Chapter Twenty-Three
I’m lying awake in bed when I hear the commotion downstairs. A man’s shout. A disturbing thump. I peek out of my little room to find the large bed empty, the sheet thrown back. Is it Damon downstairs? Or did he already go down to investigate?
I find my answer at the bottom of the stairs.
Damon stands over a prone body. A large body. One covered in bruises and blood.
“Daddy,” I whisper.
He looks up at me with one bloodshot eye, the other too puffy to see. “There you are. I had to make sure you were safe. Had to make sure—”
“Don’t speak to her,” Damon says, his voice bored.
It’s a lie, that boredom. The casual look of him, loose pants and no shirt—that’s a lie, too. Everything about this man is deliberate and honed. He’s a blade, and the man on the floor in front
