Page 40 of Unorthodox
But he knows it’s me.
He trusts me.
He loves me.
Even though I know the alternative will be so much worse,I can’t do this.
My father roars behind me, a sound that makes me jump, and then he shoves me to the floor, and his fist lands in Oliver’s face. I hear the crunch of bone, screams muffled by duct tape, and I clamp my hands over my ears.
But I won’t let him do it.
I push to my feet just as my father lands another punch, and I grab my father’s elbow, yanking it as hard as I can.
He turns to me, his fist raised and covered in blood, his grey eyes piercing mine, teeth clenched. “You dare stop me?” he asks me quietly.
I let go of his arm, scramble backward, until I hit the wall.
My father smiles. “You’re a coward.” He turns back to my brother and he hits him again.
I’m going to puke.
Oliver doesn’t make any more noise.
My stomach convulses. I can’t look. I can’t look at what I couldn’t stop.
My father leaves him there, drags me back across the lawn to our home, where he nearly rips my arm out of its socket as he pulls me up the stairs.
I know what’s going to happen.
I just wish it could’ve been this instead. I wish I could’ve taken Ollie’s punishment, like I usually do. I would take Coda over and over again to prevent my father from laying hands on my brother.
But I don’t expect more than Coda.
I don’t expect three men.
I can’t take three men.
I black out.
When I wake up, I’m in a gurney, in my father’s bedroom. He looks disappointed in me as he looms over my bed, a scowl on his face.
“You had to be stitched up,” he tells me. “And for what, Maximus?” His lips turn up into a smile, and through the fog of anesthesia, I feel my stomach churn. He whispers more words, more insults, but what makes me vomit on his floor is, “Oliver won’t ever piss in his pants again. But you could’ve taught him that without breaking his nose.”
“What happened to her?”I ask the question, my mouth moving of its own accord, but my voice doesn’t sound like mine.
And when Christopher laughs on the line, I’m still staring at the door to my office.
“I once caught her on her knees for my guard. After I shoved a paperclip beneath every last fingernail, he admitted he agreed to take her far, far away if she sucked his dick.” Christopher laughs again and I blink, taking in his words. “My daughter is far from innocent. I know that for a fact. In good faith, you might want to let her buyer know. If he decides to lower his rate, give me a call.”
The line goes dead.
It’s nearlymidnight before I make my last call of the day. It’s nine at night in Tijuana, and the line rings once before a deep voice says, “Bueno.”
I’ve never been one for pleasantries. “Silvestre. There’s a shipment coming in tomorrow evening. Ben won’t be there. I need you to take over.”
A pause and then, “Okay, Boss.”
I know he’s curious about Ben, but wisely, he doesn’t ask. I end the call without a word, and stand, stretching. My work is finally done.
