Page 1 of Stay Little Fighter

PROLOGUE

DAMON

THEN

TEN YEARS AGO

I thought I could do this.

I thought I was strong enough.

I thought I had my feelings for her locked down tight.

But I don’t.

Another wave of nausea rolls over me, and this time I can’t stop myself from purging what little is in my stomach.

I haven’t been able to eat in days, not since my father gave the order.

Because the idea of watching Chloe be killed is unimaginable.

I’ve done everything in my power to keep her safe. I distanced myself from her, I redirected Dad whenever he set his sights on her, and I tore out my own heart every fucking day to do it.

Do you know what it’s like to watch the person you love slowly start to hate you?

It’s fucking torture.

And it was all for nothing.

A gunshot vibrates through the cellar, sending my heart into my throat.

How the fuck am I ever going to look Ronan in the eye again? How am I supposed to tell my brother that the woman he’s loved his entire life is gone? How do I tell him that I helped our father hold his pregnant girlfriend for days and forced her to watch as we tortured her parents in front of her?

The thought sends me pitching forward, but my stomach is empty. Agony jolts through my chest as my body tries to expel something that doesn’t exist, and I curse myself for not eating more over the last few days.

But I didn’t deserve to eat, not when she was being starved.

I swipe the back of my hand over my mouth and shove myself to stand up straight.

If Dad or his men catch me throwing up, I’ll get a beating of my own.

Another gunshot rebounds off the brick, and my chest tightens until I can barely suck in a breath.

Clarity slams into me so hard it almost knocks me off my feet.

I can’t let this happen.

I can’t let him kill her.

As quickly as I can manage, I log into the security system and set off the perimeter alarm as I sprint up the cellar steps.

The guard at the top of the stairs sees my urgency just as his phone sounds with the alarm tone that comes standard on Lombardi devices.

“Call it in!” I shout, continuing through the house as if I’m rushing to secure the perimeter.

I make it to the wet room and drag open the cupboard, spotting the tennis shoes Chloe keeps inside before making my way to the back door and dropping them to the side.

She won’t be able to escape with bare feet, and although I want nothing more than to be the one that gets her to safety, I can’t.