Chapter 41

Penelope

“Good morning, Penelope.”

The greeting jerks me awake, and I fumble off the lumpy mattress to my feet as fear spikes through my body all the way down to my toes. I look through my messy hair past the glass window and gasp.

My stepfather is sitting casually on the La-Z-Boy sofa, on the other side of it. The smile draped across his face sends shivers down my spine and leaves me confused.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” I whisper, and the amused look vanishes. His eyes grow dark and ominous.

“Been talking to your whore of a mother, have you?”

“Fuck you,” I spit, pushing aside the fear my body naturally has for him. My mother was just as much a victim to this man as I was, and it angers me to hear him speak of her that way. I’ve never understood why she stayed with him. I know she didn’t love him. My mother feared him. We all did. I’m starting to wonder what he had over her to make her stay.

“Oh, sweet girl, you’ll know what that feels like very soon,” he snickers, watching me carfully for my reaction.

But something else happens.

A memory.

One I buried a long time ago.

It was dark when I arrived home. Too dark. Something was wrong.

When I’d left for school this morning, Mama hadn’t come out of her room yet, but she was heavy with child, and I’d been told her time would come soon. I wasn’t sure what that meant exactly, but I had a feeling it meant the baby would be here soon.

I closed and locked the door behind me and placed my book bag on the hook beside it. Clicking on the lamp beside the door, I froze because my stepfather was sitting in the chair directly across from me. Staring at me with eyes so dark, that if they didn’t have white, I would have thought he was some kind of devil creature.

“You’re late,” he drawled, and I saw the fury rolling through him. I knew the signs. Narrowed eyes, controlled voice, and his hand gripping the arms of the chair tightly, trying to control it all. But that wouldn’t last long. It never did.

“I had a tutoring session this evening. Mamae knew about it.” I took a step back, wishing I had known he was expected home today. I would have canceled my session then. He didn’t like that I tutored other students; in fact, he hated that I was being educated at all.

He got like this a lot when he was home, but rarely with me. Only when my mother wasn’t here to be his punching bag. While he’d never kept his hatred of me a secret, he rarely did anything about it.

Tonight, though, my Mamae wasn’t here.

But I was.

“Aren’t you going to beg me?” he asked, cocking his head to the side. I shook my head. Begging him in the past had never stopped him. He’d hit me harder when I spoke too much. I’d learned to take my beating, all the while praying it didn’t last long. Some of the tension coiled tightly in his body loosened a little. “Good girl. You’re learning. If your Mamae took a lesson from you, maybe then I wouldn’t punish her as often as I do.”

“Is Mamae okay?” I asked in a whisper, hoping the question didn’t anger him further. The way he was acting, I was afraid he had done something to her and the baby.

“She is fine. I sent her off the doula this morning. My son is being born tonight.” Relief for my mother and the baby filled me. We didn’t know if it was really a boy, but my stepfather had claimed it to be a boy since my mother announced she was pregnant.

At first, he’d been angry, but after beating her senseless and the baby itself to be strong, her beatings had become less frequent and never lasted long. He’d always been careful to avoid her midsection and stopped pushing her into things.

“Come here,” he told me, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward. I walked toward him. His hands movde to his belt, unbuckling it slowly. I cringed inwardly. As much as he liked using his fists, he liked whipping me with his belt above all else. Except, he didn’t stop there, and my stomach dropped as the sound of his zipper echoed throughout the room.

The door behind me slammed open, and Paolo stepped across the threshold. My stepfather shifted, covering himself from my brother.

I used the distraction to spin on my heels and flee out of the door Paolo had come through, ignoring my stepfather as he yelled for me to come back.

“How are you here?” I ask, pushing the memories of what happened that night back into the little black box I’ve kept it hidden in.

“For someone who claimed to be smart, you are proving to be quite the opposite.” He presses a button on the elaborate remote in his hand. I recognize it as the same one Mirabelle was using last night when she brought me into this cage.

The door opens, and Mirabella walks into the room. Her eyes are downcast, and she crosses the room and kneels beside him. She places her hands on her thighs and waits.

“You know Mirabelle, I’m sure. We don’t need introductions, I don’t think.” He reaches out to pet her like a dog, patting her gently on top of her head. “Then again, my sweet pet here doesn’t really know who you are, does she, Penelope?”

“I don’t even know who you are,” I retort, but I sense I’m still missing something. His eyes narrow on me.

“What? Am I not good enough to call Papai any longer?” He lifts an eyebrow, daring me to argue with him. I see Mirabelle tense beside him. “Can you believe how my own daughter disrespects me, pet?”

“I’m not your daughter.”

“Shut up,” Mirabelle hisses. “You will not speak to the master with such disrespect.”

“It’s okay, pet. She doesn’t know any better. Yet. Her mother was always too soft on her.” He caresses her face before turning his attention back to me. “I’m finding this little reunion to be slightly ironic. Aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I exclaim. He’s talking in riddles, and he’s not acting like the man I grew up being afraid of. He looks back down to Mirabelle.

“Imagine my surprise, sweet pet, when I sold this ungrateful chit into the world I controlled, that she would once again belong to me.”

“I belong to no one, least of all you,” I spit, feeling venomous. The young girl he enjoyed torturing is gone. Thanks to love, I’ll never be that frightened little girl again.

“Would you look at all that fire?” He sounds almost breathless, and his dark black eyes glitter, reminding me of the night I’ve done everything in my power to forget. “It seems you owe me gratitude. The woman, the fire burning inside of you, the fight itching to burst out from beneath your skin, all thanks to me.”

“Fuck you. It has nothing to do with you.”

He chuckles, “Oh, but it does. You can thank me later for it, when you figure it out.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Penelope, consider this your warning. This life is not yours to decide. It never has been, and it will never be.” His amusement turns cold, and he leans forward. “You will die, little one, but not until I tell you to draw your last breath.”

He leans back, looking satisfied, but I know better. This is kindness compared to what he is capable of. He has something up his sleeve. Something that could possibly destroy me.

“Pet, get her ready for me.” He manages to stand from his seat on the other side of the glass, but he leans heavily onto the cane to his right. I catch sight of his leg for the first time since coming to. It’s twisted in a way he shouldn’t be able to stand on it comfortably.

Maybe I can use his weakness to my advantage.

The thought echoes through my head, but I will have to get close to him, close enough to do something about it.

Think, Penny, think.