Page 50 of Vicious Redemption

I just hope I haven’t fucked myself over in my attempt to protect our relationship.

“I’ll get this cleaned up,” Rasco says, nodding to the bloody floor where my eyes are fixed.

I nod. “Good.” Wrenching my gaze from the evidence of my brutality, I stalk from the cabin.

Rather than heading back toward the house, I exit through the back door and find the path of Tia’s flight when she ran from me several weeks ago. Why I’m driven to relive that day, I don’t know.

Perhaps to remind me of what I almost lost and why I chose to do things differently this time around. As I walk, I ponder. What I said to Tia the other night wasn’t an exaggeration. It seems my world has truly shifted to center around her. I want to make her happy. I want to do what’s best for our child. And with that seems to come far more soul-searching than I’ve ever done before.

I play back the scene from inside the cabin in my mind. To my surprise, I find I genuinely hope the man I shot survives. Even if he put my father in the hospital, he was just following orders, and it took serious guts to own up to it. They all clearly thought they were going to die, so stepping forward was an act of bravery that gave his companions the chance to survive. And in the end, I would rather be able to reward that kind of honesty—not punish it.

Even if the guy does manage to get the medical treatment he needs, it doesn’t make me feel less guilty for shooting him—a new emotion I know my father would disapprove of. And that, I think, is where Tia’s influence has impacted me most.

Wouldn’t it be the day if I could rule without the blood and death?

My feet carry me into the clearing, and my heart skips a beat to see that same ledge I watched Tia vanish over. I’ve never been so scared in my life.

I was terrified I’d lost her.

And I never want to feel like that again.

So this plan had better work. Because even if it’s a Hail Mary—completely outside the book of strategies my father has drilled into my head over a lifetime—it’s the only way I can think of that might reinstate order without taking Tia’s family from her.

But if I’m wrong, I’m fucked.

24

TIA

I jerk awake from my reclined position in bed, my heart breaking into a sprint at the unfamiliar music issuing from somewhere to my right. I must have fallen asleep reading.

It’s no wonder, considering Trudy suddenly became a slave driver this morning, asking if I would help in the kitchen because two of her girls called in sick at the last minute. I didn’t have the heart to tell her no, so I swore her to secrecy because I have no doubt Leo would have a fit if he heard I was helping the help again.

But by the time Trudy finally relieved me of my kitchen duties, I’m not ashamed to admit I was beat. I wanted nothing more than to curl up with a good book, which I’ve grown more accustomed to filling my days with lately.

And now, as I sit up, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, it takes several beats of foggy-brained confusion before I realize the sound that woke me is my sister’s ringtone. Her phone is buzzing inside the drawer beside the bed.

I scramble to answer it before the staff hears the music and realizes I have a device I’m not supposed to possess.

“Hello?” I murmur breathily, nearly dropping the phone as I bring it to my ear.

“Tia? Are you alright? Why do you sound like you’ve been running?”

Maria’s warm voice is laced with concern, but it fills me with happiness. God, I miss her.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I assure her. “I was just napping, and the phone startled me.”

She chuckles. “Okay,” she concedes. “But how are you? Is Leo still keeping you under lock and key?”

She sounds adorably offended for me, echoing my frustration when I rebelliously decided to go see her after I first found out I was under house arrest.

“Well, I’m still supposed to stick to the house, and I’m pretty sure he has Luigi watching me closely. But he’s taken me on a few field trips to give me some variety and make it less painful, and he promised it’s temporary—just until things calm down.” I fiddle with my paperback book, flipping haphazardly through the pages as we chat. I lost my place when I dozed off. I’ll have to find it again later.

“I’m glad to hear it, but I miss you. I wish we could hang out again.”

Maria sounds sadder now, and it wrings my heart. I don’t like to think of my little sister feeling lonely. She has our three youngest sisters there with her, of course, but they’re not quite old enough to have the kind of heart-to-hearts Maria and I are used to.

“I miss you too,” I confess.

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