The Anti-Hero (The Goode Brothers, #1)(87)
I manage a strangled sob as I try to tear myself out of his grasp, but his hold is too strong.
“Yeah, well, I’d rather be a trashy slut than a man hated by his own children. But your son loves me. And he can’t fucking stand you.”
“You little bitch,” he says, spitting in my face as he makes me stumble in my retreat.
“Let me go,” I cry out, louder this time.
His drunk weight becomes too much, and I stumble on my heels, falling to the ground with a crushing impact, his heavy frame covering me.
He’s muttering something cruel, but my mind has stopped registering his words. He’s taunting me, telling me to burn in hell, wishing me death, and all I can do is fight back.
As his hands fumble their way over my body, pinching my flesh and attempting to dig their way between my legs, my stomach turns with dread. Still, I fight, kicking my legs against his assault, trying to push him off of me. Then, I scream.
To shut me up, he clamps both hands around my throat, putting his weight on my windpipe until it feels like he’s crushing me to death. Fear and panic fill my bloodstream as my vision turns hazy and black around the edges.
All I can think is that I’m going to die. And it’s going to break Adam’s heart.
My legs turn heavy and my hands can no longer find the strength to push Truett away.
I can’t move, I can’t fight, and I can’t scream.
So, I pray.
Forty
Adam
S he’s taking too long.
As my brother drones on and on about his latest course load, I can’t focus. I’m still staring into the dark night, waiting for Sage to round the corner with a smile.
Caleb mentioned he saw our dad heading toward the valet at the front, but I’m too nervous to believe it.
The very thought of him finding her chills me to the bone.
He wouldn’t hurt her, would he? He may be a liar and a hypocrite, but is he really a monster?
“Where’s your date?” my brother asks, taking another sip of his drink.
“She’s in the bathroom,” I reply. “But she’s been in there a while. I should go see what’s taking her so long.”
“While you’re back there, check on your father,” my mother calls from beside my brother. “He said he was going too, and I’m ready to get home.”
I’m frozen, staring at her in confusion. I assumed my father went home without my mother and she would get the driver to come back for her, but knowing he’s still here, possibly threatening or bullying Sage, my Sage has my blood as cold as ice.
Without warning, I take off in a run toward the place where I just left her. My mother calls after me, the entire group of them probably alarmed to see me sprinting in such a panic for no reason.
I know she’s fine. It’s ridiculous to think he would actually hurt her, but I’ve been fooled by that man before, and every ounce of instinct inside me is telling me that she needs me.
As I turn the corner behind the main building, noticing movement on the ground in the distance, I stop. It takes my eyes a moment to adjust, and when they do, all I see is red.
My father is hovering over her, his hands around her throat and her hands weakly fighting against his grip.
Everything starts to blur, and it’s like something in me snaps. It’s the same feeling I had the night I attacked Brett.
All of the good inside me turns black, and in its place is only rage.
I don’t register charging toward him, and I don’t recall dragging him off of her. The only thing I know is I’m holding him by the collar, a drunken mess of a man sobbing for forgiveness as I hold my fisted hand in the air, ready to kill him.
“You’re…a monster,” I growl, my nostrils flared and my mind sick with madness. I imagine myself watching him die, bleeding out on the concrete path. I picture it with gross satisfaction.
“I’m sorry,” he cries. “I’m sorry, Adam.”
My fist shakes, ready to strike again.
I remember how good it felt to hit Brett. How I promised her I’d make anyone who hurt her pay, and it’s an easy bargain to make. No longer worried about my soul, I’m free to inflict my vengeance with pleasure.
“I lost control,” he sobs, drunk and hysterical. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
His hands are held in front of his face to defend himself from my fist, but if I kill him right here, what does that make me? Vindicated?
If he is a monster, and it’s his blood running through my veins, then what does that make me? I’m not better than him.
The best I can do for her now is to rid her world of this vile man and seal my fate. She’s worth it. I’d gladly burn in hell for her, so going to prison is a simple sacrifice.
To be the hero in her story, I would.
My fist shakes in anticipation, and I’m ready to break it all over again, this time on his face.
But then I hear a sound that pulls me from the twisted ramblings of my mind.
She coughs. It’s a painful, desperate, wheezing sound that makes me pause.
Turning my head, I see her rolling to her stomach, coughing desperately into the ground as she gasps for air.
I drop my howling father onto the ground, relax my fist, and rush to her side.
“Adam,” she says, but her voice sounds shattered into a million pieces.