Page 25 of Body Lock

Chapter Five

Cadence

Slamming the door behind me, I threw myself down hard onto the cheap mattress. The creaking of springs echoed off the walls as my body bounced against the thin metal pushing through the surface.

My father had sent me away, demanded I leave and just go home. He wanted to take care of business on his own terms, the light flicker of malevolent intentions skewing his eyes.

Burying my face in the pillow, I let a gut hurdling scream explode into the cool satin. Twisting my face to the side, I brushed the hair from my eyes with Quinn's innocent face looming in my mind.

He had no idea the true nature of his meeting with my father, but I did, and it stung.

How could I lead him there? What the hell is wrong with me?

Whatever my dad was going to say or offer, I wasn't sure of. Either way, I knew it would only benefit him.

Flipping to my back, I stared up at the yellow tinted ceiling. My eyes zeroed in on the small stains of orange spotted against the cracking plaster where water had collected and seeped in.

I wanted to run from this place, take off and start over. But I knew I couldn't leave my father. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he needed me too.

I know he needs me, that's why I'm here.

Or this whole mess of my life has been worth nothing.

My mother had died when I was born. From what my dad had told me, she was a great woman. She was caring and compassionate, but a fireball nonetheless. She didn't put up with any shit, and if she didn't like something, you were going to know it.

When I was five, my father started to share some of the memories he had stowed away. And I loved it, I loved the feeling it gave me. I felt like I knew her, despite not having her.

But those stories came with a price, he always ended them on a sour note, shooting me a sideways glance, and cursing me under his breath.

He blamed me, over and over he held that above my head like a noose. Like I purposely took her from him, and he was going to punish me forever for taking the love of his life away.

Those strings he dangled, made me a marionette to his life, to our life. Because I had to prove to him that I loved him enough to still be here, to be worthy of the life I stole to feed my own.

The truth was pretty simple, he was a monster, and deep down, I knew nothing was my fault. Unfortunately, he was all I had, the only family I ever knew.

And despite his flaws, he wasmy father.There was a piece of me that always hoped he would change, that he would see me not as his enemy, but as a second life of the woman he had lost.

Reaching under the edge of my bed, I pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Holding it to my chest, I carefully unfolded the sides. A single tear ran down my cheek, looking at the image of my mother. It was the only picture I had to remember the one person who truly loved me.

Her hair was curled tight, pulled back by a simple clip, small earrings shaped like calla lilies adorned her lobes. The sun-kissed skin was now faded from years of molding the picture to form in my hand, and hide from his punishments. Her eyes were the same bright blue of mine, twinkling at me from behind the flat surface.

Even though I didn't know her, or remember her scent, her touch; I could still feel her with me, the love she had fused into my soul, keeping us bound together.

That was my strength and power, giving me the ability to rise every day and hold my head up high.

But that love I felt deep in my bones for her was strained by the man who should have loved me the same way. I wasn't even sure my father knew how to love anymore.

When I hit my teens, we were in a rough spot financially, and my dad became desperate. He took things to a whole other level. He started dealing drugs and getting involved with some really shady characters.

One night, he had received an offer; a price for me, for my 'services.' And to my horror, he debated it, thought about it long and hard. That was the only time I saw a glimpse of him as an actual father, a living, breathing man who truly had blood running through his veins.

He hadn't just acted on impulse, he thought about it.

That gave me hope, hope that his former self, the man who had swooned my mother, was still alive inside.

I wasn't having that though, I wasn't going to be his whore for hire, and I didn't hold that back. It had been the first and only time I really lashed out. Most of the time I would bite my tongue, keep my thoughts to myself, but not with that.

No fucking way. That's where I drew the line.

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