Page 6 of Scar

“Wow,” she beams.

I grin. “See, and now you are smiling. My work here is done.”

Her eyes go soft and she gives me a small nod. Her phone pings in her pocket and she quickly pulls it out, her eyes going wide. “I’ve got to go. They’re home. Hide it. Hide it all,” she says panicked before getting to her feet and rushing out, locking the door behind her.

CHAPTER THREE

ELSIE

Why are they home?They aren’t supposed to be home for a couple of days. I quickly step out of the door to the basement and lock it. Taking a deep breath, I try to plaster a neutral expression on my face before I walk into the kitchen, where my mother is already opening a bottle of wine. Her eyes flicker up to mine, nothing but bitter distaste in her gaze.

“I thought you were going for the weekend?” I ask, hating how weak my voice sounds.

“Your father got a call that required us to turn right around and come home,” she says before taking a sip of her wine. Her eyes look me up and down. “Why do you look like that?” she asks, her voice laced with her usual venom.

I look down at myself and shrug. “I’m just in my normal clothes.”

“Not your clothes, your face. You’ve done something to your face,” she snaps.

My hands automatically go to my face. I haven’t put any make-up on today or done anything differently.

She walks towards me, her eyes narrowing as she comes to a stop just in front of me. “You’re up to something. I can see it in your eyes, in your flushed cheeks. You better not beembarrassing me or your father. You know how he gets if you do something he doesn’t approve of,” she warns.

I give her a curt nod, knowing exactly how he can be, still having the scars as a reminder. She looks me up and down one last time. “Get changed out of that ridiculous outfit. You look like a slut,” she spits before sauntering off, drinking her wine.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath as I try to not break, to not let her words destroy me like they used to.

“I don’t care if you think they won’t be coming this weekend! I want the assurance that I am safe!” my dad barks as he walks into the kitchen with Layton and his minions hot on his heels. I am about to slink away when my dad’s eyes land on mine. “Princess!” he exclaims, a smile on his face. I hate it when he calls me that. He only ever does it in front of others. Again, a false show for everyone else’s benefit. I plaster on a fake smile as he pulls me into his arms, my body stiff against his. He leans back smiling, but I don’t miss the look of warning in his gaze. Do not show him up in front of anyone. He turns to face Layton and the others, draping his arm over my shoulder. “Isn’t my daughter the most beautiful young woman?!” he yells, acting the proud father. The tips of his fingers dig into my arm, the continuous warning of what he will do if I step out of line. I play the dutiful daughter and smile. Layton’s eyes sweep over my body, his eyes lingering over my breasts.

“She is beautiful, boss,” Layton agrees, nodding.

I recoil at his words and the look in his eyes. As I clear my throat, I want to take the attention away from me. “Is everything okay, Daddy?” I ask in that sickly sweet way I know he likes. I want to gag just saying the words.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze. “Nothing, just some silly bikers thinking they can threaten me. Don’t you worry, I will stamp them out, just like I always do.” He places a kiss on the top of my head.

I keep my expression one of concern, rather than worry or excitement that they might be coming for him. “Oh, I’m sorry Daddy. Will we be okay? Do you need me to help in any way?” I ask. When in reality, I only want to find out more information. If they are coming for Scar, then I can get a message to him, tell him to be prepared.

“Always thinking of others, that is my little girl,” he praises. “I may need you to help in the office while we are dealing with this, and also keep the guys hydrated and fed,” he says with a smile. I smile back while screaming in my head ‘sexist fucking pig!’Forgetting that he taught me how to shoot, how to fire a cross bow, how to use a blade in a fight, I could tackle each and every one of his men right now. Instead, I stick to the rules, to the act, to how he wants me to behave, remembering what happens when I step out of those boundaries. “You could make us your famous cookies. I know all of us will appreciate them,” he says, giving me another squeeze. His cell rings and he removes his arm from my shoulder. “What?” he barks down the phone. “You find out what they are planning. I will not have them outsmarting me! Me!” he yells as he walks out of the kitchen. The other guys follow behind like the good little lap dogs they are, all except Layton who stops next to me.

I freeze as I look up at him, hating him with every fibre of my being. He was a friend of my brother’s, and they tormented me. He made me do things no teenage girl should ever be forced to do.

As he reaches for a lock of my hair, I flinch. He smiles, tracing his fingertips along my temple down to my jaw before gripping my jaw tightly in his hands. “I’m going to take you on a date, and you will come with me. It will please your father, and it will please me. Then if you’re a good little girl, I might let you suck my cock,” he whispers quietly in my ear.

“No,” I say through gritted teeth.

He smiles against my cheek. “Keep telling me no. You know how I like it when you try to fight me. When you beg me to stop,” he sneers. I fight everything within me, wanting nothing more than to run in fear, but I stand still, unmoving, my face void of emotion. I’ve learnt over the years that it’s best to just accept it and move on. If I fight or run in fear, it only excites him more. “Good girl. Be ready for 7 and wear something slutty,” he orders before walking out to follow my father.

I don’t move. I wait, making sure that he’s definitely gone. Once I can no longer hear him or see him, I let out a slow breath. Bracing my hands on the counter, I don’t want to go out with him. I do not want to be alone with him. I pray for someone to attack, or for some kind of major issue that forces Layton to work.

I quickly go about making the cookies my father had requested, the entire time my thoughts trailing to Scar down in the basement, hoping and praying for his and my sake that he managed to hide everything I had given him. I didn’t want to think about what would happen if my father found out I was being nice to Scar. He would see it as the ultimate betrayal.

After the cookiesare ready and still warm from the oven, just how my father likes them, I carry a tray of them to his office, pausing to knock lightly on his door. Another thing I learned at a young age, do not knock too loudly and interrupt what he is doing. Knock just light enough so not to disturb, but loud enough so he can hear.

“Yes?” he barks. I carefully open the door to his office and see Layton is sat on the small couch, a glass of vodka in his hand. He always drank neat vodka when he was stressed.

I force a small smile on my lips, holding out the tray. “I made you those cookies, Daddy,” I tell him softly.

He stands from behind his desk and walks around, taking one from the top of the pile. After taking a bite, he moans and smiles, looking down on me with contentment. It’s a look that I don’t receive often. There was a time I would make him these cookies just to get that look from him. It’s only been the past couple of years since I gave up trying, realising that he would never truly look at me with love or affection.

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