Enforce(107)

She tried to shake her head.

The anger boiled inside, pushing out of my chest, making it twist with pain, pain she’d caused, pain she’d suffer from.

“Because the De Langes aren’t a for-sure thing. Our money isn’t good enough. But Nixon’s? His name? It’s freaking gold, and you went and ruined everything by batting your damn eyelashes. You’re a freaking whore just like your mom…”

I slapped her across the face before I pushed her into the room, my own hands trembling.

What was I doing?

I hesitated for a moment.

But hesitation had never gotten me any more. It had left me unloved. It had left me with nothing. The monster needed to be fed.

I needed vengeance.

In order to die in peace, I needed something, didn’t I? I deserved something! A son abused, a friend ignored, I just wanted purpose.

And she’d taken it from me. Stolen it from my hands.

Trace started frantically pushing the screen of her cell.

“What are you doing?” I grabbed her phone just as it rang. “Answer it. Tell him you’re fine.”

She shook her head. I pulled out a knife. “Answer it, or I’m going to make a permanent mark on your face.”

With shaking hands, she took the phone and answered, “Hello?”

“Trace?” a loud male voice said from the other end. “Are you okay? Nixon said you left class and— Trace are you crying?”

“No.” Her voice was strained.

I couldn’t place the voice on the other end, but I assumed it was one of the guys.

“Um, Chase, I gotta run. I’m going to go back to my room to take a nap.” She glanced at me, still talking on the phone. “Yeah?” Her eyes snapped shut, and she whispered. “Scorching.”

When she handed me back the phone, I threw it against the wall. It shattered it on contact.

“Think you know all our little secrets just because you’re an Alfero?” I pushed her against the same wall and laughed. “Where’s Nixon now? Is he going to save you? Where was he when your parents died? Oh right. He was too young, unable to do anything. Just like he won’t be able to do anything now.”

“Why?” she choked out.

“Why?” I licked my lips then spit on her, just like my father had spit on me. How’s it feel, princess? To be nothing. Treated like you don’t matter. Like your existence was a mistake. “Because you’re a dirty whore. Because you’ve ruined everything I’ve worked for years to build. Because the minute Nixon broke me away from the Elect, nobody in town would do business with us. I’ve been ordered by my father to take care of things in any way possible. This is my way of doing that. Can’t have family secrets rearing their ugly heads, just because Nixon decided he had a heart, now can we?”

“Nixon will kill you.” Her voice shook with rage.

I punched the wall above her head, knowing it was true and hoping the bastard would stop me, save me from myself, save me from doing something I didn’t want to do, but had no control over. My hands shook, my body convulsed. This wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.

But the real me had died long ago.

He had been forced into submission.

“Not if I kill him first.” I ripped the sweater from her body. “A thousand bucks says you’re a virgin…” I slowly undid the buttons to her shirt. My hands still shaking, I gagged. This was what he had turned me into; my father had made sex an act of violence.

Even with someone like Trace.

It was violent.

It would be violent.

Because I wasn’t a person anymore.

Her fist caught my jaw.

I staggered and then whispered, “I like a girl who’s rough.” The words coming from my mouth didn’t match my actions, didn’t match my feelings, but rage controlled everything.

She fought harder.

And again I saw those girls’ faces.

And when I looked up, I imagined my face, the face of my father, as I ripped the skirt off her body.

He would pay.

They would all pay.

For turning me into the one thing I never wanted to be. When I’d been a little boy, it hadn’t been monsters that had scared me.

It had been him.

Dean De Lange.

He’d terrified me.

I’d prayed to God, wished on every shooting star to just save me from his fate.

But God hadn’t listened.

And the stars had chosen to shine on good little boys and girls, but not Phoenix De Lange, never Phoenix. My vision blurred as her skirt fell in pieces next to her.

What. The. Hell.

She tried to buck me off her.

I slapped her.

It made me feel better.

So I slapped her harder.

When a tear streamed down her face, and her expression was familiar, that of Trace and not one of the girls I’d used before, I blinked, my hands reaching toward her underwear, as if I couldn’t stop myself.