My head whips around at the disappearance, but the force of the guys holding me just increases to drag me further away.
“Cunts,” I mutter, as my eyes try to regain decent focus.
They are. All of them. Including the man who should be dealing with me rather than letting others do his dirty work for him. Never had Vico down as someone to leave this kinda shit to others. Thought he’d hand me my ass himself and relish the prospect. Whatever respect I had for him damn near disappears with that thought. Add into that the fact that he’s brought Fia along for the ride, just so she can see what her actions have caused, and energy somehow begins to seep back into my bones.
I’m suddenly dumped on a hard chair, arms letting go of me the second it happens. I stare at the black surrounding my vision, shaking slightly, and will my body to calm the fuck down to save what energy I have left for what’s coming. I’m gonna need it with these guys because I’m not standing and taking it unless it comes direct from Vico himself.
Silence lingers for a while and I continue to glare into the bag, waiting. There’s nothing I can do until one of them tries something, and even then, it’s gonna be a hard-fucking task with my hands tied. I grate them behind my back, knowing there’s no way in hell I’m getting them out of the tape, and start closing down all other thoughts to concentrate on sounds and smells to give me any advantage I can find when I need it most.
My thoughts drift back to Quinn teaching me to fight. Nothing was fair about it. He got those guys to hit me like they fucking meant it, telling me that no one fights and doesn’t mean it.
“It fucking hurts, Carter. Get used to it and learn to be quicker, smarter.”
I did. But hands tied?
Yeah, he didn’t teach me defence against that fucker.
I snarl to myself as I hear feet starting to move towards me, and I brace.
The punch to my jaw explodes across my face, knocking me sideways, but I’m damned if I’m going down to the floor from that. My stomach muscles strain to pull me back upright, and I try to work out where they are around me, how many of them. A set of feet scuffles to the left, another one or two sets to the right. And this time I hear the balance change when one begins to take a swing. I duck and swipe my leg out, connecting with his. The sound of his ass hitting the floor makes me smile and tilt my head away from them all, listening for where Vico is. He’s the only one I'll take hitting me.
He’s allowed to. No one else.
“Scared, Vico?” I holler out. Fucker. I’ll wind him up to force his hand. “Get this goddamn hood off me and come try your luck.”
Silence again, probably as the dicks wait for instruction. The blow to my head comes too quickly for me to dodge this time, but still I don’t fall off this goddamned chair. Fuck them. I growl as the pain throbs through my jaw and I right myself, pushing my way forward into hell blindly if that’s what’s necessary. “Get your ass over here and try making me beg,” I shout, spitting bile out at the cloth.
Hands grab me, forcing me backwards. Screw that. I use whatever I’ve got in me to turn in their hold, shoulder barging one out of the goddamn way, and then rear my head to connect with the other. He groans and backs off, giving me room to run at the sound of a third, but something swipes at my legs and takes me off balance before I get a chance to connect. My body slams to the ground, my chest and face taking the fucking impact, and then a shot sounds. I freeze, waiting for the explosion of pain to come. It doesn’t, but the sweet smell of powder filters through the cloth.
I laugh and roll back up until I’m standing, head shaking to clear my vision. That shit’s not going to happen. I’ll be made to take more pain than I’ve taken so far. Shooting would be too fast, and from what I know, Vico’s hands haven’t touched me yet. They’ll want to. They’ll be itching to take a swing, desperate to show me what fucking his precious little daughter gets me. Even if it does mean showing her what an animal he is.
“Not got enough guts to take me on yourself?” I shout again. Asshole. “That’s not the Vico I know.”
I barrel sideways, listening to the breathing of the guys surrounding me, and knock one of the cunts over in the process. The sound of metal clatters over the ground, a gun knocked from his grip probably. And then the sound of hard-soled shoes walking from a distance away makes me turn to look towards them, willing them closer. Finally.
Bring it. Come on.
I crick my neck and wait, stretching my shoulders and hoping whatever I’ve got left in me is enough to get me through his battery. If I’m lucky he’ll leave me half alive with his point made, and if I’m even luckier, my body won’t give up before it’s too late to get through it.
“Carter!” Fia.
The sound of a slap reverberates, and she squeals suddenly. All hell riles up in my body at the sound, sending my blood rushing to every muscle ready to attack. My feet power me towards the sound of her.
“You’re a stupid cunt, Carter,” his voice says quietly.
I snarl through the cloth, desperate to look into his eyes when this happens. I need it. Need to make my own point and have him see I'm not scared.
“He says, having just hit a woman like a fucking coward,” I spit out. That’s one thing that doesn’t happen in my world, no matter my heavy hands when I’m fucking one. “You touch her again I will damn well kill you for it.”
Silence.
And then the bag’s ripped from my head.
The dim light floods my eyes, blurring my vision, but still I search for her. She’s off to the side, maybe sitting in the chair I was in, a guy’s hands on her shoulders holding her in place. I glare at him, wishing I could rip his fucking head off for going anywhere near her, and then look back at her. She’s crying, the side of her face red from impact and tears making her cheeks shimmer in the dull light. So fearful, as if she’s never seen this side of her father. I guess she hasn’t. But this is the man her father is, who I am when needed—violent and corrupt.
I give her a half smile and nod my head, willing her to take strength from me, and telling her that she’ll be okay. She’ll be fine. She will. He’ll never hurt her other than to teach her whatever fucked up idea of morals he has. Me, on the other hand…
I should have known better.
My fists pump behind my back, and I turn my head to face him, hoping my sugar levels don’t bottom out too soon. It’s risky, I know that, but I’m fucked if I don’t at least try to take what he’s about to deliver and stay standing through it. That's all I've got here—the hope that he has some element of respect for me because I'm facing him off. Besides, he's old. I'm not. He can't hurt me any worse than Quinn does when he hits hard.
He's looking at me as he pulls his jacket off his shoulders and rolls up his sleeves, a tilt to his head.
“Dad, please,” she cries, through her muffled tears. “He saved me. You can’t do this when he’s done so much to protect ...”
“Stay quiet, Fia,” I snap.
His brow arches at my command, as if he’s pissed at me for daring to even speak to her in his presence, but it doesn’t matter who said the words. We both know what it means. She can sit there. See it. It’s coming no matter how much she doesn’t want it to happen, and I’ll take it. I said I would. I knew the consequences would catch my ass sooner or later. She was worth it. Still is. She’s a Vico and she deserves to see the truth of her father, but I’d have spared her this exact visual if I could. If there’s any way out of this, any fucking future left for me, or us, at all, she needs to understand what happens in this world whether she likes it or not.
His lips tip up a little, weathered features bringing all the angst as I keep staring at him. Fuck knows what at, but it’s not a smile anyone would consider amused, more about to flip the fuck out. I blow out a breath and step up to him, praying my legs stay true.
This is the only card I have. To prove myself. Rightly or wrongly, I touched her. Fucked her. Got inside something that I shouldn’t have done. Enjoyed it.
<
br /> And I’d damn well do it again tomorrow.
The first swing comes so hard and fast it throws me backwards, my feet tumbling over themselves to keep me upright and face him again. Damn, that fucking hurt, more than any punch Quinn's ever thrown at me. I pant from the ferocity of it and right myself, turning back towards him. I’m not given a fucking second to breathe before he barrels into me again, fists letting loose without care. I grunt and crash around, barely able to stand from the impacts. Left ribs, right, an uppercut sending blood flying from my mouth.
“Dumb fucker.”
Heat swarms inside me, muscles not knowing how to retaliate with what little energy I’ve got. I can hear her screaming in the background, hear her pleas as I keep tumbling around. One hit makes me crash against a wall, my cheek taking the brunt of my weight slamming into it, and then I feel something slice through the tape at my wrists. He kicks me forward, enough that I stagger, unsure what the fuck that means, and then see the blurred image of him coming straight back at me again.
“Fight back,” he growls. “Give me something more to kill.”
My hands go up, my body trying to remember what to do with them, but everything’s getting so fucking weak now, useless. I shake my head, hoping to see him and manage my body, but the continued battering, the lack of blood sugar, all of it rammed together, and I’m about to lose my grip on fucking reality let alone the ability to fight.
Another fist pummels into my nose, cracking it and wiping out what little vision I had left. My legs try retreating as I hear him move away from me, desperate to catch a damned breath, but more feet scuffle towards me, small ones. I twist and see him hauling her over to me, her eyes panicked as he yanks on her wrist callously.
"Look at what disobedience gets you," he shouts, forcing her head in front of mine. "Look what you've caused."
I back away some more, turning my face from her and her tears. She doesn't need to see this. Shouldn't. She's caused nothing. I did. Me.
But then he fucking slaps her again. I hear the smack against her skin, her shriek at the impact. Whatever strength I've got left launches me at him, my body getting straight in between them to break his hold as my hands shove his chest.
"Me, not her," I pant, trying to keep myself from wavering in the moment.
I'll take this. I will. Show him some fucking respect because of what I've done. But I'm not seeing her hurt because of any of it. Especially me. "Leave. Her. Alone."
Three fucking seconds I'm given before two guys grab me, and I spend those seconds pushing her well out of the way. I haven't got much left to fight with now anyway, and it comes too heavy and too fast for me to avoid. All hell riles up in me as they hold me fast, both of them pummelling relentlessly, but there's nothing left in me to fight back with. My body is battered with hits, all of them aimed like they want to do maximum damage as Vico watches on. Eventually, I feel myself drifting to thoughts of why I’m taking this. Pretty as fuck. Figure like a queen. Lips that kiss as if they’re made for me alone. My head ricochets off a wall again, and my frame tumbles uselessly. She was mine the moment I saw her, no matter how much I tried to deny it. Or respect him.
Mine.
Another crunch finally sends me flying towards the ground. I hit it hard, my body crunching against the concrete and jaw ricocheting off it. It takes everything I’ve got left to crawl up onto my hands and knees, trying to get up in his face again. Everything’s giving in, though. The world’s distorted. My physique is weak and drained, unusable. Even oxygen is getting hard to take in. I pant and heave, bracing one foot on the floor to try pushing upright again. It fucking gives way before I can, sending me straight back down to the dust again.
Every goddamn flaw I have because of this disease hits me.
At the wrong damn time.
I try focusing on the floor, still able to hear her faint voice screaming and crying, and heave in more breaths to find enough energy to turn my head to her. Nothing helps now. I can barely move other than trying to pull myself along. So tired. And sick. I feel sick and nauseous, weakened from it. Still, I pull, though, trying to show her she was worth this, that I'd take it again just for the taste of those lips, until I feel his hand grasping the back of my head to hold me still. It all finally gives in, and the last traces of my body’s fight for strength accept defeat. I'm done, and my forehead slamming onto the ground proves it.
There’s nothing left to give.
Twenty-Two
“Stop it… Dad, please…” I sob.
My vision blurs with tears at the sheer horrific violence I’m watching. My throat is dry and hoarse from crying and shouting to put an end to it. Every hit, every thud, lands harder, sounds louder, breaking Carter’s skin. He’s getting weaker by the second, and I know it’s not just the punishment but his disease.
He can’t keep his focus, and I lose sight of his eyes.
“Dad!” I bellow, as Carter crumples to the ground.
My limbs shake, and I fight with everything in my body to get up and help, to do something to stop it all. But the one man holding me, the one who grabbed me after Carter pushed me from Dad's grip, keeps me in place with ease, twisting my arms back to keep me from moving.
Trails of blood and saliva decorate the dusty floor in a pattern of despair. And standing over it all, my father.
“Dad, stop this. You’re going to kill him.”
“He should have thought about that before he touched you.” He doesn’t even raise his eyes from Carter’s battered body on the floor, barely moving.
“You can’t kill him for that. I’m not a girl. I wanted him. I’m not yours to rule over.”
I try to get up again, but my arms get yanked back to the point where I’m just waiting for my shoulder to pop out of joint. I’m bent forward, but I keep my head up as snot mixes with the tears on my face from all the crying. “Daddy, please.” My voice breaks and another choked sob echoes in the room.
“This is your fault. You asked for all of it,” he shouts.
“No, no, I didn’t. I wanted to know more about our family and you.” My panicked words run into one another. “I didn’t want to be in the dark.” I close my eyes and struggle for any sign of hope that this will end with Carter still breathing.
“Well, now you know.” He kicks his foot into Carter’s ribs, and a muffled groan leaves his body. I squeeze my eyes tight, wishing that when I open them again, I won’t be looking at his bloodied body. Or my father.
“He can’t even defend himself against me. What kind of man is he?” he jeers before spitting on Carter, as if he doesn’t mean anything.
“He needs to get to a hospital,” I mutter, tears still falling down my face. "Please, Dad."
He grabs Carter’s hair and lifts his head, a cruel sneer on his face as if he’s disgusted. There’s no sound, no moan or flutter of eyes. He’s unresponsive and dripping with blood. I shake my head, struggling for air as I look down at Carter’s body. He can’t be… No. He’s stronger than that. Stronger than my father.
“Well, this is your mess,” he eventually says, laughing as he dusts his bloodied hands off and casually walks over to me. "Your problem." He looks at the man holding me, and I'm released immediately. I jump to action, my legs nearly giving way as I scrabble to run over and check Carter.
“Not so fast.” He catches me around the waist and pulls me back to him, his dark eyes looking down at me for a moment as if he’s reconsidering his actions towards me. “We are leaving, and you can come home. Forget this and get back to how things were.”
He’s delusional if he thinks I’m going to go anywhere near him ever again.
“You don’t have the right to order me around anymore. I’m not your daughter after this—after you hit me as well as him. All the years you’ve kept me safe, and it’s by your own hands that you alienate me.” I wish the words sounded stronger, more menacing, but they came out wobbly from the grief and panic rising in my throat. “Now take your hands off me. You’ve done w
hat you wanted to. We're done. Finished.”
He releases me, and I drop to the floor next to Carter.
Tears flood my eyes, but I can’t give in to them. Carter needs me. I hope.
“Carter, please. Please, can you hear me?” I push his hair from his head and lean in to listen for breaths.
Nothing.
I don’t know what to do. I look around to see if I can find anything that might be able to help. The gun that was thrown away is lying in the dirt behind Carter. It’s a crazy idea, but I need to protect Carter the way he protected me. I scurry over the dust and grab the 9mm, palming the gun and twisting back towards my father.
“Leave,” I grit out. Holding the gun suddenly fills me with a power I’ve been missing. I’m not the weak and silly girl being thrown about and slapped. Now, I’m the girl who’s been shown how to shoot, and shoot well.
“What do you think you’re going to do with a gun, Sofia?”
“Don’t test me. I swear, I’ll shoot.” My arms lift the gun and point it at my dad. Hatred and frustration bubble up inside me at how easily my father dismisses anything I have to say.
“You won’t shoot me. I know my own daughter. Now. I’m waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to come with me. Your little—" he looks at Carter, disgust heavy in his brow "—game is over. I’ve seen to that, now get your fucking ass in the car.” His patience is thin, and it cracks through his voice. Well, I don’t give a crap. I’m through with doing as I’m told. He has no right to treat me the way he has and still make demands.
“I’ll never go anywhere with you again. You think you can hit me and beat up my boyfriend and then click your fingers? No, Dad.”
“Sofia Vico!” His bellowing voice sends a shock wave through the cavernous space. My grip tightens as tremors attack my hand. “You’ll have to shoot me to get me to leave you here. Think about that.”
Forbidden Eyes: A Cane Novel 4 Page 23
