Hate Me Like You Do, page 16
And Ronan won’t hesitate to kill me if I fuck up whatever it is he’s plotting.
There’s no doubt in me that his threats are true. Not after three miserable days in hell. Not after the stories Knox shared.
“Ronan,” my mother protests, “I only want to see her.”
“There will be time for that later, Veronica.” The panels of his jacket smooth as he tugs on it, buttoning it. If I stared hard enough, I can imagine I can see each fiber of the material. The strands woven together until it became this utterly too expensive piece sewn to more pieces that became this very expensive jacket.
He steps aside and the glorious shine of her handcuffs comes back into view. The gift of the distraction makes me want to smile but the thought doesn’t play out across my features.
Ronan steps behind me, his hands clasping my shoulders. Firm reminders of all the things I should not do, should not say, and the fears I’m no longer able to have. There is only one thing I can be afraid of now.
And that’s him.
I hate him.
“Violet, you look...nice.” My mom sniffles, a smile tugging her lips up to reveal her deteriorating, dark teeth. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you, you look like an adult now.”
I’ve looked like an adult for a long time but I wonder if she just never noticed or if I really have changed in the recent months.
Her movements cause the light to slither down the links. It’s such a beautiful white light. Perfect and pure looking.
Innocent.
“I suppose you are eighteen now. I hope you had a good birthday.”
I wonder how many criminals have worn this particular pair of shackles. Does the guard keep these on his belt for everyone to use? How many people are in this prison anyway? What have they done to lead them here?
“Violet?” Her voice is distant. “Violet. Are you okay?”
Ronan’s fingers squeeze my shoulders like a signal of some kind.
“He hasn’t done anything to you, has he?” The already raspy sound of her voice, the consequence from so many years of smoking, becomes a pointed nervous squeak. “He hasn’t hurt you, right?”
The reassuring squeeze becomes harder. Each finger digging into my shirt, pressing down into my skin. Pain. I feel pain. It just doesn’t register the way it used to.
I glance up at her, meeting her worrying, tired gray eyes. Quickly, I give a nod of my head. “I’m okay.” His fingers tense again but it’s less forceful now. “He hasn’t hurt me.”
My voice sounds foreign even to my own ears. The loss of the distraction opens the gates of anxiety.
Will my mother be granted any leniency in her trial? Will I see her outside of prison in the future? Will I survive that long? Why does Ronan care about her? About me? Will he lock me away again if his plans don’t seamlessly come together? Will I survive that?
Again.
My gaze passes over my mother, her image a fleeting thought before I’m searching for anything to focus on other than my panicked heartbeat.
The room they lead us into is almost empty. Four large white walls surrounding concrete floors under three tables many feet a part. There’s one window for the evening sun to filter through. I focus on the leaves of the tree outside that sway in the breeze.
“How are you?” Ronan asks stiffly over my shoulder, his eyes looking down on my mother in disapproval.
“I’ve been better.” She holds up her hands with a sassy roll of her eyes.
Clearly, she’s been better.
“I’m curious to know if you have any… unexpected plans for an early release.” Finally his hands lift from my shoulders. I purse my lips to focus more on the calming sound of the wind against the building.
“Ronan,” she begins, her voice shaky. Ronan doesn’t give her time to finish whatever it is she was going to say. Likely some smartass remark that would piss him off.
“I know people. I know people everywhere.” His eyes give a disappointing look at the shabby walls of the room. “Even here in this dingy, shithole of a jail, there are people within my reach, my command. Watch where you sleep at night, Veronica. You’re a small woman. Wouldn’t want anything happening to you.”
His lips slash open in a cruel smile. “We’ll see you at the hearing tomorrow. You take care of yourself and I’ll take care of our pretty girl while you’re gone.” With a snap of his fingers, the guards are walking toward my mother, standing her up, and pulling her away.
“Ronan!” She gurgles out but she’s already being lead to the door on the far side of the room. “Violet!” Her tone becomes more urgent. Desperate. “I love you, Violet. It’s gonna be okay, baby. I promise.” Empty promises from a mother who never bothered to care in the first place.
But I do love her. In the saddest way.
It’s strange how someone can disappoint you over and over and over again. Fuck you over to the point of endangerment...and you still love them.
Even if you hate that you love them.
A brown leaf falls from branches outside. It twirls as it drifts. I follow it until I can’t see it any longer. There’re still enough leaves left. Plenty of beautiful little pieces just waiting to fall.
“That’s enough. We’re leaving.” My father twists on his heels, striding toward the guard who holds the door open for him.
“Have a good day, Mr. Reyes,” the man in the gray uniform says.
I can’t seem to make my limbs move. Don’t know if I care to. For so long my greatest drive was to be everything my mother isn’t. To find a life better than the one she gave me. To stay as far away from a jail cell as possible.
But it’s quiet in here.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Alone with my thoughts could get dangerous. But maybe with enough peace I could work through them.
Sure hands find my shoulders but they’re gentler than Ronan’s, more tattooed as well. I hardly remember that Knox even came along. He never spoke a word, only hovered. His warm touch guides me out the door.
Passing sets of guards, we reach the front where we first checked in. Ronan is already out the glass doors and striding through the parking lot with his cell phone in hand. Knox starts collecting our things from the bin. His palms are light when he skims along my hip, sliding my phone into my pocket. He loops my belt in his hand, and with the other interlaces his fingers through mine.
And then he guides me right out of the static sound of the courthouse jail.
It’s so much easier to let him lead me out of this terrible building. Farther away from my mom and the pressure that comes with everything coming up. Her hearing tomorrow.
If it doesn’t get delayed again.
If it does, Ronan will hurt her somehow just to send a message. I know it.
A deep sadness for the mother I always wished for and the reality of the mother I have, crashes into me. It beats against my heart like the brutal waves against the shore that pulverize the rocks into smooth sand.
She’s such a screw up. Not just in the things she’s done recently. I mean right from the start. Since my very existence. She’s such a screw up to have gotten involved and had a baby with a man like Ronan Reyes.
Warm sunlight soothes along my arms. Together, we trail down the smooth concrete steps, the wind I watched inside caressing my skin, drawing out the quiet tears that I hadn’t wanted to escape. They fall freely now. I’ve lost control over myself as they streak down my cheeks in tacky trails.
I feel his gaze against my heated face. Our steps slow, and then they stop altogether.
Warmth envelopes me as Knox draws me into his hard chest. I can’t meet his gaze, not when he looks at me with that calculated look, like he is tallying something in his head. I expect a smart remark or words of caution but instead his big arms surround me. He should feel so good. He surrounds me with his strength. His affection which I’ve never even felt like this before.
And yet, I barely feel it.
My arms hang at my sides, my face nestled into his neck. The steady beating of his heart quiets my mind, slows the tears, even as a small sob tumbles from my lips.
With a force that surprises me, I push against the solid muscle of his chest, shoving away from him. Knox’s jaw ticks, but he says nothing. Just watches me as I watch him like I don’t even know who he is.
I used to. I used to think I knew him completely.
He’s a fucking stranger. A fake.
Just like his father.
A large step toward the car carries me away from him, I muster enough energy to spit a few words his direction. “I don’t need my big brother to protect me, Knox.”
Fallen leaves crunch under my boots. No sound to confirm he is following me, though he will shortly. The black SUV pulls closer, the window rolling down as our father waves us to him. His phone already pressing to his ear as he talks rapidly.
Survive. You will survive this, Violet. All I need to do is make it to the end of this trial. That’s it. Once the trial is done all this will be over.
It’ll all be over then.
Twenty-Four
Knox
I find the door to my father’s office closed.
Surprise, fucking surprise. It’s been closed since the day I moved in.
But a closed door has never stopped me before. Even if my feelings go numb and my limbs are tingling the closer I get to reaching for that brass handle.
I hate interacting with him. Speaking with him. Making extended eye contact with him.
It’s all for Violet, I remind myself. The image of her carefree smile that she wore so often over the summer plays in my mind. She hasn’t smiled in so long.
His voice is already booming on the other side. Without a doubt, I know that even though he’s at home, he’s still very much at work in that obnoxious attorney's suit. It would be weird of Ronan Reyes to not look the part at every odd hour of the day.
At night he wears a silk button up top and long silk pants. It’s like a suit but for the bed, I swear. Monsters can look like all sorts of things. This particular monster just happens to look an awful lot like a filthy rich mob boss with an affinity for scaring his children.
And anyone else who might cross him.
An easy twist of the knob and I let myself in. The look on his face, the hard curve of his angular eyebrows as they furrow and the sharp line of his tense jaw, tells me enough. He isn’t happy to see me.
Trust me, I feel the same fucking way, Dad.
“Yes,” he says into the phone. “Yes, I agree. Okay. You know what, listen, I just had a bit of a burden suddenly appear in my office that I must take care of. I’ll talk to you shortly.”
A burden. Violet’s “pretty girl” and I’m a “burden”...Not that I’m comparing myself to my sis– yeah, I’m not fucking calling her that.
He pulls the phone away from his ear and clicks the big red end call button. Then every ounce of his bitter attention is focusing on me. Everything in me says not to look him in the eye. Everything screams, run while you have the chance. But I’m here for Violet. I’m here for Violet. I’m here for Violet. Here. For. Violet.
My father lets out a heavy sigh, looking back down at his shining desk. “You know you’re not allowed in here. Also, just a reminder, I’ll be out this evening.” He looks back up with a scowl. “Shut the door.”
Shut the door.
Everything’s so private. It’d be his worst nightmare to have his dirty laundry aired out for the world to see. Though my father's dirty laundry isn’t like other people’s. It’s not the dirty secret of the threesome that happened one drunken night or the fact that he sabotaged some co-worker that he hates, or that he secretly loves his best friend’s wife. Not at all. Ronan Reyes’ dirty laundry is exactly what could land him in prison for years and years to come. If and only if all his millions of dollars were drained first. Money can buy you a lot of things.
Freedom included. Freedom when you most certainly shouldn’t have it. You know what else gives you that kind of carefree life? Getting rid of your problems. All of which, my father has become so good at. Some freakish skill he honed and refined all too well.
And I know someday, I’ll be just fucking like him.
He didn’t even bat an eyelash at the threats he gave to Violet and she’s his own fucking daughter. The memory of my father telling her he would bury her six feet under just before he dropped her weak and tired body onto the concrete floor is tattooed on my brain. God, I wish that memory would go away. It’s replayed in my head a million times at this point.
My father’s command still hangs in the open air between us but I make no move to listen. A smile full of wicked delight haunts his features, all too similar to Violet’s. “Son, why do you always have to be so stubborn?” He clicks his tongue, the sound echoing around the office. “Everything I do, everything I ask of you is for your own good. Or for the betterment of our legacy. Meant to be your legacy.”
And there it is.
The small kernel of “kindness” he offers me that is supposed to make up for his lack of parenting skills. His lack of general fucking people skills.
The long steady point of his index finger leads me to believe he would have me sitting across from him in one of the leather chairs in front of the desk. I’ve had enough of my father’s charm today. Distance is necessary. Distance is safe.
“Isn’t that exciting? Knox Reyes, king of an empire. One day, son, one day. Doesn’t that just send a thrill down your spine?”
No, not hardly. It makes me sick some nights.
Because that throne, it comes with a price. A bloody, bloody price. My father may be talking to me kindly now but those tables could turn easily enough.
If I fuck up, it could be my blood he builds his legacy from.
It could be Violet’s.
So instead I’ll change the subject. Direct him back to the real reason I’m here. Away from the spotlight of my unapproved behavior.
“Do you think with the trial tomorrow we could perhaps go just the two of us? I’m getting bored dragging around the lifeless body of your real daughter,” I drawl.
Life’s a game. Learn to play. Learn to win.
Or Ronan will show you how to fucking lose.
In the worst way possible.
“That lifeless body is proof that you can overcome any fear. Conquer it. Fear is mental. The mind is a dangerous thing.” He types against his phone, likely emailing someone or sending cash electronically. “Plus, I want her to see things. Know what’s at stake. I went easy on her and she knows that.”
Anger shakes through my chest with the hard pounding of my heart but I shove it down.
Play. The. Game.
I say my words carefully. Show too much attention for Violet and he will continue to use her just to punish me. Care too little for her and he’ll know I’m up to something. Everything you say and do with Mr. Ronan Reyes is a boxing match.
Good thing I have some experience with dodging his punches.
“Then we can record it for her and show her the tape.” To play into my annoyance, I roll my eyes.
The comment earns me one of his famous easy going chuckles. The rolling sound is something I hear often when he is charming someone into exactly what he wants.
It’s light and airy.
And it grates on my nerves.
Until it stops abruptly.
“No,” he finally says flatly, glancing up from his phone then right back down again.
“What are you wanting her to go see then? She already knows her mother’s a piece of shit.”
He smiles again. A big toothy grin. But this time he doesn’t give a verbal response. I know the answer anyway. He wants her to see the power he has over her life. How he could get her mother out of this trial but won’t. He wants her to feel just as trapped as I do. Every. Fucking. Day.
Bastard.
“She’s eighteen, she should just move out.” Move out. Run away. Escape.
The leather chair underneath him squeaks as he pushes out of it, walking around his desk like a lion stalking prey. My father has always been a tall man but now he seems so much taller. A giant hovering over me.
I used to fear him.
It’s amazing how much strength simple hatred gives you.
“If she moves out, I’ll still find her. You and I both know I’ll find her. So stop obsessing over your little sister, son. And stop fucking her while you’re at it. Now shut the door behind you on your way out.”
My fingers flex slowly into my palm but I don’t move an inch beneath his glaring gaze.
We both know. I know all too well; he’ll do to her what he did to me, if not worse.
I was sixteen the first time I tried to attempt running away. I bribed one of the maids to pick me up a train ticket and leave my father’s keys to one of the cars in the ignition. It never occurred to me that I could get caught, that I would.
I didn’t even make it to the train station before my father tracked me down and dragged me back home. He made the maid watch as he took a switchblade and cut open the bottoms of my feet as punishment for running. Then he made me watch as he took the maid down to the basement, had her sit atop an already spread out white plastic tarp, screwed a suppressor to the front of his gun, then shot her right between the eyes.
The maid’s name was Janet. She begged for her life. Cried until the sobs shook her body and she made herself sick. Gagging between sobs she sent terrified glances at the foolish sixteen year old boy who couldn’t stand to his feet to run to her. Some days, I wish I had taken her place.
Blood didn’t squirt out of her like in the movies. There wasn’t gore that would take days to clean up like one would expect, given the tarp underfoot. No, the bullet left with a muffled bang and I blinked. Her head slumped forward, a small splatter behind her body, then she fell lifeless toward the floor.
There was hardly any mess at all.
Sometimes her screams haunt my thoughts. And sometimes, the surprise of how simple it was drifts through my mind like the most casual memory.
