Blade (Archer's Creek Book 3)

by Gemma Weir

  Hurrying down the stairs, I try not to make a noise as I cross the family room to the door of my father’s office. I’m twenty years old; far too old to be cowering and fearful of my parents, but here I am, scared to raise my fist and knock. Pulling in a deep breath, I lift my fist and lightly tap at the door.

  “Come,” his voice shouts and I can feel the tremors start to fill my body.

  Carefully, I twist the door handle and slowly push the heavy wooden door open. Holding my breath, I pray that the hinge doesn’t creak—he gets angry when I make the door creak.

  I shuffle silently into the room and curse my cowardice. I’m an adult. I shouldn’t allow him to treat me this way, but I do, because I’d rather it be me in here than Angelique. This might be a good day, I might make it out of here unscathed, but it’s been a week since he last called me in here, so I doubt it.

  I might be scared but I never let it show. He hates that I won’t cower, and that’s part of the reason I do it. Head held high, I close the door behind me and turn to face my father. He’s not a tall man, maybe 5ft 8inches, but in this room, I swear he seems a foot taller.

  My eyes meet his, and I can see the fury and hatred. The backhand to my jaw isn’t unexpected; my father teaches his lessons with his fists, his feet, and his belt. I stumble, but catch myself and straighten. Lifting my eyes to his again, I glare at him. I want him to see the hatred in my eyes. I want him to know that I wish he was dead. That it doesn’t matter how much he hurts me, I won’t crumble.

  He backhands me again, harder this time, and the force throws my head to the side. Panicked, I try to shake off the dark spots in my vision, but I’m not quick enough. I know better than to drop my head, and he takes advantage. His fist yanks at my hair and he flings me to the floor. The first kick is always the hardest. I swear his dress shoes have steel toecaps, or at least they feel like they have.

  The impact of his toe into my ribs pushes all of the air from my lungs in a strangled ‘humph’. I try to push up from the floor, at least standing he has to look me in the eye as he beats me, but a second kick hits my elbow and my arm gives way. The third and fourth kicks hit the same spot on my stomach and I dry heave as bile rises into my mouth.

  His breathing is labored; he’s either done for the day or he’s having a breather before starting again. Taking advantage of the lull, I push myself from the floor using my uninjured arm and shakily rise to my feet. I lift my chin defiantly and narrow my eyes at him, daring him to continue.

  This is the game we play. Sometimes once a week, sometimes once a month, sometimes once a day. He calls me to his office and then punishes me for some unnamed offence he believes I’ve committed. My own father hates me, and I don’t really understand why.

  He’s always been a cold, mean-spirited man, but at a distance. He ignored me and my sister and that was fine with us. Then a year ago he uprooted our lives, moved us to Archer’s Creek, and everything changed. His anger became more volatile, more focused. He started shouting instead of ignoring us and I became his target. My mom and sister avert their gazes and cower in the face of his anger, but I can’t do that.

  He scares the crap out of me, but something inside of me just won’t allow me to let him win. So he hates me and focuses all his rage on me. The shouting morphed to light slaps to the face, to single blows, to vicious attacks. Rounding out his repertoire, his pièce de résistance is the belt. It’s only happened twice so far, but the sound as the leather cracks through the air echoes in my nightmares.

  We eyeball each other as he leans against his desk, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His lips twist into a sneer and I wait for it, the diatribe of insults he usually spews. But today he’s quiet.

  “Get out,” he hisses.

  I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t, he simply points at the door and snaps. “Now.”

  Cautiously, I turn, stepping toward freedom. Something makes me glance over my shoulder and that’s when I see it. His chin is lowered and his gaze focused on the tent in his perfectly creased trousers. My hand is on the door handle as he reaches down, palms his hard penis, and groans.

  Present Day

  “Nicole.”

  My sister’s voice drags me back to the present. I force my eyes open and look at her. “Yes, he hurt me.”

  “Is that why you left; because he hurt you?” Angelique asks, her eyes full of unshed tears.

  I don’t want to talk about what happened the day I left, so I ignore her question and ask the one I’m desperate to know the answer to but that I’m too afraid to ask. “Did he hurt you?”

  Her chin drops in a slow nod.

  A tear rolls down my cheek and I pull my sister into my arms. “I’m so sorry, Sissy. I’m so sorry.” I whisper into her hair.

  A shudder rolls through her body, and in this moment, I’ve never hated myself more. I left her behind. I stayed for years, dealt with his vitriol for years, to protect her until she was old enough to leave, only to wimp out and leave her anyway.

  “Did he…? Err, what did he do?” My voice cracks. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to hear what he did to her, but I need to know. How far did it go? Did I save myself, only to doom her to my fate?

  “He hit me.”

  My skin prickles and a wave of nausea crashes through me. Breathing in through my nose, I try to stem the vomit that’s rising. “Is that all?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

  “He used his belt. He did that to you too, didn’t he? I didn’t know at the time. I swear I never knew why you would stay in your room for days. Mama just said you were sick and that I had to leave you alone.”

  “It’s okay. How could you possibly have known?” I pause and watch her. She looks okay: sad and tearful, but alive, here, and not completely broken. “Was that the worst he did?” Every muscle in my body tenses as I wait for her answer. I need to know, but I’m so terrified of her response that I want to stick my fingers in my ears and hide from whatever she’s going to say next.

  “Physically, yes,” she says, and then visibly swallows. “But a few months back something really messed up happened. It’s why they’re dead,” she says, her head lowered, her gaze focused on her hands in her lap.

  “I don’t understand.”

  She lifts her head and a tear rolls from her eye and down her cheek. “I’m the reason they’re dead.”

  Shaking my head, I reach for her hand and take it in mine. “They were in a car accident. That wasn’t your fault, you weren’t even in the car. I’m not sad they’re gone, Angelique, and you shouldn’t be either. After what they did to us, they got what they deserved.”

  She shakes her head, gripping my hand tighter. “I don’t really know how to explain everything, so I’m just gonna say it real quick and then you can ask me anything you need to ask afterward, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  She pulls in a deep breath, holds my hand tightly and then speaks. “We both know our father was a really bad person. After you died, or after we thought you were dead, he started to shout at me. One day he punched me, held me down and hit me with his belt. I tried to deal with it. I did what I thought he wanted. But no matter how quiet I was, or how well behaved I was, nothing made it better. This one day I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t stay in that house a moment longer with all of his hate and anger, so I snuck out. He caught me climbing back in through my bedroom window, like you used to do. That was one of the worst times he hurt me, but I still don’t regret escaping that day. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if I hadn’t. A few days later, some people visited the house and he said he wanted them to meet me. I should have known something was odd, because for the last two years I’d barely been allowed out of the house and he’d never introduced me to anyone. It turns out he owed some bad people a lot of money and he couldn’t afford to pay them back, so he made a deal with them to take me as payment for his debt.”

  “No,” I cry, jumping from the bed instantly furious. �
�So you are a prisoner here? These fucking bastard bikers took you as payment? Oh my god. I swear I’ll get you out of here. That fucking bastard, how could he sell you? I promise you, Angelique, I have a lot of money. I’ll pay his debt and buy you back,” I say marching toward the door.

  “Nicole,” Angelique shouts.

  My mouth snaps shut, and I look at my sister.

  “Stop. You have it all wrong. The Sinners saved me. The day I found out he was going to sell me to save himself, I ran. I packed a backpack and I left. I wasn’t going to let him sell me like I was a piece of property.” She laughs hollowly. “Only I missed the last bus out of town and I didn’t have a cell to call a cab. I barely knew Daisy, but he’d told me that if I ever needed him he would help me, so I came here. Daisy protected me. He kept me safe. He even stood up to father and beat the crap out of him. I was a mess when I got here, but these people have welcomed me with open arms and treated me like family. Daisy saved me when I couldn’t save myself. I didn’t even know it was possible to love someone as much as I love him.”

  I stare at my sister in awe. She’s so different from the shy girl I’d known who practically jumped at her own shadow. She’s not cowering or unsure of herself. The confident, beautiful young woman in front of me is strong and resilient, and an adult.

  My shoulders slump and I exhale. My baby sister doesn’t need me to save her; she saved herself.

  The realization makes a hollow form in my stomach. She doesn’t need me, and if I’m not here to save her, will she want me in her life at all?

  “What happened to the people he owed money to?”

  “He brought the men here to try to get me, but when they realized I was with Daisy and that the club had taken me in, they left and told father he needed to pay the money he owed. He didn’t pay. The people he owed money to, ran their car off the road when they were trying to leave town.”

  The sadness and guilt I can see in her eyes, makes the strings that have been wrapped around my heart since the day I walked away from my sister, clench even tighter. Reaching forward, I grab her other hand so I’m holding them both. “Angelique, our parents were assholes and I’m glad they’re gone. Their death was not your fault. It was his actions that ultimately got them killed. Our sperm donor was an evil, sadistic bully, and in the end, he got exactly what he deserved.”

  “But Mama,” Angelique says with a gasp.

  “Was a weak, pathetic excuse for a human being. She stood by and allowed that man to abuse us. Her job was to protect us, and she failed. She didn’t even try to stop him or get us away, and as far as I’m concerned, the fact that she ignored what he was doing makes her just as guilty as him. What mother teaches you how to cover up bruises with makeup instead of protecting her kids from being hit in the first place? I hate them both and I hope they rot in hell.” I’m so fucking angry, I release her hands, so I can pace up and down in front of the bed. I don’t like to think about my parents. I don’t want to relive the things that happened, or the events that led to me finally leaving. I’ve been away from this godforsaken town for years and I’ve managed to block out everything from my time in Archer’s Creek except for my sister. She’s the only thing worth coming back here for.

  “Why did you leave?” Angelique asks, her voice small.

  Can I tell her? Lifting my eyes to hers, I see the trepidation in her gaze and I know the answer. She never needs to know what finally drove me over the edge and made me run from him. I decide that I will never tell her the truth because she’s suffered enough at the hands of our father without burdening her with the horrors that tarnish my history as well.

  Avoiding her gaze, I stare at a spot over her shoulder. “I didn’t think he would hurt you.”

  “But what happened?”

  “You and Mama were scared of him and so you did as you were told, and I thought that was what he wanted. I thought it was just me he hated. I didn’t behave, I wouldn’t conform, and I thought that was why he did what he did to me. I was hoping I could stay—just until you turned eighteen—and then I could take you with me. You have to believe me, I would never have left you if I’d known what he was going to do.”

  “I know that, but you dealt with his abuse for years. What happened that was so bad you felt like you had to run away?”

  “Lots of things,” I say vaguely, not answering the question. Sinking back down onto the edge of the bed, I reach for her hands again. “I’m so sorry, Angelique. I’ve regretted leaving you every single day since I left. I couldn’t come back to the house, but I swear I’ve called at least once a week, every week, for the last two years, hoping you’d answer and I could speak to you, but you never did. Anyhow, I stayed as close to Archer’s Creek as I could, and for the last eight hundred and twenty-one days I’ve just been counting down until I could come for you and we could leave.”

  A sob escapes from her and she pulls one of her hands free to cover her mouth. “Why did he say you were dead?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it was wishful thinking on his part because he wanted me to be dead? Or maybe it was because he was a monster and he wanted all of us to suffer.”Or maybe thinking I was dead made it easier for him to look at himself in the mirror each day.

  Sobs wrack through my sister’s body, and I pull her into me and wrap my arms around her. “I’m so sorry, Sissy. I shouldn’t have left. Please forgive me, I’m so sorry.”

  As my words start to sink in, her sobs subside, and she sits up, pulling herself from my arms. She wipes the tears from her cheeks and shakes her head. “You don’t need to be sorry. You have nothing to apologize for. Our father was a terrible person, and he hurt us both, but he’s gone now, and we have to move forward and stop dwelling on the past. You did what you had to do to survive and I’m so glad you did. You’re here and we’re together now, that’s all that matters. I love you and I missed you so much.”

  I ignore the tears that are pouring down my face and throw myself at her. She laughs as we both fall to the mattress. Releasing her, I roll onto my back and stare up at the ceiling for a moment, then I turn my head to look at her. “Come live with me. We can stay in Archer’s Creek if you want, but we’ve missed out on two years. I don’t want to miss anymore.”

  Her eyes soften and for a second, I think she’s going to agree, then her lips part and a single word escapes her. “Daisy.”

  The kernel of hope that had started to bloom in my chest, dies with his name. “Wow, he’s really sunk his claws into you, hasn’t he?” I say acidly.

  Angelique sits up and twists to face me. With a heavy exhale, I slowly follow suit. This wasn’t how I expected reconnecting with her to feel, and honestly by now I thought we’d be sipping cocktails at the airport waiting for a flight to our fresh start. Instead, I’m sat in a biker clubhouse, dealing with the crashing realization that I won’t be leaving this town like the conquering hero I’d hoped to be. I’ll be alone, just like I’ve been for the last two years.

  “I love him,” Angelique says, a smile spreading across her face just from the thought of him.

  I nod sadly. “I can see that.” I want to shout and rant that I’m her sister and blood is thicker than water, but I left her and when she needed saving, he was here for her and I wasn’t.

  Though I try to find some happiness for her, I can’t. I’m disappointed that my sister found a boyfriend. I’m a horrible person, but I can’t help wanting to be selfish and keep her to myself now I’ve found her again.

  “You could always come and live with me and Daisy?” She offers with a bright smile.

  A wry laugh bursts from me and I sigh wistfully. “I think three’s a crowd.”

  “Oh, I’m sure we could make it work.”

  I shake my head. “No, we couldn’t.” After a second, I ask. “Is he good to you?” I don’t have to like it, but I need to make sure that the man my sister loves is worthy of her.

  “He’s everything,” she replies simply, and she doesn’t need to say anything else; the rest o
f her unspoken words are etched across her face.

  I try to smile, but it turns into a shaky grimace. “I only just found you and I’ve lost you already.”

  “No.” she says, with a strength I never knew my sister had. “Our lives are different—we’re different—but we’ll never lose each other again. I have room in my life for more than just one person, Nicole, and so do you. Since I met Daisy and the rest of his amazing family, my heart’s been so full of love, more than I ever thought possible. But there was still a hole that’s been there since the day I thought you died. It doesn’t matter how many new people are in my life, there’s always a place in my heart for you, Sissy, and there always will be.” Her eyes fill with tears. “I missed you so much. Please don’t leave me again.”

  “Never,” I say through shaky lips.

  We fall silent, the intensity of the moment preventing either of us from speaking. A laugh bubbles up from my chest, escaping my mouth with a bark. “Isn’t it ironic that you’ve fallen in love with a biker, the group of people our father hated most in the world?”

  Angelique chuckles lightly, then she looks at me and the small sound escalates into a slightly hysterical laugh. Our laughter breaks the tension of our conversation, and some of the pressure that had settled on me, when my P.I. had told me where my sister was, lifts from my chest.

  With a sigh, my laughter fades. “My baby sister’s all grown up.”

  “I’m pretty happy too,” she says with a smile.

  “With a biker,” I groan. “Why couldn’t you pick a nice normal teenager? Why did it have to be a biker?”

  “You always used to like bikers. You were totally loved up with the biker boyfriend you had just before you left. I remember him picking you up from the house and father going mad.”