Page 75 of Forbidden Eyes

I give her a half smile and nod my head, willing her to take strength from me, and telling her that she’ll be okay. She’ll be fine. She will. He’ll never hurt her other than to teach her whatever fucked up idea of morals he has. Me, on the other hand…

I should have known better.

My fists pump behind my back, and I turn my head to face him, hoping my sugar levels don’t bottom out too soon. It’s risky, I know that, but I’m fucked if I don’t at least try to take what he’s about to deliver and stay standing through it. That's all I've got here—the hope that he has some element of respect for me because I'm facing him off. Besides, he's old. I'm not. He can't hurt me any worse than Quinn does when he hits hard.

He's looking at me as he pulls his jacket off his shoulders and rolls up his sleeves, a tilt to his head.

“Dad, please,” she cries, through her muffled tears. “He saved me. You can’t do this when he’s done so much to protect ...”

“Stay quiet, Fia,” I snap.

His brow arches at my command, as if he’s pissed at me for daring to even speak to her in his presence, but it doesn’t matter who said the words. We both know what it means. She can sit there. See it. It’s coming no matter how much she doesn’t want it to happen, and I’ll take it. I said I would. I knew the consequences would catch my ass sooner or later. She was worth it. Still is. She’s a Vico and she deserves to see the truth of her father, but I’d have spared her this exact visual if I could. If there’s any way out of this, any fucking future left for me, or us, at all, she needs to understand what happens in this world whether she likes it or not.

His lips tip up a little, weathered features bringing all the angst as I keep staring at him. Fuck knows what at, but it’s not a smile anyone would consider amused, more about to flip the fuck out. I blow out a breath and step up to him, praying my legs stay true.

This is the only card I have. To prove myself. Rightly or wrongly, I touched her. Fucked her. Got inside something that I shouldn’t have done. Enjoyed it.

And I’d damn well do it again tomorrow.

The first swing comes so hard and fast it throws me backwards, my feet tumbling over themselves to keep me upright and face him again. Damn, that fucking hurt, more than any punch Quinn's ever thrown at me. I pant from the ferocity of it and right myself, turning back towards him. I’m not given a fucking second to breathe before he barrels into me again, fists letting loose without care. I grunt and crash around, barely able to stand from the impacts. Left ribs, right, an uppercut sending blood flying from my mouth.

“Dumb fucker.”

Heat swarms inside me, muscles not knowing how to retaliate with what little energy I’ve got. I can hear her screaming in the background, hear her pleas as I keep tumbling around. One hit makes me crash against a wall, my cheek taking the brunt of my weight slamming into it, and then I feel something slice through the tape at my wrists. He kicks me forward, enough that I stagger, unsure what the fuck that means, and then see the blurred image of him coming straight back at me again.

“Fight back,” he growls. “Give me something more to kill.”

My hands go up, my body trying to remember what to do with them, but everything’s getting so fucking weak now, useless. I shake my head, hoping to see him and manage my body, but the continued battering, the lack of blood sugar, all of it rammed together, and I’m about to lose my grip on fucking reality let alone the ability to fight.

Another fist pummels into my nose, cracking it and wiping out what little vision I had left. My legs try retreating as I hear him move away from me, desperate to catch a damned breath, but more feet scuffle towards me, small ones. I twist and see him hauling her over to me, her eyes panicked as he yanks on her wrist callously.

"Look at what disobedience gets you," he shouts, forcing her head in front of mine. "Look what you've caused."

I back away some more, turning my face from her and her tears. She doesn't need to see this. Shouldn't. She's caused nothing. I did. Me.

But then he fucking slaps her again. I hear the smack against her skin, her shriek at the impact. Whatever strength I've got left launches me at him, my body getting straight in between them to break his hold as my hands shove his chest.

"Me, not her," I pant, trying to keep myself from wavering in the moment.

I'll take this. I will. Show him some fucking respect because of what I've done. But I'm not seeing her hurt because of any of it. Especially me. "Leave. Her. Alone."

Three fucking seconds I'm given before two guys grab me, and I spend those seconds pushing her well out of the way. I haven't got much left to fight with now anyway, and it comes too heavy and too fast for me to avoid. All hell riles up in me as they hold me fast, both of them pummelling relentlessly, but there's nothing left in me to fight back with. My body is battered with hits, all of them aimed like they want to do maximum damage as Vico watches on. Eventually, I feel myself drifting to thoughts of why I’m taking this. Pretty as fuck. Figure like a queen. Lips that kiss as if they’re made for me alone. My head ricochets off a wall again, and my frame tumbles uselessly. She was mine the moment I saw her, no matter how much I tried to deny it. Or respect him.

Mine.

Another crunch finally sends me flying towards the ground. I hit it hard, my body crunching against the concrete and jaw ricocheting off it. It takes everything I’ve got left to crawl up onto my hands and knees, trying to get up in his face again. Everything’s giving in, though. The world’s distorted. My physique is weak and drained, unusable. Even oxygen is getting hard to take in. I pant and heave, bracing one foot on the floor to try pushing upright again. It fucking gives way before I can, sending me straight back down to the dust again.

Every goddamn flaw I have because of this disease hits me.

At the wrong damn time.

I try focusing on the floor, still able to hear her faint voice screaming and crying, and heave in more breaths to find enough energy to turn my head to her. Nothing helps now. I can barely move other than trying to pull myself along. So tired. And sick. I feel sick and nauseous, weakened from it. Still, I pull, though, trying to show her she was worth this, that I'd take it again just for the taste of those lips, until I feel his hand grasping the back of my head to hold me still. It all finally gives in, and the last traces of my body’s fight for strength accept defeat. I'm done, and my forehead slamming onto the ground proves it.

There’s nothing left to give.

Twenty-Two

“Stop it… Dad, please…” I sob.