Page 41 of Chase

Chapter fifteen

The Chase Family Home, Kensington

Twenty years earlier…

Connor

White powder everywhere. Mountains of it scattered across the work surfaces and bar stools in our kitchen. Violet is standing on the other side of the island, mixing an unknown substance in a bowl. Her dark curls, still unbrushed since this morning, are unruly around her shoulders. My little sister looks up and smiles when she hears my footsteps. Almost thirteen now, she’s growing up fast but still has a childlike demeanor. Her wide brown eyes dance as she continues to stir whatever she is making.

“Does Mum know you’re in here?” I ask. The closer to the mayhem I get, the more apparent the destruction is.

“No, I’m making surprise pancakes. Want one?” I shake my head as my gaze runs over the array of pots, pans, and glasses lying out amongst the food debris. A pack of chocolate chips lies scattered within the mounds of flour. The dark buttons have smashed against the granite worksurface.

“Does anyone know you’re in here?”

“You do,” she says brightly, and my heart sinks. Our father runs our home with an iron fist, and he doesn’t enjoy cute family moments or surprises. The older I become, the more I’ve discovered the man he is: a dangerous one with little control over his temper.

“That’s not what I meant. Where’s Mum?” She shrugs indifferently and starts to spoon some of the mixture onto a tray covered with silver foil. I watch as she lifts what looks like a ladle, sweeping it over the counter before lobbing the gloopy mess onto the tray. Liquid drizzles onto the granite and starts to mix with the flour, creating a mulch. “Should you not move the tray closer to the bowl?”

“I’ll tidy it up once I’m done. Do you think Dad will like them?” she says sweetly, her eyes firmly set on her task. When I don’t reply she glances up, hopeful, then her face falls as she takes in my expression.

“The Martins are due to arrive any minute, Violet. You were meant to be dressed and ready to greet them.”

Her eyes run over me taking in my freshly pressed white shirt and black slacks. “Oh…” she mumbles, then drops the bowl she’s holding onto the counter. The ladle bounces off the top then disappears behind the unit. More beige mixture flies into the air and lands all over the kitchen floor. Violet squeaks, stepping backward fast. “Shit!”

“Violet Chase!” our father’s voice roars from the hallway. I hear brusk footsteps, then he appears in the kitchen. “That language is not appropriate, and will not be tolerated in this house.” A big man, he fills the doorway as he stands surveying the scene confronting him in his modern, sleek kitchen. His chestnut eyes lock onto Violet, who’s clutching the countertop. She widens similar ones to him as he glares at her.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she begins. The words tumble out rapidly. “I was trying…”

“Yes, Violet. You are very trying,” he says, eerily quiet as he steps forward in her direction. Already dressed in his suit, he looks the epitome of the successful businessman, which he is. “What is all this?” he asks, waving a hand at the mess.

“Pancakes,” she whispers.

“Speak up!” With every foot closer he gets to his daughter, the more she withers beneath his stare. She steps backward as he rounds the kitchen island to put them on the same side as each other.

“I was trying to make pancakes for us all,” she repeats, a fraction louder with a clear note of terror in her words.

“And did you have permission to make pancakes?” His question is rhetorical; I know he knows she didn’t. I also know the best thing to do at this point of a conversation with my father is to stay quiet and shake your head, but Violet always has something to say, and today that will most likely land her in hot water.

“No, but…”

“But nothing,” he roars. “You took items and ingredients from my kitchen, paid for by me, and did not ask permission. That makes you no better than a common thief.”

“No,” she shrieks as he lunges and grabs her arm. “I was trying—”

“I don’t give a fuck what you were trying to do. You’re my daughter, living under my roof. Until that fact changes, you will not take anything that I consider mine without permission.” Violet starts to cry, tears seeping from her eyes as sobs catch in her throat. “Save your tears, Violet. Today, you will learn about punishment and how it is dispensed.”

“Sir,” I shout, wanting to divert the attention from her to me. “I understand you feel—”

“Stop talking now, boy,” he growls. “Or you’ll end up receiving the same punishment that your sister is about to experience.” He lets go of Violet's arm, and her hand snaps to the pale flesh marked red where he seized her. His hands move to his belt, and he begins to unfasten the buckle. Violet wails, and a violent hand strikes her hard across the face. She falls to the floor, then my father returns to removing his belt.

“The Martins,” I say into the tense abyss. “They’ll be here soon. Surely her punishment can wait.” My father turns to face me, wrapping his belt around one hand then slapping his palm with the loose strap.

“Do you think I will allow the appearance of some wannabe friends to stop justice when it needs to be served?” He raises his eyebrows, and I shake my head. Just then, a staff member, one of his guards, appears in the doorway.

“Sir, your guests are here. Mrs. Chase is waiting for you in the library.”

“Send them away,” my father snaps. “I’m no longer feeling sociable.”

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