Page 61 of Wild Fire

“That’s precisely the point, Nate,” I growl.

I can feel my resolve cracking, the fire inside me rising, spreading like poison. My mind fractures as a memory slips forth. One I thought I’d buried.

“Don’t tell me what I want! You don’t know me!”

The resonant sound of his palm against my cheek echoes in the air, and I have to fight to keep the tears at bay.

“I don’t care what you want, you little shit. You live under my roof; you do as I say!”

His hand wraps around my throat, and a choked sound escapes me. I close my eyes, waiting for it to be over.

The memory rumbles through my body like an earthquake, rendering me frozen.

And then the rage returns, hot like a blazing inferno.

“You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m capable of. If you did, you wouldn’t want me.”

Nate rolls his eyes, and I have half a mind to reach across the table and smack him for it, because between his attitude and the memories resurfacing, it’s like I’ve slipped into another time, another body.

Another life.

“You know what? Forget it,” Nate says, shaking his head.

“Forget I said anything.”

“No,” I growl. “You can’t take it back now. You have to own it.”

Nate glares at me. “I don’t have to do anything. You’re not the boss of me, remember?”

I try to take a deep breath, count to six, but I barely get to two before the fire reaches my throat.

“No, but if I was, your behavior right now would warrant some serious reprimanding.”

Nate laughs. He fucking laughs. Which only pisses me off more. I’m fuming.

I should get up and leave. Tell him good riddance. This is the perfect out. He’s too immature, too young, too unsure of himself. He can’t handle me or my niche needs.

It’s better this way.

Yet I can’t bring myself to move out of this chair.

“What would you do, AJ? Smack my ass and call me a bad boy?” he bites.

Another vicious memory tears forth, and I can barely breathe.

“Stop!” I cry out, but he doesn’t hear me. Another loud crack sounds in the air and my ass stings. I cry because I can’t help it. It hurts.

It’s not the first time my dad’s smacked my ass, but I’m not a kid getting disciplined for eating a cookie before dinner. This is different. It’s rage. It’s hate. He wants to hurt me for what I’ve done.

“Please, Dad…” I cry into the seat cushion as another sharp sting hits my ass. “Stop…”

“You need to be punished for your sins, August.”

Tears pool in my eyes.

“I’m sorry, Dad, I—”

My jaw tenses, and I reach for the water as I try to push the memory away.