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Chapter One

Kai

I hear my father muttering a string of curses, pacing around the garage like he’s losing his damn mind. His hand goes to his salt-and-pepper hair, and though the years haven’t been kind to his soul, he doesn’t look a day past forty-five. The man is built like a dream—solid muscle, sharp features—but he’s nothing but a nightmare of a father. The garage smells of oil and burnt rubber, and the fluorescent light flickers, casting an erratic shadow over his hulking frame.

As soon as the call ends, he drags a tattooed hand down his face before kicking the box in front of him. Over and over, he kicks it until the cardboard is nothing but scraps. It’s nothing new to me but at least he’s not taking it out on me. Not anymore. Not now that I’m six-foot-four, built like him, and nineteen. He doesn’t try it with me like he used to when I was a kid. That doesn’t mean I’m safe though. Just lucky. Still, the way he kicks that box, it’s like a warning. His anger has to go somewhere.

“What’s your problem?” The last thing I need is for his attention to snap back on me. Even if he doesn’t throw punches anymore, he’s still dangerous in other ways. My grip tightens around the wrench in my hand, ready just in case.

“Fucking whore,” he mutters under his breath, heading toward the mini fridge. He grabs a beer, popping the tab before turning his bloodshot eyes on me. “We gotta pick up the girl.”

My brow arches, my pierced eyebrow twitching with the movement. “The girl?” I echo, trying to keep my voice steady. I already know where this is going, and I’m disgusted by it. The words linger in the air, heavy with implications that make my stomach churn. The man’s got a sick fascination with girls, young ones. He never touched me, never laid a hand on me in that way, but when it came to them… it was different. He got off on watching them fall over me, then taking what was supposed to be mine. It made me sick to my stomach. The memory of their pleading eyes and his smug grin burns in my chest.

Yet here I am, still stuck in this hellhole. My mom’s finally gone—died a month ago—and I’m just buying my time, scraping up cash from odd jobs and racing. Every dollar I save feels like a key, one step closer to unlocking the door out of this place. Maybe I’ll kill him one day. Maybe that’ll be my ticket out. I doubt anyone would miss him. The man has no real family, no one who gives a damn about him.

Oscar Hernandez. A violent, drunk asshole.

“You got a sister, boy,” he says, his lips curling in disgust, like the very thought of her sickens him. “Some stripper got knocked up about seventeen years ago. You were still young, your mom was already run down.”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, and my grip tightens around the wrench in my hand. A sister? My chest tightens, my mind racing. I should kill him right here, right now. Whoever this girl is— my sister —she wouldn’t be safe here, not with him. The way he talks about her, like she’s some piece of meat we’re picking up, it makes my blood boil. My sister. The asshole’s own daughter, and he talks about her like she’s nothing.

I take a breath, reeling in the rage I’ve learned to choke down over the years. Growing up in this house, watching him beat on my mom, I had to learn. I had to survive. Anger bubbles under my skin, but I shove it down, swallowing it like I always do. But inside, the fury is always there, clawing at me.

“Mom knew?” I fucking hope she didn’t. I hope she wasn’t carrying the weight of this secret too, on top of everything else. She had already endured so much, more than any person should have to.

Her face flashes in my mind, tired but still trying to smile through her pain. A drunk, abusive husband and a son too weak to stop him. That’s the life she was stuck with. I tried to protect her, but every time I stood up to him, he beat me within an inch of my life. I still remember the night I thought I’d die. My ribs shattered, blood in my mouth. She nursed me back to health after that, tears in her eyes as she made me promise to stay quiet. To wait it out. To survive until I turned eighteen, so I could get out. Leave her behind.

But I couldn’t. Not when she got sick. I couldn’t leave her.

The bastard never let her get help, so she wasted away. Died slowly, right in front of me, without me ever knowing what really killed her. The thought is like a blade twisting in my gut. Sometimes I think he poisoned her, but I could never prove it. All I know is she’s gone now, and the only chains that had kept me tied to him died with her. I’ve almost saved enough to leave. Tyler, my best friend, and I are planning to get an apartment. No college for me. Just getting out, finally tasting freedom.

But this changes everything. Freedom is close, but not if it means leaving her behind.