Page 59 of Insidious Heart
Please make this quick.
He walks toward me slowly, the smell of liquor growing stronger with each step he takes. Beau stops about two feet in front of me before circling my position, and averting my eyes the way I am means I’m getting a good look at his crappy boots and dirty jeans. Both of which are covered in mud, what could be whiskey, and vomit. And that definitely means my father was already celebrating his birthday, probably the entire drive back from wherever the hell he was, and that is definitely not going to bode well for me.
Something proven one hundred percent when Beau finishes his inspection and abruptly grabs my face, forcing me to look at him while he sneers. “Trying to get fucked tonight,princess?”
Tears immediately well in my eyes as he squeezes my cheeks and chin but I manage to shake my head.
“No?” His murky brown eyes narrow, the yellow-tinged whites disappearing completely. “Not planning to spread your legs for some dumbass new patch, huh? Your dress says otherwise. Says you’re looking to get fucked by anyone you see so you can get the hell out of this house. That’s what you want, isn’t it? Why your ass is practically hanging out the back, and the front is so low you’re basically asking for someone to grab your tits.”
My stomach rolls as bile creeps up my throat.
I hate when he says things like that.
Every word Beau spits at me is full of venom but he’s forever accusing me of things like that because he thinks all women use their bodies to get what they want; thinks we all do what the women he uses and abuses do, and it’s why he blames me for the way Joker acted. It was always my fault forteasinghim.
Which is fucking delusional, if you ask me; especially since my father had beat the shit out of Joker on more than one occasion for acting on his warped fantasies, but that doesn’t matter to Beau Williams.
He has somehow convinced himself that I’m trying to bang my way out of this house and into another that’s equally as horrible, and that boils down to one thing for Beau.
Control.
If I date, if I have sex, if I go to school on my own dime, or work somewhere other than the nursing home—since I don’t interact with the general public there—it all leads to my father losing the stranglehold he has on me, and even though I’m pretty sure he hates me, the idea of that sends him into a rage.
“What’s this shit on your face?” Beau’s fingers dig into my skin as he jerks my head side to side, leaning in close enough for me to smell how correct I was about the crap on his boots.
But I still don’t speak.
No, I just pray the tears don’t fall while I look into the face of the man I have only ever wanted to love me the way Cal loves his sons, because if I cry, well, there’s a very good chance I won’t be going anywhere except the bathroom to clean up whatever mess Beau makes of me.
My father scowls, his leathery face twisting into a look of disgust. “Whatis this shit,Stevie?”
“M-makeup,” I whisper.
“Makeup?”
I give him a slight nod.
“You look like a whore.” Beau finally lets go of my cheeks and shoves me hard enough that I stumble back a little. “A fucking mangled whore, but one that’ll drop for the first dick that pays her any attention.”
I will not cry.“Rochelle… Rochelle said you wanted me to—”
“I don’t give a flying fuck what that rotten cunt said becauseInever said you could leave this house looking like a goddamn cheap prostitute.”
“But—she—this… this is for the party and—” Beau’s hand flies out in front of him, connecting with my scarred cheek so hard my vision goes white but before the pain even registers. Then my father is gripping my forearm, dragging me out the door, and rushing me down the hall.
His nails bite into my flesh as he leans toward me again. “You can bet your ass when I get home tomorrow morning you will be in for one hell of a lecture,princess.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, my cheek burning while I try to maintain my composure.
Nothing like a little psychological torture to go with that physical abuse.
“But until then”—Beau stops us at the top of the stairs and for a moment I wonder if he’ll just shove me down them—“get that worthless bitch Cal made his old lady to fix up your face. Can’t have you walking into that strip club bruised and bleeding on my fucking birthday.”
Right.Can’t have that.
His hold loosens briefly as I go to step down and when I think my father might let go of me so we can walk down the stairs without either of us falling, his fist is buried in my hair and he’s yanking me back toward him.
“I fucking mean it, Stevie. Have Rochelle fix that ground beef you call a face, but that don’t mean I want you talking to anyone at this party. If I find out you snuck off somewhere with some dumbass in leather so you can ride his disease-infested dick off into the sunset”—his fingers dig in, nails scraping against my scalp—“I will fucking make you sorry you were ever born. You hear me?” He jerks my head back hard enough that a few strands of hair pop at the roots and I quickly blink away the sting as my father looks me dead in the eye. “I will make you regret the day you dropped out of your mother’s snatch just as much as I do.”
