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“If you could learn to shut up and just do as you’re told, we’d be golden,” he growls into my ear, the smell of his breath making me gag. My face hurts, and I’m still sore from my grandmother’s punishments.Did she know they were planning this?
I am the only person who can fight for my sweet Angel. “No. Go to hell!” I scream at them.
Pulling me to stand by my hair, Mr. Draven holds my arms behind my back, pushing his erection into my sore ass. I try to kick him, but one of the men punches me in my side. Gasping, I realize they plan to systematically break me until I sign.
“No!” I wheeze, shaking my head as I cry. The next man punches me in the face, knocking my head back into Draven’s shoulder. I start to have a hard time breathing, tears running down my cheeks, and I wonder if he broke my nose. Draven licks my face where I have blood streaming, and then says, “Her father wants her really roughed up boys. Do you want to get paid or not?”
Shuddering, I can barely process that before another fist meets my chest. Grinning evilly, the man kicks my feet out from under me and Draven lets me go. I curl into a ball, struggling to protect my head and stomach as the three of them kick and stomp on me, taunting each other to do a better job.
Finally a knock sounds on the door, and Isabella walks through, as if her stepdaughter wasn’t just getting beaten up while she waited in the hallway.
“Don’t just stand there, get her into the chair. I hope you didn’t break her hands, she needs at least one to sign,” she says, rolling her eyes.
One of the men grabs me under my armpits, and I struggle not to scream from the pain. I am one huge bruise, and I would give almost anything for relief. Anything but that.
It appears my consent isn’t necessary anymore as I’m put into a chair. Isabella clucks to herself as she pulls a wet wipe from her bag and cleans my hand. I hiss at the pain, because at one point Draven stomped on it.
“You have always been stubborn,” she muses, as my father walks into the room to watch me sign. He orders the hired muscles to leave, promising them payment as soon as business is concluded. Who the hell is this man? He’s certainly not the father who would push me on the swings and read me children’s Bible stories.
Isabella takes my right hand and stuffs a pen inside, curling my fingers around it. I dig my nails into Isabella’s arm as she forces me to sign the paper’s that will take all my rights away from Angel. She backhands me and a whimper leaves my lips. My face is already sore, and one of my eyes doesn’t want to open. The taste of bile and iron mixes in my mouth, and I may get sick again.
I look over at the man who raised me, watching with a hint of malice in his green eyes. “Why?” I croak, and he waves his hand as if I’m just a bug he needs to shoo away. “You knew the truth all along about what he did to me. You ruined King’s life. All because he was my friend. I’m your daughter. How could you?” I sob, and he moves closer to me, raising his hand as if to touch my bloodied cheek. But instead, grips my hair tightly and yanks my neck back.
“You have been a nuisance since the day your mother came to me knocked up, claiming I was your father. I played along for appearances. But I knew the truth. You look just like that whore and the man she slept with.” I gasp, my one eye going wide in disbelief. I try to shake my head, but he has me in a restraining hold. Isabella cackles and presses closer to me.
“Oh poor, poor, innocent, Chastity. Finally learning the truth about her whore mother. How about another little nugget for you, dear? We knew all along about what Mr. Draven was planning to do to you. Who do you think gave him permission? He paid a pretty penny to take your virginity. He’s the idiot who knocked you up,” she says, and my blood runs cold.
My father releases me, and Isabella gives him a lust filled look. She’s getting off on this.
“Well, this has all been fun, but I think I’ll go sit in the car until it’s time to leave.” She struts to the door and my father follows, grabbing her around the waist and kissing her neck as she giggles. Never looking back at the little girl he betrayed, and the predator still in the room, waiting to strike.
Caleb Draven leers in the corner of the room, watching me with his hands in his pockets. He seems calm, but I know the truth. He has a darkness inside that ruined all the best parts of what I once was, and now he’s going to do it again.
* * *
I don’t rememberthe ride back, or being dragged out of the backseat and dumped in front of the gates at Holy Cross Academy. All I can focus on is his hands and what he did to me again. I thought I was finally safe, but I’ll never be safe, and now that rapist has my baby. Him and his clueless wife.
The perfect family who have always wanted a child. Now they have mine, and I’m too weak to fight it anymore. He’s too powerful. Who would believe the whore, bastard child of the good preacher would have been raped and impregnanted by the respectable mayor of Sharon, Massachusetts? No one has before, why would they now? I have no proof, and everyone thinks King Witlock is my baby’s father. The boy from the other side of the tracks, who knocks up the preacher’s daughter.
It’s just anotherLifetimemovie waiting to be aired, and the perfect alibi my father could come up with.
I cry out as I roll onto my back and lean against the iron gate. It’s about a mile walk to the front door, and I don’t know if I’m going to make it. I don’t know if I even want to make it. I should just stay here until someone puts me out of my misery, or the wolves find me. I’m half dead already.
I should just end it. Once and for all. I’m too broken. Too damaged. I only cause pain.
Angel is better off without me, but I will not let her be kept in the claws of that man.
I pull myself to my feet, wincing at the pain that encompasses every part of me. It’s a long, slow walk back to the Academy, but I make it and head straight to the Chapel. I need to pray one last time before I can finally rest.
It’s late and there is no one around. I walk down the aisle and kneel in front of the cross. My prayers have never been answered before, but this one I hope is. I climb up and shuffle over to the altar that holds a lot of our family heirlooms, but I only have one in mind.
I grab the ceremonial blade and run my finger along the edge, then go back to the dias. I collapse onto the carpeted floor, pull out my phone and call the last person I know will help me.
I should probably be crying, but for once, the tears won’t come. I’m numb. He doesn’t answer, so I leave him one last message and pray that he can give me this final mercy.
“It's too late for me. There's no hope or redemption in my future, but save my baby, Jacob. Save my Angel.”
I end the call and say one last prayer before gripping the blade tighter and making a long slash down my arm.
