THUD.
The wooden stick came down hard on Matthew Powell’s skull, the c***k of impact muffled but sickening. Blood ran down his forehead immediately, warm and thick.
“Dad! Mom! Why are you here? What are you doing?!”
Sarah Lacy rushed forward, trying to shield Matthew.
A woman in her forties—hair messy, wearing worn-out house clothes—grabbed Sarah by the arm and yanked her back. Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass.
“Don’t you dare interfere! Today your father is going to beat this bastard to death! Everything—EVERYTHING our family has suffered is because of him!”
Her voice rose with each word, fueled by years of festering hatred.
“Six years ago, if not for him, you wouldn’t have been rejected by the Grande family, you wouldn’t have lost your fiancé to Rebecca, and right now YOU w
