam around my mind, torturing me.

Flashes of being sat on this very sofa, shivering and crying while Wanda cleaned any cuts I had.

The reminders of being relieved every time he'd disappear for weeks, even though it meant I'd have to fend for myself and babysit children in the trailer park to get money for food.

That was my life, from the ripe age of eight up until I turned fifteen and met Emery.

She was my saving grace, along with her father.

I used to hide out at their house whenever my father was home, and then when he'd disappear, Michael would stock the fridge and cupboards full so I could focus on school instead of having to worry about how to survive.

Emery knows all the nitty-gritty details of my life. It took me almost a year to open up to her about it, but eventually, I told her everything.

Her father, however, doesn't know about it all.

It's not that I don't trust him, because I do, but he's a cop.

If he knew everything, then I'm pretty sure my dad would be behind bars, and although I know that's what he deserves, I can't stomach the thought of it.