Page 127 of Inked Adonis

Katerina Alekseeva and Tom Pierce.

The two people who could destroy everything I love, plotting together in my childhood kitchen like it’s perfectly normal. Like this is fine.

I crank the cold water knob as far as the rusty valve will allow and practically dunk my face in the basin.

The water shocking my system isn’t enough to erase the memory that floods back—me, bent over this same sink, washing blood from my face after one of Dad’s poker games went south. The deputy who blackened my eye claimed I was in the “wrong place at the wrong time.”

Dad kept me home from school. Couldn’t let the neighbors “get the wrong idea.”

When I pointed out their ideas wouldn’t be far from the nasty truth, he made sure the next bruise was somewhere only I could see. Taught me another lesson about keeping my mouth shut.

And now, I’m right back where I started.

My leg throbs, an angry knot of pain that pulses with each heartbeat. The dog attack feels like it happened in another lifetime, but my body remembers every tooth that tore into me.

Still, it’s nothing compared to the clutch of panic in the center of my chest. It’s a primal fear of Dad, this bone-deep kind of terror at the thought of his boozy, sweaty smell preceding him into any room. And then the man himself—tall, broad, a hairy, snarling shadow—stepping through the door to find me cowering in any corner I could reach.

It’s been a decade since I was within his grasp.

I feel like I never left.

Only one thought occurs to me, but it echoes again and again.I need to talk to Samuil.Even with the way we left things, I know he’d answer if I called. He’d pick up. He’d come.

No matter how fucked up things between us are right now, Samuil would save me.

Trouble is, I don’t have my phone. Even if I did, he’s halfway around the world.

I squint in the mirror, desperate for some tiny sliver of a bright side. A hint that things aren’t as unprecedentedly terrible as they feel.

But my reflection just shows me pale and shaking, blood spotted on my neck and jaw from the hospital. I wipe it away with the musty hand towel and run trembling fingers through my matted hair.

The girl in the mirror looks exactly like the one who fled this house all those years ago. Terrified. Weak. Ready to run.

“You’re not a coward,” I whisper to her, watching my lips form the words. “You’re not that scared little girl anymore.”

The words feel hollow even as I say them, but I grip the edge of the sink harder. I’ve survived worse than this. I’ve built a life I’m proud of.

I won’t let him take that from me.

“Go back out there and face him,” I growl at my reflection. “Stand up for yourself. For Samuil.”

Whatever Samuil’s vindictive ex-wife is plotting with my father, I owe it to all of us to find out what it is. Hope. My grandmother. Samuil. They’re counting on me, even if they don’t know it yet.

I wedge the crutch under my arm, biting back a moan as pain shoots through my leg. Adrenaline can only carry me so far, but it’ll have to be enough.

This time, I don’t bother trying to be quiet.

He’s still at the table, just closing his laptop when I stop in the doorway. “Dad.”

He turns to face me, not at all surprised to see me standing in front of him. “You’re finally awake.”

“I should be at the hospital.”

“The doctor released you into my custody,” he explains calmly. “He agreed that being home, with family, would help with your healing.”

“This was never my home.” My heart is crawling up my throat, but I force the words out anyway.I’m not a coward. I’m not a coward. I am not a fucking coward. “I don’t appreciate being drugged up and brought back here. I didn’t consent to this.”

“Were you hoping your boyfriend would take you home with him?” His lips pucker. “We’re family.”

---