Hawk: A Stepbrother Romance Part 41

Chapter Eight.

Evelyn "I have to get back to lunch," I said, edging past him.

His hand shot out and closed, gently, around my wrist.

"Yeah, me too. Come on. We won't be long."

He tugged my arm but I held my ground, for a moment. I chanced to look at his eyes. I'd avoided them before. They were a piercing slate gray, and smiled more than his mouth did. Something fluttered in my chest, like I'd swallowed a moth, and I found my feet moving before I realized I was walking. His hand slipped from my wrist to cup around my fingers before letting go. The sun was warm outside. I saw the edge of the terrace, but we were out of sight from our parents as we emerged from a side door that opened onto a narrow path over to an old stables, converted into a garage with gleaming steel doors. Victor walked down the row and opened one of the bays with a flourish. He leaned on the door, arms over his head, and stretched. I licked my lips without knowing why as my eyes roamed down over his body. He was muscle all over, from head to toe, and his jeans and black t-shirt showed it magnificently.

After a glance over at me, he nodded at the car.

I didn't know cars, so to me it was just old and garish, a pearly white color with a huge multicolored decal of a fire breathing bird plastered across the hood. Victor rushed over to swing open the long pa.s.senger's door, and after a moment of lip chewing and look back at the house, I dropped inside. I shouldn't have been doing this, and I didn't know why I was. I glanced over and saw that Victor's door was locked, leaned over his seat and popped the b.u.t.ton. He slipped into the seat and looked over at me with a secret smile on his face, like I pa.s.sed some kind of test. I pulled my seatbelt on and locked my door. Victor did the same, shifted in the seat and stabbed in the clutch with his foot. When he turned the key I yelped and covered my ears. It was loud, like an old turboprop airplane. He revved the engine a few times and the noise increased.

I glanced over and saw Father and Mrs. Amsel running to the corner of the terrace. I couldn't make out their faces, we were too far away.

Victor laughed softly, put the car in gear and let out the clutch.

The force of the acceleration threw me back in the seat, and I screamed. The back end of the car swung around behind us and he opened the throttle, pushing me back into the seat again as the car pitched around the curved, narrow driveway, towards the front gate.

Victor slowed as the car rumbled out between the gates. As he did, he pulled something from his pocket. He slapped a one hundred dollar bill on the dashboard in front of me. A piece of tape held it in place.

"Hey," he said. "If you grab that, it's yours."

I blinked a few times. What was this, some kind of game? It was right there.

As I reached for it, he wheeled the car around and floored the accelerator. My fingers fell away from the dash as the acceleration crushed me into the seat. I screamed, out loud. If we went any faster I though the car would lift up into the air. I could actually see the front end rising. Victor laughed like a maniac, working through the gears with one hand, choking the wheel with the other, his hair blowing in the wind. The bill fluttered on the dashboard. I almost reached it when he shifted gears, but the sudden burst in speed sent me back into the seat. Then I found myself squeezing the bolsters at the sides as he took a curve in the road. He geared down and the car slowed, but I was too busy to grab for the bill. I thought for sure we would go flying off the road and slam into one of the trees that lined it. The tires screeched, and the car seemed to slide through the curve more than roll through it, until Victor turned the wheel sharply, cut through the oncoming lane and floored it, straightening out.

My heart pounded in my chest, my pulse throbbed behind my eyeb.a.l.l.s, and I squeezed my legs together.

Every hill dropped the bottom out from under me, every curve sent a surge of naked fear through me, but Victor was in perfect control, his face a mask of concentration that only cracked with a smile in the straight stretches of road where he shot me a quick glance, studying me like I was some exotic creature.

Finally he slowed down on the road, and I noticed the ivy-lined wall flying past us. A wide swing to the right and he turned left across the road through the gates.

Our parents stood outside the stables. His mother had her arms crossed over her chest and a wry look on her face.

My father was as still as a statue, but purple with rage.

Victor pulled past the bay where he parked the car, swung around, and backed in. The sound of the motor grew to a teeth rattling rumble in the confined s.p.a.ce before he shut it off.

"Relax," he said, "I'll handle this. By the way, did you like it?"

I looked over at him and my mouth worked, silently.

Finally I squeaked out, "Yes," in a small voice.

"Come on. Let's go get some lunch."

Victor stepped out first. He rushed around before I could get my door halfway open and swung it the rest of the way for me.

He offered his hand. I almost glanced at Father but I didn't dare, I could feel his eyes on me, burning my neck.

Victor did not pull back the offered hand. I didn't want to be rude.

Yes, that was it. I didn't want to be rude.

I took his hand. He pulled me to my feet and I stumbled a little, shocked by his strength. My hand landed on his chest. His very muscular chest. He smiled at me.

"Evelyn!" my father barked.

My hands shot to my sides, my eyes to the floor. I walked over without looking up, but I could feel Victor behind me, feel the strut in his step.

"Yeah, I just wanted to get a little air before I eat. Eve decided to tag along."

"Evelyn," Father corrected. "She is not to tag along with you again."

"She's a big girl. She can do what she likes."

Father took a warning step forward. I looked up, biting my lip. I wanted to sink into the ground and disappear.

Victor was smiling at him. Dismissing him. He waved his hand and turned to his mother.

"Let's go-"

Father's hands shot out and seized him buy the collar.

"Listen here, you little-"

I didn't know a person could move so fast.

Victor's hands shot up, between Father's arms, and he spread them wide, snapping my father's grip, sending him stumbling back. Victor's arms whirled, his feet spread, and he stood on bent, springy knees, his fists up.

"Victor!" his mother shouted.

He glanced at her, his expression wounded.

Victor's hands fell. For a moment. Then his right arm shot up and he jabbed his finger in my father's chest, hard enough to make him flinch.

"You want to play house with my mother, fine. You do not put your f.u.c.king hands on me in my house, am I clear? You wanna go, we'll go. Otherwise, keep your hands to yourself."

He looked at his mother, then glanced at me.

"I'm not hungry," he said, and brushed past my father to walk to the house.

Mrs. Amsel let out a long breath.

"He didn't mean any harm. They should get along."

"That thing," he looked at the car, "is dangerous. I won't have your son putting my daughter in danger, Karen."

"I wanted to go," I blurted out.

His eyes widened when he looked at me.

Mrs. Amsel sighed.

"Victor went to a private driving school, Martin. He knows what he's doing."

"Yes," Father said, his voice acid. "I'm sure he knows exactly what he's doing."

"Martin," Mrs. Amsel said, in a warning tone. "I'll talk to him. I'm sure he just wanted to meet her. They're going to be brother and sister, after all."

"What?"

She looked at me, blinking. "Hasn't your father told you, dear? We're getting married."

I swayed on my feet. I thought I might pa.s.s out. It was like all the blood just drained out of my head, like someone pulled the plug from a bathtub. The fury slid out of his face and he smiled warmly at me. I looked at his wife-to-be and my head started pounding.

"I'd like an aspirin, please," I said.

"Of course, sweetie. Come on, let's head inside."

"I think we should be going," Father said.

Karen gave him a curious look. "I thought you had a clear schedule."

"I'd rather give Victor some time to cool down. I'll talk to him tomorrow. Man to man."

She sighed. "Alright, if you insist. I'll call you tonight."

The way she smiled at him made her look very young.

For some reason, I felt a stab of fear for her.

Father took my hand and walked me to our car. With every step his grip got tighter, until my hand began to throb. I tugged at his grip a little, and he squeezed harder. I choked down a cry, knowing it would be worse if I made a scene.

"Get in the car, you little s.l.u.t."

He let go. I rushed around and curled up in the front seat. He hadn't used that tone with me in years. I was good. I was good.

Father did not drive like Victor, at all. It was a long, slow drive back to the city, in total silence. Neither of us spoke until we arrived at home.

The first thing Father said was to Imelda.

"Get out," he snapped.

She gathered her things and was out of the house, dismissed for the day in five minutes.

"Wait for me upstairs," he said to me coldly, before walking into his office.

Every step was slow, like I was wearing shoes made of lead and walking in water. I closed the door but did not dare lock it, and sat on my bed, hands folded on my lap. I waited.

I waited.

Waited more.

Waited for an hour, without moving.

Finally the door swung open.

"You defied me," he said.

His words chilled me but it was the belt that caught my eyes. He had one in in his hands, in addition to the one looped through his trousers. I knew that belt. It was old and creaked when he folded it in half. A work belt, too wide for dress pant loops, made of old, careworn leather that was strange soft even if it was rigid and tough to bend.

"Stand up."

I stood up.

"Take off your dress."

It was like an icy fist punched me in the stomach, but I did it. I pulled it over my head, turned around and neatly folded it, laid the folded square of powder blue cloth at the foot of the bed and shivered, standing there in my underwear and bra.

"Lie down on the bed. Crossways."

I laid face down on the bed.

"You understand, I'm doing this for your own good."

The words struck me just before the belt did, on the backs of my thighs.

I didn't scream. I choked it down, but tears burned in my closed eyes, forced their way out and I sucked in a sobbing breath just in time for the second blow, and almost screamed. It came out as a gurgling cry. It hurt. Nothing hurt that much, not even when I was smaller and he would burn my arms with the old curling iron. I couldn't scream so I began sobbing and pleading instead, stop it please stop please stop, but the more I begged for mercy the faster the blows rained on my legs and then on my back, until I was curled up in a flinching ball, red lines of agony burning into my legs and back, and I thought I would die it hurt so much. I lost my voice pleading, lost to a rasping whisper. Only then did he finally stop.

"You will not speak to that boy ever again. If he touches you or speaks to you, you will come to me immediately. If I find out you have defied me in this, I will make you wish you'd never been born, do you understand?"

I swallowed, and choked out a yes.

"Clean yourself up, get dressed, and choose a take out menu for dinner. You will eat in here. I don't wish to suffer the sight of a defiant little c.u.n.t at dinner tonight."

I ended up doing the first two, but I never came to him to order food and he never sought me out. I knew better than to risk some petty slight angering him. He only called me that when he was truly enraged.

It was my fault. I brought it on myself. I should have known better. Boys were all bad, they were all poison. He told me over and over to stay away from them, or I'd end up like my mother. I should have known, but...

I liked him. He was nice. He wanted to show me his car. I liked it, too.

I sat at my vanity and scrubbed my face with a warm cloth. Showering after a whipping would be agony. I turned on the padded stool and looked at my back. I had to sit on the very edge; at least he didn't hit my backside with belt. My back was a network of angry red welts, some already turning black. I limped back to the bed and put on long cotton shirt, and laid face down on the bed. I pressed my face into the pillow and wept softly, wondering if I could hold my breath until I pa.s.sed out and smother myself, just disappear. I needed a diversion but I didn't dare risk exposing the box of books under the back. If Father came back for whatever reason and caught me reading Ravished by the Outlaw Duke, I might be in for a second whipping.

It could be worse. At least I wasn't bleeding.