Page 17 of Ruthless Rebel

What the hell is wrong with him?

And more importantly, what the fuck is wrong with me?

Sweat trickles down my back and my hands itch to touch something, and it’s as if every inch of my body stands to attention.

I feel… I don’t know what I feel, but it isn’t normal, and as I begin to try and dissect my interaction with Lincoln, flashes of unwanted images mix together in my head of my best friend being held down and raped. Of my brother slicing her stomach and legs, just for the pleasure of seeing her bleed and hearing her scream. Those fucking screams, I can hear them even now as if it is still happening right in front of me, and bile burns at the back of my throat as I stumble from my bed to the bathroom.

Vomit chokes out of my mouth as I think about what he did to her, what he did to all those girls, while I just stood by and watched. I may have saved Elle, but there were so many more before her, after her, and I just let it happen. Then I think about how I spent my nights after saving Elle, how I was invited into their sick fold of fun and games, how they thought I was one of them.

I think about all the women I fucked under my father’s roof just to make him believe I was a true heir. I can barely remember any of their faces, but I can still feel their breath on my cheek, and their hands on my chest. I can smell their perfume, and hear their moans as they ride me. I can see myself bending them over in the corner of his parties and fucking them for his pleasure and demand. Just doing whatever was expected of me as the son of a Donovan, and it makes me sick how I used their bodies for pleasure, and then discarded them as if they were nothing.

The entire bottle of vodka I just drank comes back up, and my heart is still pounding in my chest as I fight against night after night of the heinous horrors of my childhood. I think about the day I was shot, about how easy it would have been to just give up and join my father and brother in hell where we belong, but then there is the smallest of lights in the biggest pits of darkness.

Cassie.

My daughter is everything to me. It’s as if the second she was born someone ripped my heart from my chest and let it walk around outside of my body. I look at her, I see her smile, and suddenly I feel something good, something worthy of this life, of being her father, and all those nights, and all those girls fade into the background. Because if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t haveher. Every time I feel like giving up I just think of her, and I know I have to endure anything and everything I can to survive whatever comes our way.

I let images of her cascade through my mind as I slump against the sink, breathing deeply as her beauty erases all the pain. I think of Elle and how happy she is, of what it’s going to be like to watch her marry her first love and know that she survived, that she escaped, that I helped her before things got worse. The two of them ease the ache in my chest, and I feel my heart rate beginning to slow, but then they disappear and in their place are dark eyes smiling at me. There’s a wicked smirk, a flirty remark, and Logan grinning at me like a fool with puppy dog eyes. It doesn't matter how many times I knock him back, how many times I push him away, he still comes back for more, like he can’t bear to be away from me.

Then suddenly his eyes are replaced with a green set that assesses my every move. I see glasses, and a computer, his promises to protect the two girls I love most. I see the knife in the back he took to save my daughter, and the look in his eyes as he stared down at me bleeding out on the floor the day I was shot. I feel his warmth as he pushes closer to me, the smirk that tugs on the corner of his mouth every time he utters that maddening nickname. Yet instead of the anger I usually push out towards him, I feel something different. Lincoln’s presence calms me somehow, like he knows exactly what I am going through, like he knows what I did, but doesn’t care. Like he understands me, and it’s only then with thoughts of the two of them in my mind, do I realize my heart rate is completely back to normal and I can breathe easily again.

That’s the last thing I remember as I slowly drift off to sleep to the images of a Rebel and his boyfriend.

The next morning I startle awake, the bathroom floor cold and hard against my cheek as I try to remember where I am. I push up, wincing at the throbbing in my head and the dryness in my throat, as I push away the images that haunted my dreams as I slept.

When I look in the mirror, blue soulless eyes stare back at me and I cringe at the shadows beneath them. I strip down and climb straight into a cold shower to try and make myself feel better, basking in the feeling of the icy cold water against my sore muscles as they awaken. I pour some of my body wash into my hands and massage it into my skin, ignoring the bullet hole in my chest as my fingers glide over it. Once I am fresh and awake, I step out, wrapping a warm towel around my waist and heading to my walk-in closet.

By the time I am dressed and leaving my room, I can hear the tell-tale tone of my daughter's giggle floating up the stairs, and it makes everything inside of me feel better. I follow the sound until I find her and Marcus eating a bowl of strawberries at the breakfast bar.

“Daddy, look River got me strawberries,” she giggles excitedly, and warmth spreads across my chest.

“He did? That’s awesome, baby girl,” I grin genuinely, moving towards them both, dropping a kiss to her head, and offering Marcus my fist to bump. “Where’s Mommy?” I add in question, looking around but finding no sign of her.

“She forgot she had an early meeting in town with the foundation so she left us to fend for ourselves, didn’t she?” Marcus purrs, doting on my daughter so completely that I can’t help but feel anything but happiness.

“But I thought you teach an early class at the center on Tuesdays?” I ask, moving to pour myself a coffee, and I see him nod.

“Yeah, I’m just writing a text to cancel it now, Elle couldn’t get out of her meeting, so I volunteered to watch Cass,” he shrugs, like it’s no big deal, and to him, it isn’t. He loves Elle, and loves my daughter even more. I couldn’t ask for anyone better in their life,but I know he loves the center and those kids too.

“Well, I can do that, I pushed back my first two meetings,” I explain, not adding the reasons why. “I can take over here and you can go teach your class,” I tell him, knowing with the throbbing still in my head that I won’t be getting any work done until I have drowned my body in caffeine.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and now it’s my turn to nod.

“Of course I’m sure, we’ve not had a daddy daughter breakfast date in a while, have we, Angel?” I move my attention to my daughter and she looks up at me like I’m her hero, like I’m the most important person in the world, and it makes me feel invincible.

“Yessssss!” She squeals, throwing her hands in the air towards me, and I place my cup of coffee down and pull her into my arms for a cuddle.

“Sold,” I reply, bringing my nose to her hair and inhaling deeply, letting her entire presence settle all the demons inside me.

“Thanks man, you’re the best,” Marcus tells me, and I almost laugh.

“I don’t think I have ever been called the best before,” I reply dryly, and his eyes turn solemn, as if he recalls all the things that plague my nightmares. Not that he could know, but then my daughter interrupts before any of them can take place.

“You are the best, daddy,” Cassie tells me as she pulls away from me, looking up at me with nothing but adoration in her big, baby blue eyes.

“Sometimes the smallest people have the biggest impact,” Marcus says, as he kisses my daughter’s head in a way so similar to me, and then slaps me on the back with a smile. His words resonate through my entire being as he leaves, but all I can do is stare down at my daughter with a smile, because he’s right.

My childhood wasn’t really a terribleone, not in hindsight. I mean yes my mother left, and my father was worse than the devil, but I still had a relatively good childhood for the most part. I was treated well, and having the last name Donovan opened more doors than I cared for, and it still does now. It wasn’t until that night in the woods that I realized the cost of it all, the true price of being a Donovan, yet still I was never really hurt.

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