Page 81 of Soul of a Psycho

I don’t even realize Ruby has put her arms around me, not until the crying is so great that I begin to hyperventilate. My lungs want all the oxygen, willing to expand beyond my chest, but she holds me tight, her small arms surprisingly strong, keeping me from tearing open like a paper bag.

“I hate him,” I cry, over and over again.

She doesn’t say anything, pulling me to the bed. I don’t know if I did it or her, but somehow I end up with my head on her chest, coiled into the fetal position. It feels silly. She’s so much smaller than me, but emotionally, I’m the tiniest I’ve ever been…

Years of silence have finally broken me. I’m in sniveling bits, grasping onto her as the agony wreaks havoc in my soul. I’m feeling everything I shouldn’t feel. Because I can’t be a victim. I can’t be the girl abused by her father. I can’t be the girl who was raped. I can’t because, in the words of my father, how would that look?

Or are they my words now…?

Another painful sob tears through me.

I don’t want them to be my words.

Chapter Fifty-Two

Cade

Lola’s Mountain Keep is an elegant bed and breakfast secluded at the top of Angel Point. It may look quaint from the outside, with log ship-lap and cordoned off blueberry bushes, but the inside gleams. It has all the trappings of luxury for the pompous tourists looking for a getaway in a mountain town. It’s also where the snobby parents of Hillcrest students stay. It’s where Sky’s father is staying.

I’ve parked across the highway, in the underbrush that is no doubt scratching the paint. My eyelids droop behind the steering wheel, dawn due to break soon, and I tuck my arms in tighter around myself, sinking down even though I know I shouldn’t. I can’t risk falling asleep and missing him. And there’s no help from Bobby.

He’s snoring softly in the passenger seat, a poor excuse for an accomplice, and I grit my teeth. I told him that I didn’t know how long this would take, that he would most likely miss classes, and yet he just shrugged and fiddled with the radio. Putting on a country station.Country.It took everything in me not to push him out of the car and leave him on the side of the road. I don’t want him here, but I couldn’t leave him either. He’s fucking growing on me, like moss on a rock, and it pisses me off. He hasto know this is some shady shit, but he didn’t even ask questions, seemingly just happy to be along for the ride.

But this isn’t just a ride.

This is me losing my mind.

I have bombs to build, grades to maintain, and Sky to protect, but here I am, waiting for her father, still not sure if I’m going to cut off his fingers or kill him. It’s not because I can’t decide, it’s because I don’t know what I’m capable of. I’ve spent the last six hours trying to calm myself down, mentally reminding myself of why I need to be careful, but none of it has got me to turn the car on and go back to campus.

Time’s up though, because in the dim haze of first light, a figure emerges from Mountain Keep. All the blood in my veins boils, and I’m instantly wide awake, sitting forward. Davis Lyons wheels a sleek suitcase behind him, checking his watch, oblivious to his surroundings. He probably thinks he’s untouchable. I’m all too happy to change that.

I’m out of the car, knife in hand, before I’ve even blinked. All I can see is Sky’s pretty little eyes filled with tears. The marks she probably has on her arm. And my mind goes wild, conjuring past bruises, each one more brutal than the last. No one touches my angel. Not then. Not now. Not ever.

Davis is just wrapping around to the back parking lot when I slam into him. The thud he lets out when he hits the building makes me feral, and I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, holding his pretentious face against the splinter ridden wall.

“What the—”

“Shut the fuck up,” I seethe, pressing the knife to his back.

He tenses, and the scent of fear begins to radiate off him. A sick roll of power ripples under my skin, and I tighten my hold on his vertebrae, resisting the urge to feel it crack in my grip.Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him. Don’t kill him.

“What do—” he clears his throat, still trying to have some composure. “What do you want?”

A tempted sound rumbles from my chest as I picture exactly what I want, and I lean forward, bringing my jaw to his ear.

“To pick your jugular out of my teeth.”

He suddenly tries to push off the wall and throw his head back. Too bad I’m stronger, feeding on the rage like it’s a steroid. I slam his face back into place, feeling his brain rattle in his skull from the impact. I want him to try again. I want to have to crack it open. I could have let him push into the knife. It would have been an accident. I mean… sort of an accident.

No. No. No.

“You’re that punk,” he groans as the daze passes. “The one trying to defile my daughter.”

A sinister sound climbs up my throat, something like a laugh, but nowhere near natural. “Yeah, I’m that punk.”

“You’re done, kid. You’ll be behind bars for this.”

That’s funny. It’s really fucking funny, considering he doesn’t even know if he’s going to survive this. The audacity of this piece of shit.

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