PROLOGUE
The Past
“Youfuckingpiece of shit!” Callum spat with a poisonous snarl.
I ignored the strings of drool that flew out of his mouth and focused on the cruelty in those black,soullesseyes. The man was unhinged and desperate to cause as much pain as possible.
From his bloodshot eyes and empty expression, I guessed he was coked to his eyeballs on blow again. I had been here many times before, but this was different. Callum had also hit the bottle, which added fuel to the fire. Everyone knew that drugs and booze didn’t mix and were an explosive combination. Especially when taken by a narcissistic fuck like my father.
I needed to keep my mind off that severe pain I felt in my chest; it stung with every breath I took. If I gave into that feeling, I was screwed.
Airspewedfrom my lungs as my aggressor directed another kick into my stomach, yelling, “Come on, tough guy, get up and fight. You talk the talk but you’re nothing but a little bitch!”
The stench of body odour and liquor lingered in the haze of the smoky room.
I squinted up at my old man who was in the middle of beating the shit out of me. He looked like an apparition, a large shadow with no face.
I could hardly see a thing. The kitchen lights had always been dull; only the downlighters worked now. Callum Gage was a lazy cunt and never lifted a finger in our house. A fist, now that’s another story, he’d raised plenty of those at meandmy mother.
Our house? That thought was laughable, as the shithole I was raised in was more like a slum.
I zoned out from what Callum was saying, feeling dazed. Fuck, how I wished it was summer and I was with my grandparents; their place by the ocean was my escape, even if only for a few short weeks each year. I hadn’t been able to visit lately as Nana hadn’t been too well, and Papa was moving into a nursing home.
“Stupid little prick!” Those words dragged me back to the kitchen.
The smell of sulphurstungmy nostrils, and the congealed blood which had gathered above my busted lip had seeped into my mouth. The taste at the back of my throat was metallic and grim.
Dragging myself away from a pity party of my making, I lifted my gaze off the floor and looked up at Callum. He’d turned his back on me and was raving to himself like afrigginglunatic.
A jet of adrenaline burst through my pain as I saw my chance. Mom was still on the floor; I could see her body on the other side of the kitchen table.
Was she moving? I needed to get to her.
Fuck, I was hurtingeverywhere, but I needed to think about anything else. If I gave in and processedexactlywhat was happening to me, the rage would set in, and then I would lose control, just like Daddy-not-so-dearest. Like father, like son, they say. But I didn’t hit women or teenagers. I wasn’tthatfar gone.
Scanning my father’s beefy shoulders, I struggled with the best course of action. The asshole topped me by at least two feet and was more muscled; it sat hidden beneath layers of beer belly, but it was there.
“Get up,” my father seethed again, nudging me roughly with his booted foot. I rolled to my stomach and pushed onto all fours, discharging a wheezy breath.
The fury bubbling beneath the surface was so strong. It terrified me almost as much as Callum used to when he was in shape. In those days, he didn’t miss as much. Lately, the coke, booze and a bad diet had led to a shitty aim and unsteady feet, which, on occasion, had given me a fighting chance.
Shoving back onto my knees, I spat some blood onto the grease-streaked linoleum before lifting my chin and gazing up at the man who had sired me. I say, sire, notraisedas the fucker had no understanding of whatthatmeant.
Callum, or Cal as some of his friends called him, took another swig from the bottle of vodka he clutched, holding onto the kitchen counter with his free hand. And when I sayfriends, I mean a bunch of freeloading scumbags that were no better than him.
I dragged in a breath. Whilst he was distracted, I glanced back to where she lay, my mother. I could faintly see her twisted frame on the floor through one eye; my other was swollen shut. The smoke in the room also hindered my vision. My mother had been cooking dinner just before Callum came in and started raging that we were out of beer.
As I leaned forward and stretched out my hand towards her foot, my father shifted beside me, and before I realized what he was doing, I was knocked to the side by his knee. I lost my balance, throwing out a hand to catch myself, only for it to land on a pile of broken glass. The shards bit into my palm.
“Fuck!” I screamed, unable to stop the words spewing from my mouth. They caused my mother to moan.
“Please, Cal. Let him be,” she sobbed. It was so faint I hardly heard it.
“Shut up! Fucking useless bitch,” Callum growled, the thudding noise that followed forced vomit up into my throat as his foot impacted her body. I could feel chunks of the bacon I had just eaten coming down my nose.
Roaring at the top of my lungs, puke ran down my chin, and I rolled on my back, dizzy and disoriented.
The blood was rushing in my ears so loud that I couldn’t hear what the fucker was saying.
