Page 39 of Twisted Debt (The Debt Tales 1)

“Maybe I don’t have a bullet wound,” he continues pressing on the button that holds the doors open, “but the hole in my fucking chest from my baby sister treating me like shit because she’s too busy slutting around as some billionaire’s mistress does fucking hurt.”

“I am not a mistress!”

“That you know of.”

“And I am not slutting around!”

His eyes cut my lack of wardrobe a disgusting glance. “Looks like you fucking are.”

“Tomas,” I grit, tossing my arms around myself, feeling uncomfortable in a robe that skims me midthigh. “That’s not,” my head shakes to disagree despite the fact words aren’t successfully forming, “I’m not,” the frantic motion continues, “it’s not-”

“You let people walk all over you, Zel.” Disgust transforms familiar features, a face a little narrower than my own. Tomas twists his lips in a cold, cruel fashion. “That’s how dad pimped your ass out to begin with.”

“Wh…wh…wh…” Reeling out of control, I absentmindedly stammer, waiting for the neurons in my brain to stop firing off at a snail's pace and be more useful.

God, I wish I had a more appropriate comeback!

I could scream about how I’m not the problem but how the men in my life are.

How it isn’t lost upon me that dad used me. Played me.

Just like Tomas does.

Just like he did.

“Up here,” He punctuates each word, increasing the pressure he has on the button that’s keeping the doors from shutting, “where rich bastards fucking buy people and don’t really give a fuck about anyone but themselves, you’re nothing more than the ho’ Dad sold you to be!” I only manage to take a single step backward before he clasps a hand around my wrist, yanking me towards him. “You let this motherfucker brainwash you! Abuse you! And turn you into nothing more than his little fucking cum dumpster!”

All of the air in my lungs is stolen.

“Not sorry I took a page outta everyone’s playbook to do the one thing you always need me to do,” Tomas sneers, “that you’ll always need me to do,” I’m tugged violently towards where he’s straddling the elevator to trap me inside, “save you.”

“Save me?!” I snarl, forcefully shoving my body back with such haste, that he’s forced completely into the apartment in order to recapture his lost grasp. “I don’t need to be saved!”

This can’t be happening.

This isn’t really happening.

This is all some too much wine, not enough prosciutto induced dream I don’t know how to wake the hell up from!

“I am not some stupid princess in a fairy tale!” My brother continues to stare at me like I’m a conquered object causing me to scream, “Get out, Tomas!”

“Knock this bullshit off!”

“Zel,” Elias’s sharp tone commands my attention.

As my stare swiftly snaps to him, my hair whips into my face, the lengthy tresses creating a curtain, but not before I catch the look of obvious disappointment in his blue eyes.

He’s asking how could I do this to him?

On tonight of all nights…

“I-”

His voice and volume remain even as he asks, “Are you alright?”

“I didn’t…,” words yet again fail to form, “I shouldn’t…,” the shaking of my head causes the hair to bounce around the same time my voice cracks, “I didn’t mean-”

“Enough!” Tomas steadies his hold on my forearm and squeezes hard enough to break the bone. “Fuck, that’s enough!”

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