Page 3 of Líadan's Code

My best friend found me five years ago quiet, scared, and hiding in my closet when he came back from his trip. He refused to leave again for very long, knowing something happened, even though I refused to tell him about it.

My fingers were mostly healed by the time he came back from his trip to Ireland, my ribs were good as new, but there were shadows in my eyes where there weren’t before.

Brendan has a special kind of experience with the abuse my father rained down on me, even though I refused to tell him what happened. He recognized the darkness and didn’t push. I know it doesn’t matter if he’s around or not, because Daddy will find a way to hurt me if I’m not the perfect daughter.

The difficult part is figuring out what that means for me, since it changes from day to day.

Be strong, aloof, yet gracious. Don’t talk back, daughter. Yet don’t take anyone’s shit.

“It’s just another day,” I tease him, breathing in his scent. He smells like gun oil, leather, and sage. “Thank you, though. Do you have any idea what’s going on downstairs? I’m currently being a coward and hiding.”

“Hey,” he murmurs, stepping further into the room and closing the door. My eyes shift furtively toward it, swallowing hard. I trust my best friend implicitly, but if Daddy catches me in a room with a man, any man, he’ll flip his shit.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know. How many ways do you know how to kill a man now?”

Letting go of him as I step back, I smirk at him.

“Twelve, but I’ve never actually killed anyone,” I remind him. “It doesn’t help me to know how to protect myself if doing so will get me killed.”

“Is Bruin still bothering you?” he asks, brows furrowing.

Daddy hired a new guard recently. The man is huge, cruel, and the reason I often find new bruises on my skin. Bruin’s fingers seem to find the best places to pinch, squeeze, and hurt me whenever I leave my room.

Sometimes, Daddy will ask me to come speak to him, but Bruin will be waiting for me instead. It’s so fucked up, but an endless cycle I can’t seem to break.

“Yes,” I sigh. “Daddy sent a dress up, and it’s really revealing. I haven’t seen Bruin in two weeks, which is how long it’s taken for my bruises to disappear. It makes me think this has been planned.”

Brendan grits his teeth together until I swear he’s going to break a tooth. His piercing green eyes say everything he wants to but can’t. While he’s a walking death machine, one wrong move could have me killed or very injured.

My life isn’t a fairytale, yet I hold onto what safety I can find, because I know it can always get worse.

“Show me the dress, Lía,” he growls.

Rolling my eyes at him, I walk to my closet and open the door. My room is set up for a mafia princess, but it’s difficult to enjoy the opulence when I know it’s window dressing to cover up how difficult my life is.

Daddy pulled off the white gloves after he found me in his office when I was twelve. I’d never been beaten like that before.

While Brendan can’t save me from everything, Daddy has been more careful about how he hurts me, and I’ve never been caught somewhere I shouldn’t be again.

I’m a very fast learner, even when the rules are always shifting.

Closing my eyes for a moment, I tell myself that no matter what is waiting for me, I can handle it. No tears, because they don’t deserve them. Taking a breath, I open my eyes and pick up the dress from the hook I left it on.

Turning, I hand it to my best friend, and watch his gaze smolder. I’ve been in love with him for as long as I can remember. The emotion has simply shifted into something deeper as I grew up.

Brendan, on the other hand, has been girl crazy for a few years, but recently I’ve had the pleasure of watching his eyelids hood when he looks at me.

It’s so fucking hot.

“There’s nothing to this dress, Lía,” he growls, scowling. “Where the fook is the rest of it, love? There’s no goddamn back to it, either.”

“That’s the million dollar question,” I mutter. “I don’t know what Daddy was thinking when he had this delivered. I’m not a whore. I’ve never even?—”

Gulping, I throw my hands up. I’m very sheltered as my father’s daughter. I’m a virgin, I’ve never been on a date, and my first kiss? Nonexistent.

My father calls me a classic, Irish beauty. My long raven black hair is shiny and down my back, I have curves in the perfect places, and I’m a D cup. My skin is clear and pale, and I’m not ignorant of the way the boys in school would look at me.

Daddy tried to starve the curves off my body, but I started passing out at school and the school nurse called him, worried I was anorexic. He pulled me out of school to finish online last year, because he thought I would distract the boys in class and he got tired of answering questions from administration.

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