Page 76 of Dance for Me

Jasper’s words came back to her, the words he’d given her as she trembled with the force of her emotions. His arms wrapped around her, rocking her gently, as he sat uncomfortably on a sea of stones.

“Fear will eat you up, poppet. The mind can only take being afraid for so long before it warps and destroys everything you are. The people here aren’t your enemy—I’m not your enemy, Boadicea. We know who you are, what you are, and we love you as you are. When you’re in trouble, when you’re afraid, you can come to us. We’ll find you in the dark and pull you back out.”

Bodie sniffled and wiped at the dampness under her eyes, slowing the car as she realized her vision was blurred. The traffic for this time of night was sparse but still, she wouldn’t chance an accident.

When she pulled into the lot outside her small apartment and cut the engine, she stared through the night at the row of cloned shitholes she’d once called home. Wafer-thin walls, pathetic plumbing, cheap locks on cheaper doors. The security lights running under the canopied roof glowed with a sickly yellow haze.

There were a few cars parked alongside hers, and she recognized most. There were a couple of motorcycles she couldn’t place—big, black beasts with fancy artwork painted on the tanks.

The hairs on her nape and arms rose, standing on end as though someone breathed down her neck. She really didn’t want to go back into that place. So what if she lost her security deposit? It was only money. Money could be replaced.

She really didn’t want to go back in there.

Scanning the apartment doors with a critical eye, Bodie shook her head slowly and reached for the ignition. When warning signals screamed, she would listen. Something was wrong here, and she wasn’t hanging about to find out what it was.

Her fingers grasped the key, twisted it. Her clunker of a car turned over once, then putted and died. She swore ripely, gave it a chance to rest, then tried again.

“Do not die on me here, you piece of shit,” she muttered, sending a prayer to whatever spirit might be listening. “Braun will send you to the scrapheap if you do.”

Nervously, she checked the area again, was somewhat mollified by the lack of people hanging around. Thirty seconds was all she needed to get the fuck away, to stop the feeling of dread shrouding her.

The engine caught on the second try, and she closed her eyes in thanks. Then she screamed as glass exploded, slicing over her skin and tinkling onto her lap, the floor, in pieces. Something hard clipped her jaw, shutting her up, and stars erupted over her vision.

There was an ominous rip of material near her ear, then the pressure of her seatbelt vanished. Dazed, her head rolled to the side where her window had been and watched the gleam of a blade flash back out of the frame. A moment later, her door was yanked open, and a big hairy hand reached in to pluck her from her seat by the front of her sweater.

“Leaving so soon, darling daughter?”

Oh fuck.

Her feet thudded over the sill of the car frame, then hit the ground as Abraham hauled her effortlessly from the vehicle. The time of Reckoning had come, but Christ, she was unprepared. A month ago, she’d have taken what was coming without complaint, but now...damn it, was it too much to ask for a simple life? To be left alone to enjoy what she’d found with Braun?

Her father was a bear of a man, more in width than height. Bodie was quickly reacquainted with his strength as he dragged her, feet skimming over the asphalt, toward her apartment. He wouldn’t be concerned with witnesses—the law held no meaning to him. Rats and do-gooders would be silenced if they dared to interfere or call the cops.

Just about everyone knew Abraham, or believed him to be a legend if nothing else. Everyone knew the consequences of getting up in his business, so Bodie was well aware there’d be no help from her neighbors, if they were even in.

Her apartment door swung open as Abraham reached it, and he tossed her into the hallway before bending to kiss his wife savagely.

Bodie bit her lip as her knees and palms burned upon meeting the carpet, then she lost her breath as her mother walked past her, the woman’s heavy black biker boot striking Bodie’s stomach as she waited where she’d landed.

Moving meant punishment.

“There's nothing here, Abe. Sneaky little cunt cleared the place out.” Diane continued into the living room, leaving her eldest daughter in the hall struggling not to throw up. “Comes swaggering home after a week of living the high life, dressed up in fancy new clothes, and shows no gratitude toward the people who raised her.”

Fancy new clothes? Bodie nearly laughed. If jeans and a sweater could be called fancy, she’d obviously gone up in the world of fashion. And as for gratitude...she was grateful for her time with Braun. It would help her survive the next hours of hell.

Abraham flicked on the hall light as Diane did the same in the living room. Their trap had paid off, Bodie realized. Lying in wait in the dark. She’d almost walked straight into it. “No gratitude at all. We give you a good life, feed you, clothe you, keep you in the family even after you damn near killed your baby sister, and you think you can just run off without so much as a word? Don’t work like that, babygirl. Everything comes with a price.”

Bodie lowered her head to the carpet, tried to ignore the throbbing pain in her cheek. Worse was heading straight for her, and if she showed any sign of aggression, it would hit her hard enough to send her into the next century.

Abraham walked over to her, stepped past her, then bent and gripped her hair in his hand. “Even smells fancy, too. Got yourself hooked up to some dumb fuck, girl? Found some clueless asshole to take you in? Bet you didn’t tell him what a worthless whore you are, how you fuck anything that gets a hard-on.”

The grip of his fist in her hair was nothing like Braun’s or Jasper’s. Cruel, menacing, designed to hurt. The Masters would never pull viciously enough to snap her head back painfully, to strain the tendons and ligaments in her neck to breaking point.

“You want to leave the family, babygirl? Take off with the sap you’ve conned into letting you warm his bed and wet his dick? That’s fine with me, but there’s some restitution to be made before you step outta that door again.”

Only the fear of consequences stopped her from clawing at his hand as he hauled her into the next room using her hair as a leash. If she so much as lifted a hand, he’d cut it off. He’d once ripped her two front teeth out with pliers when she dared to bite him as a child.

She’d acted in self-defense; his actions were his training methods.

---