Page 71 of Mine, Forever

“I know, but I do have two supermodels to trade for her if need be.”

Adora gasped, struggling against her restraints. “You wouldn’t.”

I moved closer to her, getting right up close to her face. “I would… gladly in fact. Because for Ebony, I would destroy the fucking world to make her happy.”

York called out to me. I spun around and left the warehouse leaving her screaming after me. Chaz had gotten out of the car and handed the keys to York.

“Do what you have to if she tries to escape.”

He nodded. “I’ve got Patrick standing guard over the sisters.”

I bent down and retrieved my cell before getting in the car. York sped toward the house on the hill—also known as the house I spent my childhood in—forcing unwelcome memories to come to the forefront of my mind.

???

1992

My mother’s screams had dulled enough for me to venture out from my room. I hated it when father was home, he so rarely was which I loved, because he always made my mother so sad. Spending time with my happy mother had been the best use of time outside of school. I knew my father was a criminal, had known since I was six when he was arrested for the first time, it hadn’t lasted, though. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps. He’d told me so himself, but I was too young. As I passed another birthday, only days before, I knew it was getting closer, but I didn’t want to be part of his ‘crew.’ I didn’t want to hurt people.

My mother, the blessed angel she was, wanted me to have a childhood. It was something she never had, or so she told me. I didn’t understand what she could mean by not having one. Didn’t every child have one? How else would they become an adult?

My mother’s whimpers were heard as I stopped midway on the stairwell in the dark. I could see her lying in the hall. Her face was bruised, cuts on her eyebrow from what I could see from the light streaming in from the window by the door. I was stunned, unable to move or speak, unable to stand up to my abusive father.

“Please…” she croaked out. “Not here.”

“The boy has to learn sometime.”

He stepped over her body grabbing a fistful of hair and dragging her back into the parlor. I felt hot tears making their way down my cheeks. Silently running down the stairs, I made my way into the dining area and hid in the corner in the dark. The wall began to thump beside my head along with the strangled cries of my mother’s pained grunts.

I knew that sound. Although I was only nine, my father had taken me to his brothels where the same pained grunts were heard all around.

My mother hated him, yet she stayed, couldn’t leave, or so she told me. I didn’t know why, but it had something to do with me. I just knew it. I hated that I was the reason for all her suffering and pain.

She screamed again, and then I heard a gunshot. The thumping stopped as had her whimpering. I couldn’t hear anything at all. Silence surrounded me.

Then, suddenly, he called out my name. I started running up the stairs and took off toward the parlor. My mother lay in a heap on the floor, half naked. Her skirt pulled up over her hips, her blouse ripped open, but her head was cocked to the side, eyes wide open and lifeless. I fell to my knees beside her. Her hair was disheveled with blood matting it against her face, her arms and legs full of cuts and bruises, pink hand marks surrounded her throat. Worst of all were her open eyes, dull and lifeless.

“Mommy,” I squeaked out unable to do anything as I knelt there feeling as if my whole life had just ended.

I reached out to brush her hair away from her face to find it was hiding a bruise made by my father’s ring. I could see the clear indentation from the engraving in her cheek.

“Mommy…”

“Take a good look, son.”

I heard my father come into the room behind me, but I couldn’t look at him. He’d done this. He’d taken my mother from me in the most brutal way possible, knowing full well I could hear it. “You’ll need to get used to this.”

“Why?” I cried out.

He was carelessly wiping his bloodied hands on a towel as if my mother meant absolutely nothing in this world, and this was just a job like changing the oil in a car.

“Why?” he repeated. “Because she was holding you back, my boy. You’re meant for so much more. But first, I need to break that soul of yours.”

A wicked smile made its way onto his hardened face. It was at that moment I realized my childhood was over.

“Jett?”

I looked over at York and then out the car window. We’d arrived. Staring up at the large double doors of the manor I was raised in, I swallowed a lump which had formed in my throat. Thinking about that night had always made me nauseous. The night I had changed into what would soon lead into Jett Black.

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