Leaning back, he snaps my wrist to the side, making my fingers spasm and release the glass which he pockets. I stare at him as fear and something I don’t want to name fills me, watching that drop of blood racing down his cheek. He pulls out a handkerchief and stops it before it can reach his suit, wiping it away like he didn’t just lean into glass to make a point.

“I can see you’re in a bad mood, so I’ll leave you to think on what I said.” He turns, and I race forward, but I’m too slow. The door slams shut, and the deafening click of a lock slamming into place has me screaming at the wood as I batter my injured hand against it.

When no one comes back, I cut up more of the pillow and bind my hand to stop the bleeding before looking around. It was petty, but I seriously do feel better. Sighing, I lie near the window, staring out at the city as the sky starts to darken.

I used to live in this town, loved exploring it and seeing it grow. That was before I realised the darkness that hides beneath all the glass and glamour. And the Vipers? They are one of the worst.

When you’re a kid, they tell you stories of monsters hiding under your bed or in the dark. They don’t tell you of the very real human ones. Those who prey on people weaker than them, or even the monsters that hide within ourselves.

Rich or poor, it doesn’t matter, humans are still monsters. They hide behind pretty faces, loved ones, blood. Yet they are all the same. They all want you for something, the difference is…how far they’re willing to go to get it.

It seems the Vipers will go all the way.

And it’s all because of my piece of shit father. Is it not enough he ruined my childhood? That I’ve spent every day of my life paying for his mistakes? No, now my future is taken away too.

Feeling sorry for myself, I close my eyes and try to rest my aching head. I’m a fighter, a survivor, always have been and always will be. I can get through this, I’ve survived worse before. Just because I’m locked up in a penthouse doesn’t mean I’m not locked up…

The door slams open, waking me. It’s late, really late, and dark. My stomach is hurting from not eating for almost two days, aside from those leftover bits of bread I found.

It’s late.

That only means one thing.

I cover my mouth, trying to slow my breathing so he won’t hear. My heart pounds so loudly, I want to cry. I hear his dragging footsteps as he stumbles up the stairs. Please, please let him forget I’m here.

Let this night be the night he carries on walking.

It’s not. He stops outside my door. I watch from my bed as his shadow blocks the light at the crack in the bottom before his big hand turns the handle and swings it open. He stands there for a moment, peering in at me. His silhouette is all I can see, so I can’t see his face or his expression. I know my mum’s passed out, she injected herself before I went to bed, so she’ll be out until morning. It’s just me and him. And he knows it.

I can smell the whiskey on his breath from here, see the anger vibrating through his body. It’s always the same. He gets drunk, he loses money, he takes it out on me. It’s a vicious cycle. Every night, I expect it to be different, and every night, it’s the same.

If you’ve never had a parent let you down, hurt you, and break your heart, then you don’t know how it feels. They’re supposed to protect you, love you, yet my parents are the reason I’m scared. I learned from a young age that they’re the ones who hurt me, no one else. They don’t care if I live or die, I’m just an object to them.

To vent to, to take for granted.

When I watch other kids at school talking about their parents, I get angry, the same anger my daddy has. I hate them for it, for being happy. For enjoying their life. Their parents love them, treasure them, shower them with gifts and happiness. Why can’t I have that?

Yet even if my dad or mum ever tried to, I would flinch, expecting the punch that would come right after it. Because the truth is, I know at the base of all people, at their very core…all they care about is themselves. What something can bring them, do for them, and when push comes to shove, they will always choose themselves.

Some people are born with a rage, a need to hurt.

Some are born greedy, an addictive personality. Others hide it well, but in the end, we’re all the same. We all bleed the same colour, and we are all just searching for something to make the truth of our souls disappear so we feel like good people.

I’m not fooling him, he knows I’m awake, so I sit up and face him. I refuse to cry, I refuse to beg. Not anymore. I did once, and I thought he might actually stop. I know better now. He won’t stop until he kills me one day, but until then, I’m just surviving from one day to the next with that truth hanging over me.

“Get up,” he slurs. I purse my lips, but do as I’m told, knowing that will get this over more quickly.

But every time this happens, something grows inside me, that anger morphing until I have to bite my tongue to stop from hitting back, from lashing out. I refuse to be like him.

He stumbles my way, swearing when he almost falls over. “I lost two thousand tonight, you know whose fault that is?” he yells.

I should say nothing, just nod and take the hit like a good girl.

But maybe I’m not a good girl, maybe I’m just as messed up as he is. “I’m guessing mine,” I drawl.

Dumb, real dumb.

For a drunk man, the punch comes fast, he’s big, and it shows in the power behind his fists. It smacks into my gut, bending me over as I struggle to breathe. My stomach aches even more now than just hunger pains.

He grabs my hair, making me cry out as he jerks up my head. His crooked teeth flash in the dark, his face blurry from my tears. He snarls at me, his rancid breath wafting into my face and making me gag. “Yours, you fucking little shit.”

I’m so busy trying not to vomit—the last time I did, he broke my arm—that I don’t see it coming. He throws me into the wall, and my head hits it with a sickening thud. My body goes limp as I slide down it, pain fracturing through my skull until I can’t see.

I can’t hear.

Then it all goes dark.

Gasping, I jerk upright. Sweat covers my entire body as adrenaline rushes through me. I lift my hand and press it to the back of my head where the dent still rests from that night. Fuck, that’s why I drink before bed, to keep the nightmares away.

Blowing out a breath, I blink my blurry eyes to clear the sleep from them, knowing I won’t be going back anytime soon. Not with my memories so dark tonight. Instead, I stare out at the city, it’s still bright. All the light illuminating its angles and streets, even in the dark. Like a beacon.

Another lie.

That’s when a wispy, dark voice comes from behind me, sending fear surging through me.

I’m not alone.

“Can’t sleep, Little Bird? I wonder what you dream of…”

Chapter Nine

DIESEL

She’s having a bad dream, I can tell. Her limbs are jolting like she’s trying to escape someone. Whimpers leave her lips, which does something strange to my brain. Just as I’m about to reach for her, she jerks away, breathing heavily. Sitting up abruptly, she places her hand on her racing heart, and it’s so loud I can hear it.