Page 73 of From the Ashes

I step toward her and bundle her against me, immediately feeling at ease as soon as she settles in my arms. “You got it, Princess,” I murmur, sending a pointed look at them over her shoulder. “No fighting.”

She relaxes in my arms, and some of the tension rolls from my shoulders.

She’s safe.

We’re all safe.

Even if it’s just for tonight.

Kovu appears in the doorway wearing just a pair of boxers, his eyes scoping the room for threats before they settle on Camilla in my arms and quickly moves to us. He’s never had an issue sharing, but he needs her more than the rest of us do right now.

I step back just in time for him to envelop her, and her eyes fall closed as he holds her tight against his chest.

“Let’s get you into bed, big guy,” she says softly. “Why don’t the rest of you go get cleaned up, and then we’ll get some sleep?”

Crew opens his mouth to argue, probably with some excuse about why he can’t stay and why he has to go to his office, but Bishop glares at him, and whatever he sees in his son’s eyes has him snapping his mouth shut again.

Somehow, I don’t think this truce is going to last very long.

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

KOVU

Istartle awake, and it takes long seconds for me to figure out what exactly woke me up.

But then I hear it.

Screaming down the hall has become the soundtrack to my life, but when they’re angry, they’re meaner.

I swallow past the fear that rises up the back of my throat and flick my eyes to the window beside my bed. On nights like this, I used to climb out and hide in the yard or down the street until they were too drunk or high to come after me, but then Joel got wise and nailed the window shut.

And not just my window. All of them. Which means there’s no escaping the stench of drugs and alcohol that has seeped into every surface in the house.

Joel is my dad’s friend. I think they went to school together, but I’m not sure. My parents and I haven’t ever had the kind of relationship where they talk about things like their childhoods. They were already hooked on drugs long before I took my first breath.

But he’s always here. Doesn’t he have his own life? His own kids? Someone else to torment?

I used to feel guilty for those thoughts. How could I ever wish what they did to me onto someone else? But after years of it, I’d give just about anything to not have to ever see their faces again.

The shouts grow closer, and I slip from between my threadbare sheets, reaching for the knife I keep under my mattress. It’s one I stole from the kitchen at school a few months ago. At the time, I was scared I would get in trouble, but the fear I face in this house of horrors is so much greater than anything outside these walls.

I slip the knife behind me and sink down in the corner at the end of my bed. I’m getting too big for this, with both my shoulders crammed between the metal frame and the wall, but it’s the only place in the room where I can see the door and protect my back without being the first thing they’ll see if they decide to come in here.

The door handle rattles and my stomach rolls with a mixture of hunger and nausea. When was the last time I ate something? Without school providing me with at least one meal a day, I’m left to scrounge for scraps of whatever my parents and Joel eat. I used to think they just forgot to feed me, but now that I’m getting older, fourteen next month, I think it’s to stop me from being able to overpower them.

But they’re wrong. I can overpower them even when I’m starving. I just have to get the element of surprise on my side.

My dad steps into the room, stumbling slightly before he catches himself on the closet by the door. His soulless blue eyes survey the room until they fall on me, but before he can step toward me, my mom appears in the doorway with a look of rage I only see when they’ve been on the hard stuff.

They can’t always afford heroin, their drug of choice, but when they can, that’s when I know I’m in for a rough time.

“You!” she roars, her bony finger coming up to point right at me. “You took my drugs.”

“I didn’t!” I shake my head, hating how my voice trembles with fear. The other boys my age are stronger than I am, but that’s what real food and no injuries from beatings do for you.

“You did, and this is the last fucking time I let you disrespect us in our house.” She advances on me, but I can’t shove myself to my feet quick enough to dodge the first hit.

Her fist sails into my cheek, and I grunt in pain. After all these years, the pain almost feels like home.

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