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Something it felt like the rest of them had lost. They tried to keep all of the girls safe. But they failed all too often.

“He was never happy with me, you know that. I was a failure. Not tough enough, not sadistic enough.”

“No one would be for that bastard. He loved to hurt people. And if they didn’t like what he was doing . . . even better. At least you didn’t get his ‘toughening you up’ beatings,” Sampson said.

Shit.

Jenner stayed quiet, looking away.

“Jenner. Tell me he didn’t do that to you.”

Fuck. He swallowed heavily. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Fucking asshole!” Sampson stood and threw the bottle in his hand against the wall, where it smashed.

“Hey, you’re always telling me not to behave like a typical rockstar,” Jenner said weakly.

“He promised me. If I did what he wanted . . . he promised to leave you alone. How did he hide that from me?”

“It was always while you were with the Deity for your Sentinel training,” Jenner said. “And he knew how to inflict maximum pain with minimum bruising.”

“Yeah, that was his specialty,” Sampson said bitterly. “Fucking asshole.” He sat and picked up his Scotch, drinking it in one gulp. “He said that if I went to the Sentinel trainingthat he would leave you alone. That he wouldn’t harm you. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“What would you have done?” Jenner asked.

“Fucking killed him!”

“I didn’t want you to die because of me. And you know that you didn’t have the power to go up against him. Besides . . . it wasn’t you he threatened to keep me quiet.”

Understanding filled Sampson’s face. “Immy.”

“Immy. He threatened to hurt her if I said anything. While he was hurting me, he’d talk about her. He’d tell me that he was going to ask the Deity for her to be his next wife and then he’d tell me in explicit detail what he’d do to her.”

“Fuck,” Sampson said in a raw voice. “Jenner.”

“You can imagine how much that fucked with my brain. Christ, I was a teenager. I thought Immy was cute. I liked her. Sometimes, I’d get hard when I saw her. But not after those beatings, after what he would say about what he . . . what he would do. Then I just felt ill when I looked at her . . . not because she was bad or wrong or anything about her. It was all about me.”

“I get it,” Sampson whispered.

“God, he fucked me up.” Being in control in the bedroom was the only way he could have sex. Being at the club had helped him a lot, and it was messing with him now that he couldn’t risk going.

“Does the idea of touching Immy make you feel ill?”

“I mean, not exactly. I touch her all the time. I guess it’s the thought that I might hurt her. That I might have something of him in me.”

“You don’t,” Sampson said fiercely. “You are nothing like our fucked up father.”

“I’d never forgive myself if I hurt her.”

“You won’t. The fact you’re so worried about it tells me you would take every care with her.”

“I’d need full control, though.”

“And you think Immy wouldn’t understand that if you told her?”

“I think she’s too sweet and innocent for that.”

Sampson shook his head. “You underestimate Immy. You should have some faith in her.”