I couldn’t take faking this rigidness anymore, so I stood. Standing tall in front of him, until he straightens and tries to look me in the eye. But since I turned eighteen, I had inches on him – all over.
“Seamless? So the school carries on thinking she’s left for Paris for the semester and the Westwoods’ carry on binding themselves to the Reed name, and…”
“And you? Can continue on your merry way drinking, fucking and playing football to your hearts content. It’s really a win for everyone you see.”
A win?
I don’t know why I’m surprised, but my father has always been this cold son-of-a-bitch. How my mother ever fell for him I will honestly never understand. Yeah, where she grew up was no picnic, but I could imagine no place worse than this hell here with him.
“Great. I’ll be sure to get right onto that then.” I breathe through my nose, turning and heading for the door, before I hear him call.
“Oh, and Paxton.”
I don’t turn. But I stop to wait what last thing he wants to hit me with.
“Be sure to remember that in public – you are still engaged to Ms Westwood. And that nothing is to get in the way of that. I would hate for this deal to fall through, and have the Westwoods’ blaming a certain someone for the death of their daughter. You know it is common knowledge that your sister did not get along with Amber, and aligns herself with the outcasts of her year. The gays, low-life family members and scholarships who don’t belong. Especially a certain scholarship girl who was gossiped about trying to steal Ambers’ fiancée here. It wouldn’t be hard to get testimonies from students to confirm that and I would hate to see something happen to your sister because of you.”
I turn to look at him now, my eyes narrowed fiercely.
“Is that a threat?”
He stalks toward me, an evil smile on his face. Again, I’m not sure why I’m not ready for it, but the glass in his hand comes at my face before I have time to move. Glass, and whisky goes everywhere as he uses such force to smash it into my cheek. The only thing I hear is the crack of the glass crunching through skin, and all I feel is sticky liquid sliding down my face.
“It’s just a statement son. And what have I told you. It’s Sir.”
I crack my neck, feeling the continuing slow drips of blood streak down my face, holding in the rage that dares to be unleashed. It isn’t time yet. But when it is, I fear who will be in its’ path.
I turn my head slowly, back toward him before I add. “Sir.”
Broken Wing (Arthur Academy Book 1) Page 26