Page 7 of Infinite
“He didn’t do anything I didn’t want—”
My father cracks me across the face. The force is so hard it vibrates through my skull and instantly shatters my nose. My hands and knees slide through the sand as I fall. He hasn’t hit me in years. I suppose he thought I was long overdue.
“If you wanted that shit from the likes of Hale Wilder, you’re nothing more than a whore,” Daddy says. “Just like your mother.”
He means to hurt me with his words, just as he has every time I didn’t measure up to his standards. I was eight the first time he called me a whore, all for playing with my mother’s makeup kit. I didn’t deserve it then. I don’t deserve it now.
I spit out the taste of metal coating my tongue and swallow even more. It was a powerful strike. If I’m lucky, I won’t need surgery to repair it. Not that my father cares. The damage is just one piece of the punishment.
For the next few weeks, every time I look in the mirror, I’ll be reminded how I disappointed him and let the family down.
“Get in the house,” Daddy snarls.
“No.”
“What’d you say?” Daddy asks me, kicking sand up as he stomps forward.
“She’s hurt, Uncle Lloyd,” Matthew says. His bare feet stop near me, his immense size barely enough to keep Daddy away.
“Becca, get up,” Kirk mutters.
I do, but not because Kirk tells me to. This is what’s called survival and stubborn refusal to bow down.
I’m wobbly on my feet, my face throbbing and my balance askew. Somehow, I keep my feet, but not by much.
“Get in the house,” Daddy says, his voice so eerily still it borders on psychotic.
I yank my arm away when Matthew reaches for me. “I’m not going anywhere with you.” My voice trembles with unsurpassed rage. “I don’t want anything to do with you—”
Another strike, this one causing me to spin before my body crashes onto the beach. Stars explode in my vision. I’m hurt. Jesus Christ. I’m really hurt.
Daddy’s voice comes in and out as if speaking under water. Through the hard pounding in my ears, I catch enough. “After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me?” he growls. “Becca June, you’re no daughter of mine!”
I force my mouth to move. “Good.”
I don’t realize how loud I speak until Daddy’s Burberry loafers step in my line of vision. “What did you say to me?”
This is the part where he expects me to beg for his forgiveness, to say something to placate him enough so he returns to the house after one last parting insult. I rise slowly, my legs rubbery from how hard I’m shaking and the adrenaline pumping through me in merciless waves.
A small twisted sneer cuts across his face.
He’s happy I’m injured. Didn’t he show me who’s boss?
He thinks I’m afraid.
He’s never been more wrong.
“I said, ‘good’, you fucking redneck piece of shit.”
I don’t know who is more stunned. This man in front of me, who dares to call himself my daddy, or my cousins. They gasp, an air of shock and fear pelting the air. They think Daddy is going to kill me. They’re probably right. But I’ll be damned if I go down without a fight.
Daddy takes a step toward me. I step away. As much as I hate him, and truly and desperately want him to die, I won’t simply attack.
His gaze drags down my body, something he sees in me keeping him in place and deepening his sadistic features. “You’re dead to me,” he says. “You hear me? Your car. Your clothes. Everything, but what what’s on your slut back, belongs to me. Get out of here. I don’t ever want to see your face again.”
He spits at my feet and walks slowly away. One by one, my cousins leave, but not before casting me a worried glance. I don’t know what they’re so worried about. They still have Daddy. They’ve never needed me. I was just one more person to split the inheritance with.
The last of my family to reach my house is Matthew, his solid form giving him away. He pauses, looking in my direction. He may be having second thoughts, even though, like the others, he probably blames me.