Page 60 of The Devils' Darling

“No,” he snaps. “Go to her room, now, please.”

She frowns and, for a moment, mutinous anger crosses her features, but then she schools them.

“Don’t look so sad, step-mommy-to-be. At least you got a please.” I sneer at her.

The crack is hard and swift. My head whips to the side as my father’s palm makes contact with my cheek.

Mackenzie gasps, and I turn to her, knowing what is coming.

“Leave, now.”

Christ, I sound just like the fucker I hate. But I don’t want her witnessing this. She’s seen enough violence recently.

“You and I need to talk later, Lucia,” Nataniele says.

“Of course.”

She almost bows at him as she scurries out of the room. God, how did someone as magnificent as Duchess come from such a craven woman?

Then again, what choice does Lucia have? She must do all my father demands because he’s the one in charge here, not her. He holds all the cards, and quite literally, holds her and Mackenzie’s lives in his hands.

That needs to change. But how?

I turn back to him, and he’s calmly rolling up his sleeves. My muscles bunch, not in preparation for a fight—I won’t do that—but to prepare for the pain.

It comes in a swift blow to my stomach. I bend double, winded, and try to suck in air.

“Nice. Going for the places people can’t see this time, are we?” I laugh as I force myself upright.

His uppercut to my jaw disabuses me of that idea. My head rocks back, and I clutch the spot where his fist connected. I tongue the inside of my mouth, checking for loose teeth.

“You lied, you little fuck,” he rages. “You told me she was nothing but your sister-to-be.”

Another smack. I don’t try to defend myself because better he takes it out on me with his fists than trying to banish Duchess and her mom or something else insane. Although, I do believe, insofar as my father is capable of it, that he loves Lucia. He at least loves the idea of her. Her beauty and grace. He likes having all of that on his arm.

Grunting, he piles his fist into my side, and I stagger and fall. Holy shit. Blinding pain has me shaking with the intensity of it. I think the bastard hit my already damaged ribs. Nothing new there, then.

With an arm wrapped protectively around my side, I straighten and stare at him.

“Don’t go killing the heir now. Or this will all be for nothing.” I wave my free hand around as if to indicate the entire college. I wince in pain at the action.

“It’s sick. We will be a laughingstock.” His expression changes and he regards me, head tilted to one side. “Is that what gets you off, son? The sickness of it all? You want her exactly because she’s going to be your sister? Like sucking your little stepsister’s perky tits, do you?”

“Oh, you noticed them, then? So, you’re sick, too.”

He sneers at me. “Not in the way you are. I’m not weak. Do you suck your boyfriend Tino’s cock?”

I laugh at that pathetic attempt. “No more than you did with the men you shared with.”

Now he’s the one laughing, except there’s no humor in his tone. “We didn’t share them at the same time. Is that Russian freak in on this, too. Is that why you and Tino were so desperate to rescue her? Because Grigoriy would have given her solely to Kirill?”

He’s looking at me with such rage that his nostrils are flared like he’s running a marathon.

“It’s not sordid like you’re trying to make out it is,” I argue.

“It’s fucking sick and twisted, and the whole world will know you suck your sister’s tits and your friends’ cocks, and then you’ll be shunned for life.”

“She’s not my fucking sister,” I shout, finally losing my temper. “And it’s not fucking illegal to marry a stepsibling in most states.”

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