Page 6 of Manic

"Still got some fire in you, huh?" he sneers, grabbing my arm and twisting it behind my back.

I cry out, tears of pain and fury stinging my eyes. "Let go of me, you bastard!"

He slams me against the door, my cheek scraping against the rough wood. "Watch your mouth, girl. I'm still your father."

"You don’t remember? You'renothingto me," I spit out, struggling against his grip.

His response is another blow, this time to my ribs.

I double over, gasping for air.

As I'm bent over, trying to catch my breath, a voice cuts through the haze of pain and fear.

"Yo! What the fuck she do to you?"

My father’s grip on me loosens slightly as he turns to address the newcomer. "Mind your own fucking business," he snarls.

I take advantage of his distraction, attempting to wrench free, but he anticipates my move.

His elbow connects with my temple, and my vision blurs.

Suddenly, there's a scuffle, and the pressure on my arm disappears.

I slump to the ground, disoriented, my head pounding.

When my vision clears, I see a man standing between me and my father, a gun pointed directly at his head. "Get the fuck outta here before I blow your mother fuckin' brains out," the stranger growls.

My father’s eyes narrow, darting between me and the gun.

For a moment, I think he might try to fight, but then he takes a step back.

"This isn't over," he says, his gaze boring into me.

I watch him walk away, my heart hammering in my chest.

Only when he's out of sight do I let out a shaky breath.

The stranger holsters his gun and kneels beside me. "You all right, darlin'?"

I nod, wincing at the movement. "I'll be fine," I manage. "I know how to take a punch."

But even as I say the words, I can feel myself trembling.

The adrenaline is wearing off, leaving me rattled and terrified.

I think of my daughter, safely at her sleepover, blissfully unaware of how close danger had come.

"Thank you," I whisper to the man, my voice cracking. "I don't know what would've happened if you hadn't shown up."

The man extends his hand, a mix of concern and wariness in his dark eyes. "I'm Darius," he says, his voice gentler now.

I hesitate for a moment before taking his hand.

"Meghan," I reply, wincing as I try to stand.

Darius helps me up, his grip firm but careful.

As he steadies me, my gaze falls on the emblem on his shirt: Purgatory.

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