But…
I’m five years old again, hiding in the closet from the monsters in my own house.
Distantly, I hear the sound of a door banging open as someone tears out of the building at top speed.
I’m six, and the oak table is in pieces on the kitchen floor, legs snapped clean through, just like the bone in my arm.
“Felicity.” She licks her lips, a nervous habit.
I’m seven, wedging a chair under my bedroom door before I go to bed, in case they come home from the bar screaming again.
“Let’s go, sweets. It won’t take long.” My mother shifts from foot to foot, eyes darting around like a fish in a bowl as a towering figure appears at my side.
“She’s not going anywhere with you.”
The growl is so potent, so ferocious, I’d be scared if it didn’t recognize the man it’s coming from. Slowly, with meticulous precision, he reaches down and peels my mother’s grip from my arm, digit by digit. He tosses her hand away like a piece of garbage, replacing her hold with his own. His warm, callused fingers stroke my skin, as if to erase an unwanted stain.
Ryder.
The world rushes back, time resuming its normal flow as a breath bursts into my screaming lungs. I look up at him, his towering presence a welcome sight despite the dark fury contorting his features, and am overcome by the most irrational thought.
He’s here, now.
I’m safe, now.
“I suggest you turn around,” he mutters in the coldest tone I’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. “And crawl back under whatever rock you slithered out from.”
My mother’s face contorts into a glare. “Do you realize who you’re talking to?”
“Oh, I know all about you, Kandace.” His voice is lethally soft. “And the few stories Felicity told me about you and your husband were enough for me to decide, with absolute certainty, you’re never getting near her again. Certainly not alone.”
“You don’t control my relationship with my daughter!” she hisses, her eyes flying to mine. “Tell him, sweetie. Tell him you’ll talk to me.”
Bolstered by Ryder’s presence, I finally find my voice. “I don’t have anything to say to you, mother.”
At my words, Linden and York close in again, each manacling one of her arms in a massive grip.
“How dare you? I’m your mother!”
The laugh sounds more like a sob. “Really? Could’ve fooled me.”
“What kind of daughter won’t speak to her own flesh and blood?”
“The kind that knows you aren’t here just for quality time.”
“You ungrateful littlewhore.” She spits out the word, a gob of saliva landing by my feet. “Tarted up like you’re something special with your big record deal. Well, I’ll tell you something, Felicity Wilde — you’re not special. You never were.”
I am still as death, staring at her. When I speak, my voice is a hollowed-out shell. “How much?”
Her eyes flash. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
The air goes tense as I take a small step forward and repeat the question with quiet vehemence.
“How. Much. To. Make. You. Go. Away.”
“I don’t—”
“Just tell me,” I snap.