Page 142 of Wicked Refusal

“You’re lying.”

“Then why don’t you fucking test me?” I ask. “Because I can tell you one thing: I might be merciful, but my fiancé won’t be. He’ll draw it out. You think you know what real pain is?” I let myself laugh. “Think again. By the time he’s done with you, you’ll wish all you had were cigarette burns to show for it.”

His panicked gaze darts to my scars.

Then fury flashes over his face. The fury of being confronted with his actions, of being made to face consequences. Brad never liked consequences.

He raises his palm. I realize, with a split-second’s delay, he’s going to hit me.

I don’t flinch.

I don’t move.

I wait for the blow with my head held high.

… And it never comes.

Suddenly, Brad’s arms are both wrenched behind his back. Nikita has one, Isaak the other.

“Think this is enough to get the case dismissed, counselor?” Nikita teases.

Isaak plays along, pretending to think. “I’d say this is a countersuit wrapped in a nice little bow.”

“This isn’t over!” Brad splutters as two officers of the court take over to drag him away. “I’ll end you for this! I’ll fucking end you!”

Every spectator looks white as a sheet. Finally, they’re seeing Brad’s true nature—the monster I’ve had to fight for so long.

The second he’s gone, my parents rush to hug me. “Oh, honey,” Mom whispers brokenly.

“If they hadn’t dragged him off, I’d have killed him myself,” Dad mutters.

“There’s no need,” I tell him. “I handled it.”

“Yes, you did.” He looks at me with something close to awe. “I have no idea what you told him, but there’s no way the judge is going to let this case go forward now. Not with everything we’ve seen.”

I don’t tell him that’s not necessarily true. When it comes to children, a parent’s rights to them often come at a cost of their own safety. I’ve lost count of the tiny coffins in our morgue—of the tears I shed for them.

But even if the judge doesn’t drop this, Brad will. He doesn’t care about Eli enough to risk his life to get him. That’s the difference between us.

I pull my parents close. “Thank you,” I say. “For being here for me.”

When we part, I see Ginny waiting anxiously behind them. “Euphie… I’m so sorry. I had no idea he was like that.”

“I told you he was.” It comes out harsher than I’d intended. “I told you everything, Ginny. I begged you to believe me.”

“I know.” Her voice breaks. “I—I’ll recant everything.”

“Thank you,” I say sincerely. “I’d appreciate that.”

Her eyes are wet now. So are mine. “Can you ever forgive me?” she croaks. “For being such a lousy sister?”

No. You’ve gone too far.The words are on my lips, fueled by anger and weeks of sleepless nights. But I don’t speak them. Because I know where the blame rests. And it isn’t all at her feet.

“Only if you can forgive me,” I say.

Her tears start falling. She wraps me in a hug so tight, I’m scared I’ll never breathe again. But maybe that isn’t such a bad way to go.

“We should go inside,” Isaak says, breaking the spell. “The judge wants to see us.”