Page 35 of Carved in Ruin

Before I can respond, his hand shoots out, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking me inside.

“Oh no,” he mocks, dragging me through the entryway. “My little girl thinks she can rebel now, does she?”

“Let me go!” I scream, clawing at his hand. “Let me the fuck go!”

His grip tightens, and he laughs coldly. “Cursing too? You really have no shame.”

He drags me to the bathroom, ignoring my thrashing. I hate the way he stays calm, as though my resistance is nothing but an inconvenience to him.

“Stick out your tongue,” he commands.

I shake my head violently, pressing my lips together. He slams me against the sink, his body pinning me down. The weight of him makes my stomach churn, he’s way too close.

“You’ll do as I say,” he growls, pulling a bar of soap from the counter.

“No! No!” I yell, thrashing harder, but his grip is ironclad.

He forces the bar into my mouth, his hand cupping my jaw to keep it there. The taste is vile, burning my tongue and throat as I gag against it.

“This,” he murmurs, his free hand caressing my hair, “is why I need to put you back in your place, sweet girl. You cut your hair. You cursed. You thought you could break the rules. Even though you’re my favorite, this is unacceptable.”

I gag harder, tears streaming down my face as I try to push him off, but he’s immovable.

“I’ve been too easy on you,” he mumbles, almost to himself.

And then a voice cuts through the room like a blade.

“Get your fucking hands off her.”

My father freezes for a split second before straightening. Rafael stands in the doorway, his frame taking up nearly theentire space, Layla and Anatoly right behind him. His eyes are black with fury, his jaw tight.

“Anatoly,” Rafael says coldly, his gaze never leaving my father. “Take Layla out of here. Now.”

Layla lunges forward, screaming, “Let her go! Let her go, you pig!” Anatoly grabs her, hauling her back as she struggles against him.

This is humiliating. My pride hurts more than my scalp. I want to die.

“Rafael!” my father snaps. “Don’t you dare interfere. This is a father disciplining his child.”

But Rafael steps closer, slowly, methodically. His movements are deliberate, terrifying in their calmness.

“She isn’t a child, and she sure isn’t yours to discipline.” Rafael’s voice is deadly.

“Stop!” my father interrupts, his confidence faltering as Rafael looms over him. “You don’t have a say in how I raise my daughter!”

Rafael doesn’t respond with words. He moves, fast, brutal, his fist connecting with my father’s face with a sickening crunch. My father stumbles back, but Rafael doesn’t stop. He punches him again, again, again.

Father falls to the floor, gasping, blood dripping from his nose, his lips. “Stop!” he croaks, looking to his guards for help.

But they don’t move.

Rafael glances at them, a cruel smile tugging at his lips. “They’re under my command, Milos. They won’t lift a finger for you. You sure are a stingy motherfucker—threw a few extra bucks their way, and suddenly, they don’t even remember your name.”

Father’s eyes widen, and he tries to crawl away, but Rafael grabs his wrist, forcing his arm out. He pulls out his gun, pressing it to his hand, the one he used to drag me, and fires.

The crack of the shot echoes through the bathroom, and father screams, clutching his hand as blood pools beneath him.

Rafael crouches beside him, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look up. “I’m keeping you alive for now,” he growls. “Because there’s more to come. But if you so much as touch a single hair on her head again, I’ll kill you. And trust me, it won’t be quick.”

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