Page 53 of Soul of a Witch

I just needed to make it out the front door and to the car. Once I was behind the wheel, I would drive north, taking every backstreet I knew. Callum would be watching; he would be waiting for me.

Finally, at last, I would be free. I just needed to get out the damn door.

I didn’t even make it down the hall.

“Bastard couldn’t even show up for his own meeting…” My father was striding toward me up the stairs, looking more perturbed than ever. I quickly backed up, freezing when he lifted his head. “Are you all right, my dear? You look like you’re going to be sick.”

Shit.

“Oh! No, I’m fine. Totally fine.” I nodded, forcing my mouth into a smile. “I was just going to…um…sit in the lobby. Until you were done.”

“Well, I’m just about ready. As it turns out, Mr. Fedderman can’t even manage to show up for the meetingsheschedules.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, giving me a squeeze before he continued toward his office. “Let me just collect my things.”

Oh my God, I was dead. I was really dead. This was it. He’d throw me down to the God, he would know I was a traitor. My head jerked around as I considered sprinting, then my eyes fell on a stack of cardboard boxes shoved against the wall, piles of old books inside them.

I didn’t have another second to think. As my father disappeared into his office, leaving me outside, I shoved the grimoire into one of the boxes and leapt back, hoping I looked casual as he emerged.

“Everly.” His voice was cold, his eyes narrowed. “Where is it?”

I hadn’t been prepared for this. I licked my lips, stuttering, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words sounded natural, even flippant. But the problem with being a liar with a suspicious father was that nothing, not even the truth, was ever enough.

He grabbed my arm in an iron grip, tugging me back toward his office. He slammed the door behind us, shoving me so roughly I had to catch myself on the desk.

“Where is my grimoire?” His face was red, his voice raised, his hands clenched into fists.

“Dad, I don’t have it,” I insisted. He was blocking the door and there was no way around him. No way I could make a quick escape without trying to physically fight him, and that wasn’t going to happen.

If I could use my magic…

But I couldn’t. I fucking couldn’t. As if warning me not to try anything, the cuffs tightened, squeezing my wrists until I feared my bones would break.

“Give me your bag,” he ordered. I handed it over, and he ripped it from my hands. I scrambled out of his way as he dumped the contents on his desk. A tube of chapstick and a pen rolled to the floor as my things were spread out for his inspection.

Luckily, I’d made sure to leave nothing of value inside.

He tugged at the bag’s lining, opening every zipper before he tossed it aside.

“Strip,” he said. “Now.”

My mouth gaped open as I stared at him in shock. “You want me to…what? Dad, you can’t —”

“Now, Everly!” His voice filled the tiny office, and I flinched as he took a step toward me. But there was no way. No. Especially not today, of all days, when my body was covered with little scratches and bruises from Callum’s hands.

“No,” I said softly. “Dad, please, you’re overreacting —”

“This is not an overreaction!” he yelled. “That grimoire is imperative to the continuation of our society and you know it, Everly! Do as I say.” He lowered his voice to a hiss that chilled me straight through. “Obey me, or I’m calling Leon here to make you.”

God, where was Callum? I needed to get out of here. Everything had gone wrong. My eyes kept darting toward the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of my demon flying to save me.

But he didn’t come.

My fingers shook with rage and indignation as I reached for the edge of my shirt. I tried not to think about it, tried to imagine I was anywhere else but here as I hurriedly pulled off my shirt and then unbuttoned my jeans.

With my clothing laid on the desk, wearing only my bra, panties, and socks, I spread my arms. “There? See?” My eyes stung with humiliation as he looked at me, and stung even more when his mouth curled into a sneer.

“What the hell is this?” he said. He brushed my hair away from my neck, and I jerked away, arms folded over my chest. But I knew he could see. The bruises, the hickies, scratches, and little red marks. “Who have you been with?”

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