Page 56 of Devil's Tulip

I whimper, and he gives me another slap, and another, until they all blur together, my face stinging and radiating heat with each strike. The last one drives the corner of my lip into my teeth, and I feel the flesh tear, the metallic, coppery taste of blood filling my mouth.

Finally, he lets go of my hair with a satisfied grunt and gets to his feet. I hold my breath, praying he’s had enough. Praying he’ll just leave.

But then—his voice, low and lethal:

“Father thinks of you as his precious brother’s only child and feels protective and responsible for you.” He scoffs like the idea disgusts him. “But trust me, if it were left up to me, you’d be done for after the stunts you’ve pulled.” He punctuates his words with a brutal kick to my stomach just as my bedroom door opens.

My uncle freezes, his gaze falling on me in the fetal position, gasping through my tears—and the color drains from his face.

“You bastard!” He cuffs Dario at the back of his head, making him lurch forward, hands flying out to keep himself upright.

My cousin’s eyes widen in disbelief, and his mouth drops open as he stares at his father. “What?”

If I could, I would mirror his shock, because truly—what? Is he…defendingme right now?

“Do you know who found her? You should have left her face alone, punished her where the bruises won’t be so obvious.”

I close my eyes, feeling the sting of his words more deeply than my physical pain.

When will I learn he doesn’t really care about me? If he ever did, that part of him died a long time ago.

“We solicited the Nightshades for their help in finding her, and as it stands, we’re not completely free from their scrutiny yet. Rafael had to release the Mad Hatter to track her down. And from the look on his face, he wasn’t expecting to see me—and didn’t seem happy to let her go. What if he comes looking for her again and finds this!” He waves at me with a snarl, like it’s somehow my fault his son chose to use me as a punching bag.

And—hold on. Who the hell is the Mad Hatter?

I’ve heard of the Nightshades a few times when I eavesdropped on Dario and Carlo’s conversations. They’re a group of men—brothers, I think—who rule the entire underground crime scene in New York City. But this name is new.

Dario sneers down at me. “Oh, so you managed to get the Mad Hatter wrapped around your little finger, huh?”

I blink at him cluelessly, because I have no idea who the hell he’s talking about, and that only seems to piss him off more. He kicks my chest, sending me coughing, spitting out blood from the cut in my lip onto the floor. “Speak!” he yells.

“W–who?” I manage, my voice scratchy.

“The monster who came to find you. Did you fuck him?” His lips twist in disgust, and he presses his foot onto my hair, making me go still, heart pounding in fear.

Uncle Aldo steps forward with a long, exasperated sigh. “That’s enough, Dario. Go to your room.” He nods towards the door.

“I’m–I’m in my room.”

“Not you.” My uncle rolls his eyes, grabs his son, and walks him out the door, locking it behind them. I stay curled on the floor, waiting. Just in case they change their minds and come back.

Minutes pass. Maybe hours.

When I’m sure they’re not returning, I slowly, carefully sit up, wincing at the pain that spreads through my body. My head pounds with a million concentrated migraines that sends the room spinning like I’m drunk.

I sit there for a while longer, groaning and struggling to breathe, tears spilling down my cheeks.

Once the worst of the pain passes—or maybe my body just gets used to it—I push myself to my feet and stumble into my bathroom, wiping my face with shaking hands.

I refuse to give them—or any man—another tear.

The lights flicker on, and I avoid looking at my reflection as I pull off my clothes, wincing with every movement. I make my way to the shower, cranking the heat until the water is scalding, then step under the stream.

The second the water hits my sensitive scalp, I hiss, fresh tears welling in my eyes as pain fires off from almost every single part of my body. I glance down at the drain, my stomach twisting when I see the water running slightly pink. My hand instinctively lifts the back of my head, fingers brushing over the raw wound where a small chunk of hair is missing.

I close my eyes in defeat, shoulders slumping weakly as I let the hot water beat down on my body, streaming down my face and stinging my tired eyes. I stay under the spray until my skin starts to prune and my body feels overheated; only then do I hesitantly turn off the shower and get out, carefully wrapping a towel around my body as I make my way to the cabinet under the sink.

I take out the over-the-counter pain meds I’ve hidden here, and even though the recommended dosage is two, I take four. I’ll need that much if I hope to not luxuriate in pain all night.

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