Betrayed by Blood (Betrayed #1)

by Victoria Renteria

  Betrayed By Blood

  Copyright © 2016, Victoria Renteria

  First Edition: 2016

  All rights reserved.

  Editing by Edee M. Fallon, Mad Spark Editing

  Cover art by Rebecca Pau, The Final Wrap

  Photography by Mandi Hollis, MHPhotography

  Model: Randi Sue

  Interior book design and formatting by Champagne Formats

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may use short excerpts in a review

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales are entirely co-incidental.

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademarked owners of various products and events referred in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission of trademark companies. The publication or use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owner.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  A Note From The Author

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  COLD AIR PELTS MY SKIN as I huddle in the corner, scared and alone. She left hours ago. Maybe if I’m lucky she won’t return. No, she always comes back and when she does, it’s always worse than when she left. Sometimes, I wish I could just curl into a ball and disappear like they do on one of those magic shows or take my teddy bear and run away, but I can’t. She would find me. She always finds me, making it hurt worse than the time before. Besides, I could never leave my daddy.

  Daddy’s always gone on some mission, leaving me alone with her. When he’s around, she pretends to be nice and feeds me, but when daddy goes away, that’s when mommy comes out to play. Quaking in fear, I grasp my teddy bear closer, dragging him to my chest. My vision blurs as I stare off into space, thinking of the last time I saw him.

  We were standing on the front porch of our home; he was preparing to leave again. A funny tingling sensation started in my hands and feet that spread all over my body, my stomach twisting and turning like I was on a roller coaster.

  Staring at the trees, I tried listening to the birds singing, but the only thing that I could hear was the sound of my own blood pumping in my ears. Looking down at my feet, I shifted from side to side, avoiding eye contact. My fear overrode everything. My mind told me if I were to look up into his eyes, it would be over too quickly. Daddy would no longer be there, and I would have to face my greatest fear.

  The sound of his boots hitting the planks on the porch reached my ears, bringing tears to my eyes. Walking down the steps, green duffle bag in hand, he crouched down in front of me.

  I can hear his voice ringing in my ears as if it were yesterday.

  “Kylee.”

  “Yes, Daddy.”

  “Look at me, Princess.”

  Giving my head a shake, I whisper, “I’m afraid to look at you, Daddy.”

  Shock registers in my father’s voice when he replies, “Why are you afraid to look at me, Princess?”

  Tears begin itching my eyes, causing me to scrub them with the back of my hands.

  “Because if I look at you, then you will disappear and not come back anymore, Daddy.”

  The churning in my stomach worsens and I have to force the bile back down to keep myself from vomiting from the stress alone. My father reaches out and tilts my chin up so that he can gaze into my eyes. Love radiates from him as he smiles, his voice soothing me as he begins to speak.

  “Princess, Daddy isn’t going to disappear.” He pauses, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I have to go away for a little while, but I’ll be back before you know it. I need you to be a good little soldier for me. Can you do that?”

  Nodding my head, tears begin spilling onto my cheeks, I say, “Yes, Daddy.”

  Gently wiping away my tears, he smiles before placing a kiss on my forehead and whispering into my hair, “I have something for you, Princess.”

  Squealing, my tears are momentarily forgotten. “You do?” I question as he reaches into his bag, pulling out a fluffy, brown teddy bear.

  “When I was deployed, I saw this little guy and thought of you. Maybe we can pick out a name for him. So if you’re ever feeling sad or miss me, you can just grab this little guy, give him a squeeze, and know that no matter where I am that I love you, and I will always find my way back to you, Kylee.”

  Looking from my father to the little, stuffed bear he holds in his big hands, I find my voice and ask, “Daddy, is teddy a soldier?”

  Smiling, he replies, “Sure is, Princess.”

  “Then he can have a soldier name, right?”

  “Of course he can.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “What about . . . Fluffy?”

  “No.” I shake my head, giggling.

  “Why are you laughing, Princess?”

  “Fluffy doesn’t sound like a soldier name, Daddy,” I say between laughs.

  Smiling, he strokes the side of my face. My body automatically leans into his hand, knowing this will be the last time for a while.

  “Well, Princess, I guess that’s true. Fluffy isn’t really a name for a soldier, is it?”

  “No, sir,” I say, giving my head a shake.

  “Hmmm . . . let’s see . . . ahhh, I think I have it! What about Leslie?”

  A frown mars my face as he smiles at me. I know he is just being silly. I cherish these times with my father, the times I will hold on to when he is away.

  “No, Leslie isn’t a very good name for a soldier, either,” I say.

  “Hmmm . . . well, let’s see. What if we name him Yasmine?”

  I laugh loudly, causing the corners of his mouth to tilt up.

  “Now what’s so funny, Princess?”

  “You can’t name a soldier Yasmine, Daddy. Especially since it’s a boy! Not that Yasmine isn’t a really pretty name. I just don’t think it’s the right name for my teddy bear.” Rushing to finish my proclamation, my smile widens in triumph at his bright eyes.

  “Oh, I see,” he says. “So you need a proper soldier name for your teddy bear, huh?”

  “Daddy, if he doesn’t have a real soldier name then he isn’t a real soldier. You give all of your soldiers names. So my teddy bear needs a real soldier name, too. Not one of those silly girl names, either. A real name. He needs to be a real soldier because if he has a real name, he’s really part of the Army like you.” My eyes sting like I have been hit in the face with a pile of sand. Biting the inside of my cheek, I use the pain to help keep the tears at bay.

  My father clears his throat then asks, “What about Tango Bravo?”

  Gasping, my resp
onse is immediate. “I love it, Daddy. It’s perfect.” Smiling, I jump into his arms, hugging his neck tightly.

  “Remember, Kylee, I’ll always come back to you,” he whispers into my hair before placing a kiss on my forehead.

  Footsteps echo up the stairs, dragging me out of my memories. Crouching deeper into the corner, I try making myself smaller. My heart beats erratically in my chest as each step grows nearer. Screaming my name, my mother comes charging up the stairs then bursts through the door. Large, body-wracking sobs leave me as I cry into Tango Bravo, clutching him closer. Prayers begin flitting through my mind, little whispers to each god I’ve learned about in school: Please let it be over quick. Please let me pass out. Please let her leave. I can’t stand anymore. I really don’t want to be punished.

  “There you are, you little ingrate. Why didn’t you answer me when I called you? Hmmm?” Pausing to glare at me, her eyes narrow into slits when I remain silent. “Ttal! When I ask you a question you will answer me, do you understand?” Shouting, she lifts me by the collar of my shirt and shakes me as my feet dangle.

  Stammering out a response, I mutter, “Y—yes, M—Momma.”

  “Humph. That’s better.” She pauses as she drops me to the floor with a thud. Tilting her nose up in the air, she continues. “You know what happens to little girls that don’t listen? Unruly little girls who don’t do what they’re told, don’t you?” A feral smile graces her beautiful face.

  “P—please, I’ll do what I’m told. I p—promise I’ll do b—better.” Stuttering, tears begin streaming down my face as I plead to my mother.

  “Well, we shall see about that.” Her emotionless smile sends chills racing down my spine. I swallow then wipe my tears away with the backs of my hands.

  “Now strip off all of your clothing immediately and get onto the bed.” Her demand is full of authority, one that speaks of untold threats and punishments if not acted upon promptly.

  With unsteady hands, I start to remove my clothing, the shakiness of my limbs making the task difficult. Impatience is evident in her voice as she barks, “Well, quickly! I don’t have all day.”

  “Yes, Momma,” I say, sniffling. Tears no longer have any use; they will only anger her further, adding fuel to the fire.

  With my hands still shaking, I remove the rest of my clothing, climb onto the bed, and lie flat on my stomach. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her vicious smile as she gets her favorite tool: a braided leather belt she modified. Studs were added so it would welt and break my skin. It’s her own brand of torture, ensuring she inflicts the optimal amount of pain. A scream rips from my throat as the first lash connects with my flesh. Trembling fingers grip the sheets as lashes rain down on my lower back.

  Hot, searing burns prick my skin as the welts start to form. The sting of the lash tells me she hasn’t broken the skin just yet. She’s only getting warmed up. That’s the thing about my mother; she’s an expert at torture. She loves to play with me for hours, bringing the blood to the surface until the sting and burn are all I can feel. Biting my lip to keep from screaming, blood begins pooling in my mouth. Tension charges the air; something is different in the room tonight, and she’s antsy in her chagrin, less careful.

  One of the studs catches my lower back and she laughs as she drags the belt down, yanking it across my left butt cheek. A scream bubbles up, tearing at my insides as blood begins pouring from the wound. Fire begins to spread through my lower back and leg like hot pokers repeatedly stabbing my flesh. I begin to see stars and my vision turns black around the edges. Reaching down, she wraps my hair around her fist, snatching me off the bed.

  “How dare you bleed on those sheets! Do you know how hard it is to get blood out of them!” Rage fills her gaze as she pauses to stare at me. Breaths huff in and out of her lungs one by one. Several moments of silence pass as she continues to stare before finally losing control. Closing the distance, she is barely an inch away from my face as she screams, “Do you!”

  Frozen, my voice lost to the pain, I’m unable to answer her. The searing hot poker still being jabbed into my flesh is so intense my head is swimming. My vision begins cutting in and out and I know it won’t be long before I pass out. Silence only adds fuel to her fire, her rage all-consuming. Shaking, her face begins turning red but her eyes . . . her eyes are the worst. The eyes are said to be the gateway to the soul. You can truly see a person by peering into their eyes. At that moment, I was able to see the lifetime of hostility she has kept for me.

  Observing the set of her jaw, the contempt in her eyes, the pure, raw hatred she carries for me is like looking into a soulless black pit: empty, dark, and cold.

  I start to crack, each fissure spreading deeper, expanding, breaking, splitting me in two. Betrayal runs deep as the one person in the world that is supposed to protect me is directing all of her rage at me. For the first time ever, she broke all of her rules.

  Still firmly gripping my hair, she draws back her arm, letting loose a fierce punch; one so wild and crazy the only thing that can be heard is the deafening ring in my ears. Swinging again, she lands her punch just right, shattering my nose. I cry out loudly as a burst of pain explodes through my cheeks. She grimaces at the blood now gushing down the front of my naked body then tosses me to the floor. I whimper as my body hits the floor, causing her to place three swift kicks to my kidneys.

  Fire erupts in my veins, traveling so swiftly I’m afraid I might be burned by the sheer force of the pain. Flames start at my toes, spreading up my legs, paralyzing me. Writhing in agony, my mouth opens as a silent scream tries to escape. All the while, she continues to rain blows down on my ribcage. Grinding the sole of her boot into my ribs is the final straw that breaks the threshold of my pain tolerance. My vision begins to blur and spin as she continues her reign of terror on my body. Darkness begins to creep in slowly, taking over as I lie unmoving on the floor. My final thoughts churn in my mind as blood spills from my lips.

  When sweet oblivion finally takes me, I pray that God doesn’t let me wake up because . . . my heart, my spirit, and my body were broken . . . betrayed by my own blood.

  THERE COMES A TIME WHEN someone remembers why they chose to seclude themselves from certain aspects of life. Mine came in the form of a 4’9” Korean woman that I’d barely spoken to for the last ten years. Why you ask? Oh, I have my reasons. Many of those reasons I’ve locked up in a vault inside my head so tightly not even the President himself could get me to open up. I’m pondering all of this over my lunch in the teachers’ lounge as I stare off blankly into space.

  “Is this seat taken?”

  Glancing in the direction the voice came from, I notice none other than Jeremy Ruffin standing at the edge of the table wearing a satisfied smirk. His very presence makes my skin crawl. If only there were some place to run and hide, I’d gladly go there this very moment. My stomach begins to roll, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. Jeremy has been very adamant in his endeavors to ask me out since he started at this school last year. I have very politely informed him I’m not interested. Unfortunately for me, he can’t seem to take a hint.

  “No, you’re welcome to sit. I was just leaving.” Standing, I give him a polite smile.

  “What’s the rush, Kylee? You still have plenty of time before you have to get back to the classroom. Why not stay here with me? That way we can discuss you going out with me this Friday.” He pauses for a moment, licking his bottom lip as he leers at my breasts. A full grin explodes across his face as he relays, “I mean, come on, you and I both know it’s only a matter of time until I have your lips wrapped around my gorgeous cock.”

  Heat suffuses my face as my mouth drops open. Millions of tiny knots form in my stomach as it pitches and rolls. Cringing, I grit my teeth, pressing my lips tightly together. Without a word, I grab my things, fleeing toward the exit. Jeremy’s booming laughter brings tears to my eyes as I race out of the teachers’ lounge. Stopping outside the door, I rapidly blink away the tears before swiftly deciding
to visit my students on the playground.

  It’s not necessary, really. We have lunchroom supervisors and parent volunteers, but I love being around these children. Honestly, I just want to make sure they’re safe. Besides, after my run-in with Jeremy, I could use a little reassurance from some rambunctious ten-year-olds. These children tend to keep me on my toes even on the slowest of days. Being a fourth-grade teacher, you find that children are active and always on the go. Constant bundles of energy that always want to know where the action is, usually so they can jump in headfirst. Even if they are tired and don’t want to admit it.

  Stepping out onto the playground, my eyes immediately scan the area, looking for my students. Most are playing on the swings or monkey bars, but one in particular catches my attention. Ten-year-old Gavin is sitting all by himself, silently rocking back and forth. Questions begin filtering through my mind. What would a ten-year-old be doing by himself? Standing off to the side, I continue to observe him a moment longer. Gavin absentmindedly rubs just under his rib cage, alternating between it and his right arm, all places that are covered by clothing. Alarm bells sound in my head.

  Immediately, I’m transported to a very dark time in my childhood. My mother had been on a mission to try to make me into the perfect Korean daughter. We had differing opinions. She called it discipline; I called it child abuse. I still wake up screaming in a cold sweat from the nightmares each night, and no amount of therapy will ever make it better. Tightness grows in my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. Black spots dance in front of my eyes as my head begins to swim. Taking in my surroundings, I know I don’t have much time to get myself under control before the panic attack takes over.

  Darkness always accompanies the panic and this is not the place for those memories to resurface. Giving my head a little shake, I push the memories away and take a few deep breaths. Steadying myself further, I walk toward Gavin, chasing away any lingering panic. As I watch Gavin, I decide to approach slowly. My personal experience has taught me many things, but in cases where physical and mental abuse comes into play, you most certainly never want to rush into anything.