Page 111 of The Rivals' Touch

“Why are we leaving this early?” I ask my dad when the car pulls away from the mansion.

As the house grows smaller behind us, he adjusts his rearview mirror and looks down at my bare legs in the minuscule, glittery-black dress he picked out for me. “You look breathtaking, my darling daughter!”

I sit frozen in my seat, my breath caught in my throat as he puts his hand on my thigh. His thumb skims over the bruising just above the hemline. “Why are we leaving this early, Dad? School’s not even out yet.”

He lets go of my leg, only to slide his hand over my shoulder, up my neck. He grabs me, his fingers digging in. “I wasn’t going to stick around for Zayd to come home and ask questions. We don’t want any distractions tonight. This dinner with Mr. Beaufort is important.” His eyes leave the road, and the look he gives me tells me I better not screw this up.

His grip tightens. “I need this business deal to go through. If you do anything to screw it up, I’ll be left with no choice but to hurt you again.”

As we turn onto the main road, he lets go of my neck. “But next time, I won’t go so easy on you. I might not even stop.”

The way he says it, so casually. I suppress a shiver.

“So far, you’ve proven useful to me. You have your mother’s pretty face, and you’re talented, but you have her rebellious streak in you too.” He shakes his head disapprovingly and pierces me with his dark eyes. “You leave me no choice but to beat it out of you.”

The world passes by in a blur outside the car windows. I catch the odd fir tree and farmhouse.

His touch trails over the bruises on the side of my neck. “Look at Daddy!”

I don’t. It would be a dream come true if I never had to look at him again.

“Is this how it’s going to be? The silent treatment?”

Another tree passes by outside, and its thick branches remind me of Christmas. How much simpler life was back then before Dad turned into the monster under my bed. Next up is a derelict house with a caved-in roof.

“You can’t be angry with Daddy forever.” His hand is back on my thigh, causing ice to slither down my back. My nails dig into the leather as I fight the urge to rip his hand away. It will set him off if I do.

“You’re lucky you have a daddy who cares about you. There are so many daddy-less little girls in the world who would swap places with you in a heartbeat.”

I doubt that.

“Stop being ungrateful!” he growls, slapping the top of my thigh, causing me to yelp in pain.

My tender skin reddens, his handprint blossoming. We slow down at a stoplight. My father opens his mouth to say something, but his phone rings in the center console. His hand leaves my thigh, and I release a shaky, relieved breath.

Phone pressed to his ear, he says, “Tell me it’s good news!”

My cell phone vibrates inside my black purse while my father launches into one of his famous rants. I fish it out of my bag. When I see the name on the screen, I glance over at my father, but he’s not paying attention to me.

Zayd: Where the fuck are you? You didn’t open your bedroom door this morning, and you’re not at school.

I chew on my lip as I debate how to reply. The light turns green. My father steps on the gas and honks the horn at the driver in front of us.

“I’m fucking fed up with incompetent staff. You tell him that if it’s not completed by the end of the day, he can pack up his shit and leave.”

Me: Don’t worry about me.

“No, I don’t give a shit as long as it gets done!”

Zayd: What the fuck, Remi? What’s happened?

Me: Nothing.

The phone gets ripped out of my hands. My father pockets it and fists my hair. “I told you to behave yourself tonight.”

I grit my teeth through the burning pain on my scalp. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Are you telling me you didn’t text Zayd just then? What have we said about lying?”

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