Page 18 of Lies He Told Me (Bratva Crime Syndicate 1)

We’re never going to be rid of him.

I wander back to my bed. The tears come, though I hardly notice. It’s cold. My pillow gets wet. My nose runs.

Happy birthday, Joy. This is your life and it’s never, ever going to change.

* * *

“You’re a little bitch, you know that?”

Still half asleep, I roll to the other side of the bed. The door creaks open.

The realization snaps through me: that wasn’t Damon spitting more venom at Mom.

He’s inmyroom now.

My eyes fly open, bleary with sleep, but I can barely make out his lumpy form. “What are you doing in here?” I hiss. “I’ll—”

His laughter cuts me off. “Call for Mommy? Your mom’s knocked out. Popped some of those Ambien pills she loves so much.”

I scramble half up and back, wrapping my arms around my legs. “I mean it. Get out.”

He takes a step forward. “Or what—you’ll yell for help?”

Another joke—anyone in this building who would answer a scream in the night sure as hell wouldn’t be coming to help.

“Or use your phone?” He waggles it at me. He’s taken it off the little table by the door where I charge it.

He’s at the edge of my bed now, undoing his pants, breathing deeply. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit. It’s time you find out what the real world’s like. What happens to little bitches who cause trouble.”

In the moonlight, Damon’s eyes are black pools. He stinks of beer and sweat and the Listerine mouthwash he obsessively uses.

I stand up, my bed creaking under my weight, and tell him, “Get the fuck out of my room.”

He totters in place for a second, as though considering it. For a few seconds, I hope beyond hope that he’ll do it. That he’ll leave and never come back.

But then he lumbers forward and all hope shatters.

I scramble out of the way. He’s still fiddling with his belt and zipper, mumbling, “I’ll show you … show you … we’ll see if you’re like your mom … if you shut up when I …”

As he staggers closer to me, my foot jabs out, lashing into his crotch.

“Fuck!”

Direct contact. Ball shot.

And then I’m out of there. I race to Mom’s room, locking the door behind me.

Shit-shit-shit-shit-shit.

I shake her. “Mom! Mom, wake up! Wake up, Mom!”

A strangled yell behind me, smashing noises.

“Mom, please!”

And then, thank God, her eyes snap open. She gives me a glassy stare. “Joy?”

“It’s Damon, he—he—”

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