Page 43 of I Was Born Ruined (Death by Daybreak MC 1)
I feel violated.
Caper, the prospect, moves up to the edge of the bed as I sob and shake. I can see there's a bundle in his arms, that the blanket covering it is stained with blood, that it's not moving.
No.
No, no, no, no.
“Now, Gidget, I'm going to ask you one more time: do you know what you did wrong?”
Cat adjusts himself, tilting his head slightly to one side, still staring at me. He could be any dad in the world right now, chastising his teenage daughter for making a mistake. Only … he's not any dad. He's a fucking monster. And I'm not any girl. I'm a tortured, captive princess. I'm a broken doll hanging from tattered strings, a puppet for him to play with, to mock, to bruise, to burn.
Again, I don't answer.
That's a mistake
Slowly, carefully, Cat reaches beneath his vest and removes his favorite gun: his Smith & Wesson Model 29. He taps it against his open palm for a moment, making a small humming sound under his breath in thought. And then, then he raises the barrel to my forehead and presses the cold metal to my skin.
“Boss,” Crown starts, and there's a strange disconnect in his voice that I've never heard before.
“Shut your mouth, Crown,” Cat says as Beast reenters the room and pauses with this unreal, almost supernatural stillness.
“What the fuck?” Grainger whispers, as Sin steps up behind Cat. None of them move to help me though. Not a one of them.
I stare down the barrel of that gun without flinching, eyes locked on my father's. If he's going to kill me here and now, I'm not going to make it easy for him. I reach up and dry the tears from my face with the edge of a sheet and lift my chin proudly. If I die here and now, he'll have to clean my brains from the wall. If I die here and now, he'll have to explain to my mother why he chose to do what he did.
Seconds pass, but they could be hours. I have no idea. All I know is that the cold barrel of that gun quickly becomes warm from the press of my skin, that the steps creak, that my brother Gaz steps into the room and doesn't say a word.
“Boss,” Crown repeats, but that's it. Just that. That's as much as he's willing to defy his fucking master to help a teenage girl with a gun to her forehead.
My dad looks me straight in the face … and pulls the trigger.
To my credit, I don't cringe or scream or cry.
What's the point?
Instead, I sit there stoically as Cat stands up and pulls the revolver away, flipping the cylinder open to show me that it's entirely … “Empty,” I whisper without meaning to.
“Next time, Gidget, it might not be,” he says, turning away and nodding his chin at Caper. The prospect steps up next to my bed, and then drops the bloodied lump in my lap as fresh tears fall and spatter on the red-soaked sheet. “Next time, it'll be worse.”
Cat leaves with my brother following along behind him as I peel back the sheet … and scream.The veterinary office is disgusting.
I hate it here.
It's sterile and it smells like bleach, and the people at the front counter were more concerned with getting my credit card than taking a look at my fucking dog.
“Fem's going to lose his leg,” I say to no one in particular, nostrils flared, hands curled so tightly into fists that my palms are bleeding. It's nothing though, that pain, compared to the injustices I've suffered.
“Mm.” Beast doesn't say much, sitting beside me with his arms crossed over his broad chest. He smells good, like bergamot nectar and books, but I couldn't give two fucks about that right now. In fact, I'm not sure that I'll ever give a single fuck again about any of these men.
They stood there and watched.
As far as they knew, Cat was going to kill me, and they did nothing to stop him.
Nothing.
After a moment though, he adds, “it could've been worse.”
I laugh, this caustic, bitter sound that burns my throat when it comes up.
“Please,” I scoff, staring at a rack of magazines on the wall. Magazines. Hah. Who needs magazines anymore when there are smartphones? Only, I don't have one anymore because Cat took it. He made sure to give me a shitty satellite phone for emergency calls, but only because he wants to know where the Grey Wolfe Mafia is and what they're up to. He very clearly doesn't give any fucks about me.
I used to think that in a weird, twisted way, Cat loved me.
I won't make that mistake again.
“Don't act like what you did for me was a favor,” I whisper, refusing to take my eyes off the magazine rack. Where else should I be looking? At Beast with his animal tattoos curling around his massive arms? At his blue eyes catching the fluorescent lights from above and turning them into something so much prettier, like little gemstones in a hard, weather-worn face?
