Page 32 of Scandalous Kingpin
Five steps away… four… three…
The stench of alcohol and heavy perfume registered too late. A hand yanked me around and I met my mother’s dark eyes, scowling down at me.
My eyes darted around her, worried Dante would appear. If he did, she’d berate him too, and I didn’t want him to get in trouble. Yes, he just turned eighteen and could leave now or when he finishes high school, but he stayed because of me. I was only sixteen.
“There he is,” she slurred. She grabbed my hair with one hand and slapped me upside the head with the other, then sneered, “My son.”
I flinched, but before I could pull away, another slap sent my head jerking to the right, and I stumbled back.
My hands fisted, the need to fight back burning through me. I wanted to punch her back, but Papà said a real man never hit a woman. A real man didn’t hurt a woman. Ever.
She pulled me back by the hair and another slap followed, stinging my face. Slaps turned into punches. Again. And again. And again.
I clenched my teeth, careful not to make a sound. I wouldn’t let Dante hear.
A woman her size shouldn’t be so strong, but my mother spent as much time exercising as she did drinking. I always wondered if she stayed fit to be able to do this to me and my brother.
She grabbed me by my hair again, fisting it tightly, and threw me into the solid handrail.
“Stop it,” I choked out.
Anger twisted her face, distorting it into an ugly mask. A belt appeared—or maybe it was there all along—and came down with a whoosh. The second strike followed close behind. Then the third.
I fell to my knees, my head in my hands. I wanted to strike her back. To end this. To endher. The strap landed again and again, harder each time, while my mind drifted somewhere else.
Somewhere safe.
Where nobody touched me. Where nobody hit me.
On my knees, I tuned it all out, swearing to myself that one day I would destroy them all. All the evil mothers and filthy priests.
The belt hit the ground and hands wound around my neck as she fell on top of me, flattening us both on the carpeted floor.
“Get off of me.” My muffled voice was full of anguish and disgust. I couldn’t handle her beating after everything that had happened today.
My control snapped. Pa said never to hurt a woman, but this wasn’t a woman. She was… I didn’t know what, but she wasn’t someone who needed protection. She was twisted, and she deserved to be hurt.
I headbutted her with the back of my head, but it wasn’t enough.
“Son of a slut,” she breathed against my ear. My stomach turned, acid rising in my throat. Was she calling herself a slut? Had she lost her mind for good?
“What are you doing, Mother?” Dante’s voice was like a whip, but it didn’t make her stop. She mumbled incoherent words into my ear, her foul breath against my skin.
Dante grabbed her hair, yanking her away from me.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Dante shouted at her.
Mother started laughing hysterically, rolling around like she was possessed, and I fucking snapped. I was done being a victim. I was done being touched.
I. Was. Fucking. Done.
I kicked her body with all my might and she rolled down the wooden steps. Thud… thud… thud… until she hit the bottom step.
Dante and I stared as the scene unfolded, wide-eyed, then locked gazes. We raced down the stairs, finding our mother’s body limp but still breathing.
“She’s alive,” I muttered, wishing with all my heart it wasn’t so. I kicked her again, the tightness in my chest loosening for the first time. It was the first whisper of the psychopath I would become—reveling in the pain of others in order to experience release.
Dante disappeared for a moment, returning with a can of gasoline he must’ve gotten from the garage.
