Page 137 of Unhinged

“Well, isn’t this a sight,” Earl says, chuckling low in his throat. “My little girl. All grown up. All chained up.”

I don't answer. I just glare at him, teeth grinding so hard my jaw hurts.

"You always were a handful," he says, walking slow circles around me, like he’s admiring his prize. "Always thinking you were better than me. Better than the home we gave you."

I spit at his feet. It barely misses his boot.

For a second, he just stares at me. Then his hand flies.

Crack.

The slap snaps my head sideways so hard I see stars. Pain blooms sharp across my cheek. I bite down on the cry trying to rip out of my throat. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

"You got a mouth on you, still," he says, sounding almost amused. "Tina said we shoulda broke you younger. Shoulda started when you were fresh." He smiles, all teeth, no soul.

"Guess I’ll just have to finish the job now."

I thrash against the chains, my shoulders screaming, but it’s no use.

"You know," he says, stepping closer, voice dropping like he’s telling me some secret, "if you would have just behaved back then, none of this would have been necessary. We could have been a happy family."

Crack.

Another slap. Harder this time. My lip splits, hot blood filling my mouth. I don't look away. I stare him down with all the hate I got left in me. Iwanthim to know I remember everything. Every touch. Every lie. Every goddamn minute he stole from me.

"Still so full of fire," he muses, shaking his head like I'm some naughty puppy. "You’ll burn yourself out eventually. And then you’ll thank me for bringing you home.”

Home. The word curdles in my gut.

He steps back finally, wiping his hands on his jeans like touching me dirtied him.

"I’ll leave you to think about your behavior," he says, walking toward the door. "We’ll have a little... talk later. After you cool off."

The door creaks and bangs shut behind him. The lock clicks. I sag against the chains, gasping for breath, my head pounding worse than before. My cheek throbs. My lip stings.

I don't know how long I hang there before I hear it. Another set of footsteps. Lighter. Quicker. I lift my head. The door opens again. And she steps through.

Tina.

Long blonde hair hanging straight and shiny down her back. Wearing a tight, green satin dress that hugs every curve like she’s going to a goddamn cocktail party instead of sneaking into a torture chamber. She’s older, her face lined with age, but she’s still pretty in that fake way women buy at the salon. Her lips are painted pink and stretched into a tight smile that doesn't reach her eyes. She carries a little metal bowl and a rag.

I snarl. My whole body tries to twist away, even though the chains bite deeper into my wrists.

"Easy now, baby," she croons like she’s talking to a stray dog. "Let’s get you cleaned up. You don't want Earl to see you like this, do you?"

"Stay the fuck away from me," I growl, yanking hard enough that the rafter groans overhead.

She clucks her tongue. "Still wild. Still ungrateful."

She dips the rag into the bowl and steps closer. I kick at her, thrash like a feral thing, but it’s useless. I can't reach her. All I do is make the chains rattle and rub my skin even more raw.

Tina—always calm, always in control, a goddamn Beta—grabs my chin in one sharp hand. Her nails dig in. I try to jerk away, but she holds me tight, forces the wet rag to my mouth, wiping the blood off like she’s doing me some kind of favor.

"There now," she whispers. "No use fightin', sweet girl. No use at all."

I flinch, the sting of the cloth against the raw wound sending a jolt of pain through me. I probably reek of fear. I can smell it, sharp and sour, worse than the blood. Omegas aren’t supposed to smell like this. Not supposed to smell like prey.

"Why?" I manage to whisper.