Liar. Dad was an arsehole, but he’d never…there was no way he’d tell Gresh I was alone and vulnerable. No way. He knows the type of creep Gresh is. Telling him I’m alone here is inviting me to be…no…he wouldn’t do that to me.He wouldn’t —
“Starting to understand, huh?” Gresh grins, a face full of broken yellow teeth and red gums. He flicks his finger under my eye and pulls away. “Your daddy gave you to me.” A single tear puddles on the tip. He holds it out to me, grinning wider and then thrusts his finger into his mouth, sucking until his cheeks hollow much deeper than normal.
Why am I surprised? Because a father wouldn’t set his daughter up to be molested by a pervert? But a father wouldn’t bleach his daughter’s hands or force children to assault an adult or threaten to drown his baby. I should know better than to judge him by the expectations of fatherhood. This is the man who threatens to sell me to the local brothel at least once a week.
But surely, this is too far? Threats are just words. Actually calling Gresh…no.
No matter which words I use to convince myself, my tears tell a different story; one where my father might set rape up as another punishment. It’s a whisper of doubt, spoken in the back of my mind, but it’s still a doubt.
I can’t trust him.
A voice, laced with authority and ringing with fury, lances like a physical bolt along the corridor.
“Get the hell away from her.”
I press further into the wall as Gresh launches himself away from me, his back hitting the wall opposite. Gresh turns to look at the speaker. His expression falls, his beady eyes expand, he stares for a moment and then drops his gaze submissively to the floor.
Seeing Gresh so cowed, I risk a glance at my saviour, but I know who it is. My heart hums in my chest, my body relaxes, I’m safe. There are only two people it could be.
Amillion warnings play out in my head. All of them are reasons why Dax and Aiden being here is a bad idea. My face is a riot of blooming bruises; I have missing chunks of hair; my hands are swollen, scarlet, throbbing monstrosities and likely broken. My eyes are watering; throat burns; I have egg and yogurt all over my clothes, and I’m fairly sure I smell like rotten milk and cleaning chemicals. That doesn’t even consider my embarrassment, or Gargoyle-Gresh, or my dad and the kids inside.
“What are you doing here?” The words carry my guilt and shame and the instant I say them, I feel so damn ungrateful.
“It’s five-forty-five, Jules. You didn’t show for classes and you didn’t answer our calls,” Aiden explains when Dax only continues to glare at Gresh.
“What?” Wait, I slept out here for four hours? Did they go to my college? “Oh, yeah…uh…something came up.”
Aiden raises his brow. Yeah, I didn’t think that excuse would wash either, but the less I say in front of Gresh, the better.
“Why the hell are you on the corridor floor?” Dax asks. Hisquestion might seem innocuous, but it’s impossible to miss the crackle of danger in the slow, purposeful way he asks. His eyes don’t flicker from Gresh for even a second.
I don’t answer. He finally scans his gaze in my direction and looks me over, taking extra time to stare at my latest bruises, rat-nest hair and burned hands. I know he sees it all, but he doesn’t call me out.
“You’ve slept out here?” he asks, coming to the correct conclusion immediately. “What happened after your shift this morning?”
God knows I don’t want to repeat it, and certainly not to Aiden or Dax. I just want it to go away. I want everything to go away. “I pissed off my dad. He sent me outside.”
“What?” Aiden snaps.
“Why the fuck would he do that?” Dax roars.
I shrug. It’s easier than telling him my dad is a sadistic arsehole, or worse, that Dax’s gift set him off. Realising he isn’t getting a better answer, Dax jerks his head in Gresh’s direction.
“Did he hurt you? Touch you?”
I stare at Gresh and wonder what to say. Had he hurt me? Not in the grand scheme of hurts. A bruised tit is nothing compared to what could have happened. Gresh shakes his head at me, begging silently for me not to say anything. Always the coward.
It turns out I don’t need to open my mouth. Dax scrutinises our reactions, particularly Gresh’s panic. He marches toward him — six unfaltering steps — and lifts him away from the wall by his lapel. If he is bothered by Gresh’s stink, he doesn’t show it. He sneers, baring his top teeth in an animalistic snarl and sticks his face in Gresh’s space.
“Why were you staring at her chest? Did you fucking lay your filthy hands on her?”
“I...I…no…I…” Gresh drains of colour. His eyes widen until I can see the veins throbbing at the corners. His jaw works as he tries to find a response or an excuse.
“You don’t come near her again. If you get so much as within fifty-feet of her, I will have you picked up by my security team and dumped where no one will ever find you. Understand?”
Gresh nods maniacally. Dax drops his hold, shoving him into the wall as he does so.
“Leave.”
