Page 17 of Torn Souls

I have no idea what he’s thinking. His face is unreadable. But, still, something flickers in his eyes.

Remorse?

Regret?

Whatever it is has me sucking in a sharp breath and looking away.

Honestly, I didn’t even realize I was hoping for someone to save me and push back the darkness and depravity clawing at me. That hope becomes smaller and smaller as my gut sinks.

Maybe the devil I know is better than the one I don’t. Even if it is hard to believe right now.

Anger is radiating from my father.

“You would marry off your daughter as a sign of loyalty?” The edge in Kirill’s tone should be a warning, one heeded without question.

My father shrugs, the movement casual and unaffected, “I’m aware of who now holds the power in this city, and I can be an asset to you. My daughter is at the age where she needs to be taken care of while also spreading her wings. She has spent a few years doing charity work in the city and is also highly educated. Having a woman on your arm who won’t embarrass you, who can walk through polite society with ease, has its merits.”

Maxim’s eyes flint with an unnamed threat and I swear Huck’s lip curls slightly. Baker’s eyes are moving, assessing the room, but I swear his body sways toward me as if he’s fighting the need to jump from his chair and protect me.

It’s a silly notion and I’m sure it’s only in my head, but I cling to it. Desperation surrounds me and threatens to pull me under.

Even if I wanted to say something, either in protest or to back up my father’s ridiculousness, my mouth has gone dry, and a lump has formed in my throat. I try to swallow past it, but it’s almost impossible.

“We all know the importance of appearances,” Kirill’s words are distant and almost clinical.

He stands abruptly, the rest of his men following suit. My heart sinks as his cold gaze takes me in one more time. At least there is nothing malicious in the way he looks at me.

Small favors, I suppose.

“You’ve presented an interesting proposal,” Kirill drones on. “I will consider it.”

Without another word, Kirill turns and strides out of the room. Huck and Maxim follow him closely, but Baker seems to linger for a moment. I glance at him to find him already looking at me. Then he’s gone along with the rest.

“How could you be so useless?” My father hisses the question, and I brace myself for what will inevitably come next.

My legs are shaky as I follow him out of the private room and out of the restaurant. I try to ignore him and get lost in my memories of the men I met tonight, but it’s not easy when he’s muttering under his breath the entire time, each word a promise of pain.

As much as I don’t want to walk in the house with him, I don’t have much of a choice. The moment the door closes, he grips my hair and yanks. I cry out, more in surprise than pain since it’s a sensation I’m used to at this point.

The backhanded slap he gives me has me trying to stumble away from him, but he holds me steady, and I have no choicebut to absorb the impact. Blood fills my mouth, one of my teeth cutting into the skin on the inside of my cheek. It stings, but it’s nothing I haven’t felt or experienced before.

“What the fuck was that, Oaklynn?” His voice rises with every word. “All you had to do was sit there and not fuck everything up for me.” He sneers, “But you couldn’t even do that right.”

I’m not sure what else he thought I should have done, but I did just sit there.

“I saw the way you looked at those men,” he seethes, “when your only focus should have been Kirill. Instead, you looked like a whore with a wandering eye. None of those men want you, none of them are going to save you. Now, I’m not even sure if Kirill is going to accept my proposal.”

He shoves me down on the ground and my knees hit the marble floor, the impact jarring. The pain is explosive, but I swallow down the shout that wants to escape past my lips. Expressing how weak I am, even when he’s hurting me, never ends well for me.

I learned that lesson long ago.

My father kicks me and causes me to fall to my side and curl in on myself. When he does it again, stars dance in front of my eyes. The roar of pure rage and frustration which comes from him is a harbinger of what is coming.

Even though I try to keep them at bay, tears leak out of the corner of my eyes. The sight of them only enrages my father further.

Without caring about Kirill’s answer, the fact that I’m his daughter, or appearances, my father straddles my chest andrains punches down on me. Most land on my torso, but a few have my head bouncing against the marble.

He’s huffing and puffing, the effort of hurting me, of beating me, clearly taking its toll. With my eyes closed tightly, I try and drift to somewhere else. Each fist landing against my body brings me right back to the present.

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