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Prologue I
Daemon
“Why did you spit on him, boy? All you had to do was let him have what he wanted,” she snarled.
I gritted my teeth, and then bit out, “Because I’m tired of this happening. It’s not happening again.”
I should’ve been more prepared when I got the last word out. I really should’ve.
Because I didn’t see the fist that flew toward my head.
I was so dazed that I couldn’t fight back.
Not when he threw another punch that landed on my ribs.
Nor when he punched my kidneys.
And over.
And freaking over.
So many hits landed on my body that I had passed out.
Hours later, lying on the cracked, peeled laminate flooring in the hallway, I vowed then and there.
I was going to learn to fight back.
And I was going to grow up to be a man that nobody messed with.
I would also learn how to glare at someone and have them run away.
And then… that was when I heard it.
What the heck?
I crawled on my elbows towards the sound.
Pain, even though it was ever present from the senseless beatings I’d taken, still circulated through my body.
One good thing, I’d already passed out.
Now, to make sure the puke I knew was to follow, didn’t actually follow that.
Because I knew I would be in tears if that happened.
As I made my way to the bathroom, using my elbows and knees, which were about the only things on my body that weren’t bruised, I made it past the door.
And what I saw there… I wish I knew how to fight.
But I’ve heard that doing everything you can, can sometimes be the best thing.
A little girl, one that couldn’t be more than five or six years old, was huddled beside the toilet and the bathtub, looked at me with worried green eyes. Her blonde hair was half out of a ponytail. Little strands of it were here and there.
I growled when I saw a bruise on the side of her face.
He would pay for that. One way or another.
When I saw that I had her eyes, I slowly worked out the words, breathing through the pain, “Hey, my name is Daemon. I’m not going to let them hurt you. Okay?”
