Page 78 of Reverie

Looking at Ella, I say with a smile I don’t mean at all, “Well. Have fun.”

Ella looks like I’ve slapped her when I walk out the door.

TEN

HUNTER

The heat of the sun presses against my eyelids as I wake up on a pile of pillows. I’m under the awning that covers a fourth of the veranda from edge to edge. It seems the storm that promised to wash the land bypassed us all together. The sea is calm for once, and Isla Cara seems like the most peaceful place on the planet.

It’s a lie.

The cloudless sky and silent surf seem mismatched when compared with what happened last night.

I woke up because of a noise: A gasping suck of air. Pained. I find the source and turn away to throw up on the pillows.

On the marble bar top, my mother lay with her arms hanging over the sides. Her eyes are closed, but the gnarled, raw flesh seeps and drips onto the floor beneath her. Blood streams from so many cuts on her body.

A man stands close to her.

“Clean this shit up, Hunter.” Father’s voice comes from behind me, and I scramble to sit up, tearing my eyes away from Mom. He kicks the furniture I’m on, and I pull a beach towelfrom the basket provided for guests to wipe at the mess of my vomit.

“What are you going to do with Mom?” I say with eyes downcast. When he’s silent for too long, I risk glancing at him.

Father is still, a peaceful smile on his lips. Then with snake-like quickness, he grabs me by the throat, pulling me up and over the back of the lounge sofa until my face is inches from his.

He breathes in. And out. And the seconds tick on.

Then he says, “Don’t ever mention her again.” His words are a low vow.

I nod a fraction as I choke.

“I’m glad we understand each other, Hunter.”

Movement comes from the side near the entrance of the house. Standing in the doorway is a man I hoped to never see.

It’s one of Father’s most vile friends, Alistair, and two other men surround him. Father squeezes my throat harder, and sparks of light flash from the sides of my vision.

“You’ll remember that I own you, Hunter,” Father says. Tighter. Tighter. I fear I might pass out. I look toward Mom, willing her to open her eyes. To look at me and to save me like she vowed.

To save me like she vowed when she found out the true extent of my father’s hatred of me.

With one last punishing squeeze, he releases me, and I collapse back on the cushions, drawing in air as if on the brink of death.

And I am. I am always on the brink of death when Benjamin Brigham is around.

He leans over me, blocking out everything except his eyes and his demonic gaze.

“This will serve as your punishment and your reminder.”

He stands over me for one more moment as the three men move beside him.

I know. I know, I know, I know what will happen.

Not again, not again. I can’t do this again. This can’t happen again.

So I allow myself to show the weakness he so detests. I allow tears to fall.

“Please,” I beg. “Don’t let them hurt me.”