If looks could kill, the one Katarina gave me when she burst into my bedroom probably would’ve knocked me dead.
And Phil, man . . . poor Phil.
I watched her snatch his ear, dragging him through the hall and, frozen there in my bedroom, I felt my stomach churn at the thought of her striking him the way she’d struck me.
A hard blow.
A memorable one.
And then my feet were moving. She was already dragging him outside and, standing at the top landing, my father’s eyes sliced to me and my body came to a halt. A dark gaze, scrunched brows—there was a lot of accusation in his expression.
Whatever was happening right now—he thinks it’s my fault.
It is my fault.
Isn’t it?
I could hear her then, shouting for him to go to the car, her words rushed to my p
