* * *
I wake with a groan, my mouth dry, and my brain jackhammering against my skull.
“Wha- th- -ck wer- -ou think- Rowan?” I know it’s Liam speaking, but he sounds like he’s underwater and with each inflection of his voice, the throbbing in my head compounds.
“Shhyou’re beingtooloud to beso damnfaraway,” I mumble, my words slurring together. I don’t know if he can even understand what I just said.
“Don’t shus- me, motherf-, I’m try- to tal- sense int- your -ick as a bric- head,” he continues to mumble and I only catch every other word. “Stupid asshol- want to lose his goddamn -ack right-, out his rabi- ass mind.”
The fog slowly begins to clear, and I can finally see only one Liam when I open my eyes. Before I can ask any questions, the door to whichever room I’m lying in opens and the rest of the guys take up positions around the room.
I croak out, “I know. I let my temper get the best of me.”
August lets out a laugh that’s more huff than chuckle and says, “Understatement of the century.” I know it’s serious when Wy doesn’t make a joke or any attempts to change the toxic vibe in the air.
Karl is rubbing his hand over his stubbled jaw like he’s trying to wrap his head around this entire situation but ultimately says nothing. It’s Liam who lets me have it.
“You did more than let your temper get the best of you, Rowan. You fucked yourself in the ass hard with no Vaseline.”
I’d laugh but between my headache and the rigid set of his posture, I know this isn’t a laughing matter.
“You outright challenged the council’s orders and the bylaws in one damn breath. I’d smack the stupid off you, but I’d say your father already did that.” Liam grimaces, no doubt remembering what was done to me.
My cold hand reaches up to feel the egg-shaped knot forming on my cheek. Swinging my legs over the side of the king-sized bed, I put my left hand out to brace myself, only rising when the stars and spots disappear from my vision. Wy’s strong hand steadies me when I almost stumble. They all know where I’m heading and know all objections will fall on deaf ears.
My head is screaming by the time I reach the mirror in the bathroom. I hear the click of the light switch, as one of them flicks it on so I can properly survey the damage. What stares back at me once my hard gaze peers at my reflection makes the color leach from my face. My perfect face mottled with bruises.
Shit! It hasn’t been this bad in a long time. Rotating my head left then right, I take it all in, every single mark. Just as I’m about to finish, that’s when I see it, the outline of the Fraternitas emblem, in almost perfect detail, stamped on my right temple. At least now I know why I blacked out. The brute force with which my father struck me, imprinting the shape of the skull and dagger into my skin.
This shit is going to bruise and Coach is going to kill us in practice again this week. Stupid thing to be thinking about, but I can’t try to process the imprint of the ring on my father’s left hand.
“That will be all, please give me a moment with my son.” Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear.
I walk out of the bathroom, fighting dizziness the whole way. Only stopping when I see the asshole come into view.
I start, “Dad I kn-,” but am cut off.
“Rowaniel Jacob Calloway, I thought I made myself perfectly clear about what was expected of you as the sole heir to the Calloway legacy,” he all but growls, his face blooming so red it almost looks purple.
I don’t bother to try and plead my case again, it would only end worse for me. Instead, I steel my spine and listen, attempting to hide the choppy breaths that I’m sure mean I have a bruised or cracked rib.
“But since I obviously haven’t, let me help make it clearer for you, you fucking ungrateful little shit.” He’s across the room before I suck in my next half lungful of air. His long fingers snatch my face between them. His rough hands are almost cold to the touch, a clear contrast from my hot battered skin. Sprays of spit hit my face as he speaks through clenched teeth, “You will choose a fucking potential bride and you will do your part to keep the founding members at the helm of this society. If you have one more outburst like you had upstairs, you will be back at the correction center faster than you can blink. Do I make myself clear?”
I can barely nod in agreement, his grip so tight I can almost feel the bones breaking under the pressure.
Releasing me with a shove, my head smacks against the white painted walls. I can feel the trickle of blood begin to fall and I know the once white wall is now stained red.
Finished with me, he turns and strides toward the door. I don’t dare move from where I am, even as the trickle turns to a steady flow. Head wounds always bleed more, I’m sure I’ll only need a stitch or two.
As he approaches the exit, his tailored jacket-covered arm reaches for the door. His feet halt and just before he pulls it open he turns his mocking grin in my direction and says, “I should’ve made your mother fucking swallow you, you’re a waste of perfectly good sperm.”
With that, the door slams and his words reverberate on repeat throughout the silent but far too loud room.
EMMA
“Holy shit,” I groan out as the house, no… the mansion, comes into view. I question my sanity for agreeing to come to Shay’s family cookout. Although agreeing might be a stretch, more like both arms were twisted behind my back and I was given the guilt trip of the century.
“You have to come Ry. You promised after I promised to never ask you to go to another football game again. Not to mention you still owe me a party.” I think back to our conversation in history class, yesterday.
Me and my stupid big mouth making promises my antisocial ass wouldn’t want to keep. I figured future Emma would figure a way out of it. Now, I want to kick past Emma’s bubble-butted ass.
Dumb bitch!
I shove the gear shift in park, still annoyed with myself, and get out of the car before I decide to hightail it back home. Bending over, I reach across to the passenger side of the car and grab the assorted arrangement of wildflowers and case of Heineken.
Shay said I didn’t need to bring anything when I asked, but who comes to a cookout with their two long hands, especially to meet the family of your only friend? She’s mentioned on more than a few occasions how her dad would be sipping on Heineken and playing dominos or as she says it, ‘lickin’ domino.’ I’m telling you now I can’t wait to watch because I know it gets crazy.
Kicking the door closed with the heel of my black custom Green Day converse, I let out a deep sigh and mentally prepare myself for the amount of peopling I’ll have to do today. But Shay’s dope, so she’s totally worth the serious decompressing I’m going to have to do once I leave.
I’ve always been more of a loner, marching to my own beat and carving out my own path. It’s not like I didn’t have friends because I did, but my circle was small and then even they left me.
When my dad went missing, I lost my sounding board and closed myself off. I only found moments of happiness in the laughter and smiles of my sister and brothers. So, I didn’t blame my friends when they stopped keeping in touch, though I did at first. I left them mentally long before they left me physically.
With each town we moved to, I withdrew further and further into myself. I locked myself up tighter than Fort Knox. I had to. I had to make sure my family didn’t buckle under the pressure, and ensuring that the loss of my father and abandonment of my mother didn’t tear apart the only remaining family I had left. I had the same plan for Calloway, but then Shay motherfucking Warren said ‘not ah bumbo’ and hasn’t let me disappear yet.
My mouth quirks into a small smile as I approach her front door and bend my elbow to ring the doorbell. While waiting for someone to open the door, I take in the beautiful colonial-style mansion. The stone and siding combination really gives it a welcoming feel. I hear the click of a lock disengaging and the screech of Shay’s excited glee.
“Yes, bitch! You made it!”
My face morphs into a full-out smile, “I did, you’re lucky I love you.”
“Nah, luck has nothing to do with it, I’m great and you know it,” she sasses back. “We’re out back by the pool.”
Lifting my hands, I say “Just point me in the direction where I can put this stuff down.”
“Aww, you didn’t have to, but thanks!” Grabbing me by my elbow, she half pulls, half drags, me through the entranceway. I barely get a chance to take in the earth-toned color scheme of the house that is designed with creams, beiges, and browns. I pass by pictures of her whole family and some of her baby pictures. I’ll have to sneak back later so I can snap some shots for blackmail purposes, of course.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.