Page 1 of Sons of Hellfire (Hellfire Society #1)

one

Ali

H olding myself stock still against the cold wooden basement door, I listen; my ears straining to hear any type of movement beyond.

Any small sound, and I would force myself to hold it.

Am I about to pee my pants? Yes, but I don’t think I could take another beating tonight if I’m caught.

The one from earlier already took so much out of me that just climbing these damn stairs to the door made me want to cry.

See, my parents are assholes. Always have been since the day they found out I didn’t have a dick between my legs.

Apparently, having a vagina meant I was of little worth to them.

So, I was raised as the maid, to never be seen or heard unless I was called upon.

Honestly, most of the time it was easy avoiding everyone.

Well, it was…until my parents st arted to teach my half-brother how to be cruel to me.

Every chance he gets, he makes sure to exude his power over me.

My half-brother and I are only a month apart in age.

He is older and the beloved son of the Black family.

While I am the bastard daughter of Richard Black.

An impressive title, all thanks to my man-whore of a father.

While his wife, my stepmother, was just finding out she was pregnant with the heir to the Black family, my father was off fucking some stripper in the back room of a gentlemen’s club.

Then, surprise, nine months later, I was born. To add the cherry on top of this shitty childhood cupcake, my mother, said stripper, left me on his doorstep with a note that said, “Thanks for a good fuck, she’s yours.”

Mommy issues? Check. Okay, so it didn’t actually say that, but pretty damn close. For some bizarre reason, my stepmother, Miranda Black, thought having a daughter she didn’t have to go through labor pains with might be fun. Plus, Ethan and I could grow up together. Best buds for life. Sike.

Of course, all this occurred after a DNA test.

The first few years weren’t horrible. I remember some good times? like eating cake for my 5th birthday.

Going to movies with friends and playing with dolls in an actual bedroom when I was eight.

But then I started to grow up, and Miranda saw more and more of my mother while looking at me.

It was around my ninth birthday that everything shifted.

Now, it’s seven years later, and I’m nothing more than a house slave.

I was lucky they still allowed me to go to school.

Without that, I might think about ending my life.

The beatings, belittling, and the new and unique punishments that occur daily, it’s a lot to want to stay strong.

I haven’t eaten in two days because Miranda thinks I gained some weight and I could lose a few pounds.

Body image issues? Check that box too. I’m lucky she allows water at this point.

School is the only time I feel free. That I can feel like I actually have a chance at a decent life when I turn eighteen and finally leave this place.

It gives me hope that I can be more than a housemaid and the bastard child of Richard Black.

After a few long and painful minutes of waiting and not hearing a thing, I place my hand on the knob, take a deep breath, and push the door open.

I wait another few seconds before I can’t bear it anymore.

I slip out of my “room,” closing the door softly with a click.

Turning, I move on tiptoes to the bathroom down the hall.

The staff’s bathroom. Every step sends painful jolts up my legs, but I bite my lip until I taste blood to not cry out.

I freeze when I can hear soft whispers come from the kitchen to my right, but my need to relieve myself right now is stronger.

I rush past the door that leads to the kitchen and finally reach the bathroom.

Rushing in, I quickly shut the door and race to the toilet to pee.

The relief is instant, and I almost sigh out loud before catching myself.

No telling who was in the kitchen, and I don’t want to risk it being Miranda or Ethan.

Luckily my “father,” more like sperm donor, doesn’t partake in the physical abuse.

But it’s not like he stops it either. No, he likes the mental warfare part of my torture.

Always comparing me to Ethan or parading him around like he shits gold or something.

I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, but it still hurts that I’m his daughter and yet still just the bastard daughter he never wanted.

He’s even told me that it would have been different if I didn’t look like my mother with dark hair and bright green eyes, or even if I had a dick.

The little girl in me still wishes her daddy would love her and treat her like a princess.

I roll my eyes at that. I don’t think I was ever going to be a princess. No, I think I’m more of a warrior than that.

I finish up my business before washing my hands.

I really wish it was one of my shower days, but I’m only allowed to shower on Mondays and Fridays.

It’s Wednesday. Fucking Wednesdays. Knowing I’m only prolonging my chances of getting caught, I quickly clean the wet counter to make sure no one can tell I was here and head for the door.

Creeping open the door, I peek out. The coast is clear as I make my exit.

Staying against the wall and pretending I’m invisible, I make my way back to my room.

Or the basement that is a dirt floor and only has a cot and a small dresser for a few of my belongings. Oh, the joys of being a bastard.

I am just about to pass the kitchen door when voices catch my attention.

I’m not sure what time it is, but I know it’s late because it’s dark outside of my tiny basement window.

Knowing this could cost me, but also being the curious cat that I am, I pause my movements.

The voices grow louder as I switch sides of the hall and step closer to the closed door.

“She needs to go, Richard.” Miranda demands, her voice reminding me of nails on a chalkboard. Something screechy and birdlike.

“I know, sweetheart, and I think I found someone to take her.” My father placates. I frown at that. Who is she, and who is going to take her? I have a feeling I already know one of those answers. Miranda’s hatred for me lately is reaching an all-time high.

“Who?” she asks. This time her voice sounds more excited, and an icy fear skates down my spine.

“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know who, but they are willing to pay good money.

I warned them about her attitude problem, and they said that makes her all that more wanted.

Honestly, all they wanted to know was if she was a virgin.

They didn’t even ask to see a picture of her.

If we can do a business deal with these guys, they could lead us to more business down the road.

” My father sounds excited about this aspect, but I’m now frozen on the spot by his words.

Pay good money for her?

Wanted to know if she was a virgin?

Didn’t want to see a picture?

NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

No, they can’t be talking about what I think they are talking about.

That’s stuff you hear about in books or TV shows.

It doesn’t happen in real life. But even that thought sounds like a lie, because it does happen.

You hear horror stories of women barely surviving being abducted on the street.

So, it must be true; people will sell their own flesh and blood for a little bit of cash .

“Well, that’s good. I haven’t been able to get her to lose any weight.

So, she won’t be pretty to look at, but I doubt that’s what they care about.

When do they come to collect her?” Miranda asks so casually.

Does she really care so little about me?

The little girl she helped raise. Does my appearance really matter that much?

It’s not my fault my sperm donor couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.

Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were other so-called bastards out there.

It’s also not my fault I look like a woman I’ve never known, one who dropped me off at a doorstep like I didn’t matter to her.

But I suppose I didn’t actually matter to her.

“Next week. They say they will come at night, something about less of a fight if surprised.” I can practically see his nonchalant shoulder shrug from here. I know this man has never been the fatherly type toward me, but they are talking about selling a human being. His own daughter nonetheless.

“Perfect. I can’t wait to get rid of that damn mutt.” Miranda adds, her voice now on the move.

Panic hits me like an arrow to the heart as I turn and rush back to my room.

My legs scream as I almost throw myself down the stairs.

I catch myself before I trip, but maybe tripping and falling will be a better fate than the one to come.

When I hit the landing, I make a beeline to my cot they call a bed.

I take a seat, my mind running a mile a minute.

I know Miranda and Ethan hate me, and my father is indifferent, but so much so that they are willing to sell me? Like a lamb to slaughter.

I have to run. There’s no other option. I have a little money saved up from odd jobs here and there, but not enough to live off of.

What choice do I have? Leave and take my chances or stay and be sold like cattle.

Probably worse than cattle because I don’t think farmers care if their cows are virgins.

I have to leave. Tonight. My “family” won’t even notice until they want something from me.

So, leaving tonight will give me the best chance of disappearing.

With my mind made up and no other options, I quickly down some pain meds from my bedside box nightstand before quickly heading to my beat- down dresser.

Grabbing my backpack, I dump the contents and start shoving clothes inside.

I don’t even care what I pack at this point.

Once I’m packed and I grab the last few things, like my money, ID, brush, toothbrush, and extra tampons, I take a seat on my bed.

I need to think this through. If they are still up, they might catch me if I try to leave now.

No, I need to wait until everyone is asleep.

That way, they won’t know when I left. Maybe even grab a few snacks for the road.

Yes. Now I have a plan. I’ ll head east, away from California.

I just need to take it one day at a time.

I’m strong. I’ve survived daily beatings, bullying, and more. I can survive this too. Once I’m out on my own, I will never be a sad little girl again. I’ll be a fighter and make my mark on this world with a big middle finger to anyone who gets in my way.