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Chapter Eight

Cadence

Grabbing my pillow tightly, I expected to wake up to a smile painted across my face. My skin should have been glowing and drowning in the sinful, yet satisfying night I had.

I wanted my nerves to blister with fireworks inside the sinew, and for once—just once—I wanted to feel normal. Like I was a normal girl, living a reckless life like every other girl my age.

Instead, my chest ached, a heavy weight sat on my ribs, and my head was pounding with an anxious beat.

I knew what I was feeling, what was creating such discomfort with each inhale.

Fear.

What if my dad found out about what I did?

What we did...

In my bed; in HIS house.

My stomach churned like it was being twisted violently, the taste of vomit rested on the back of my tongue.

Fuck!

Maybe he wouldn't find out, and it would just stay our secret.

Our dirty little secret... meant for just Quinn and myself.

The way he touched my body, the way he looked into my eyes...

Just the memory itself was enough to make my knees shake again, and my belly tense. Burying my face into the pillow, I let out a guttural scream. My head fell against the soft feathers packed inside, and I tried desperately to regain control of my nerves.

The aroma of coffee seeped into my room, pulling me down from my high. Pushing up with one hand, I tossed my feet over the edge and slid them into the pink fuzzy slippers next to my bed.

My hair was tousled, the long locks rising in wild wisps. Using my hand, I tried to brush them down, but it was useless. The frizzy mess stayed full and lifelike, wishfully reaching for the sky.

Giving up on the rats nest that was my hair, I grabbed the robe off my door, throwing it around my shoulders. Opening the door, I followed the scent into the kitchen.

Hiding behind a book, my father's eyes drifted up. His lips a thin vein across his face, a single wrinkle set high on his forehead.

“Morning,” I said, pulling a mug from the cupboard.

Laying the book down, his hands folded across the top. “What happened to you last night?” he asked, his expression mirroring a porcelain doll; piercing, flat eyes, frozen mouth set across a motionless surface, and not one emotion to read.

“I left early.” I tried to remain calm and act natural. Glancing down at my cup of coffee, the liquid vibrated inside as my hand shook nervously.

“Is that so?” My father's skin began to flush red, the large vein next to his temple slowly pulsed, enlarging with each beat.

“Yeah. After what happened... I had enough, I didn't want to be there anymore.” My spine firmed with the small set of balls I had pulled from my stomach.

I'd already put up with a lot of his shit over the years.

Last night, well, it pushed me over the edge. He threw Quinn into the lion's domain, not truly knowing how it would turn out.

My dad, he had a heart made of stone, a soul that was blacker than hell itself. If Quinn had died there in that ring, my father wouldn't have given two shits.

He would have used it as another opportunity to cash out, bring in more eyes with deeper pockets.

“You don't get to decide that!” His fist fell heavy onto the table, teeth slightly shining behind his flexed lip.