Bloodshed (Order of the Unseen, #1)(9)

I hated birthdays, but it was the day of my fifteenth. To me, it was just another day, but to my mom, it was different. That morning, she pulled me aside in the hall, keeping her voice low. “After today, we can start all over. Somewhere new. Far, far away,” she told me. “I’ve always wanted to help you, Damien. But I couldn’t. Until now.”

At first, I didn’t believe her.

But there was just something about the look in her eyes.

She meant it, wholeheartedly.

After all these years, we were finally going to get out.

I was going to have cereal for breakfast, but halfway through pouring the milk into the bowl, I realized it was spoiled.

My father stepped into the room, dressed in all black, the dark circles under his eyes reminding me of how late we were up last night.

He narrowed his eyes, gesturing to the bowl on the table with a nod. “You’re going to waste perfectly good food?” he taunted.

“The milk has gone bad,” I told him.

“And?” he asked, raising his voice.

“It’s fine,” my mother easily rushed out, reaching for the bowl.

He slammed his fist on the table with a hard thud, and she squealed at his unexpected action.

“Leave it, Donna,” he ordered, and immediately, she complied. “Sit down.”

She sat quietly at the table, and for the briefest moment, our eyes met.

He shoved me away from the counter and back toward the kitchen table. “Quit being a pussy and eat your goddamn cereal, Damien,” he growled. “Your mother works her ass off to put food on the table, and this is how you repay her?”

I lowered my head.

He was pissed at me because of last night.

I blacked out and lost control.

“Please, Mitch,” my mother began to beg. “It’s his birthday—”

Suddenly, he smacked the back of her head, whipping her forward.

Without thinking it through, I darted toward him, overtaken with rage. Usually, he only hit me. Sometimes a smack. Other times, he didn’t stop until I was curled up on the ground.

But he had never touched my mother before.

Until now.

He caught my fist in the palm of his hand, and twisted my arm until it was locked behind my back.

“Stop it, Mitch!” my mother hollered.

With that, he shoved me into the chair before turning to smack her across the face. She cried out from the pain, and all I saw was red.

A sign that I was on the verge of blacking out.

“Get the fuck away from her,” I shouted, leaping across the room and shoving him with all of my strength, sending him flying back.

My mom cowered in fear. “Damien!”

He staggered toward me and punched my jaw, knocking me backward. My vision immediately became fuzzy. But in all of our lessons, he’d taught me to block out the pain. Now, instead of fearing it, I embraced it.

Before I could even make sense of it, I was on the kitchen floor, and he was hovering over me, beating me senseless. He made sure to pay most of his attention to my stomach and ribs.

After about a minute of getting smacked around, I stared up at him and laughed.

That pissed him off, and he punched me right in the mouth.

“All. Over. Spoiled. Milk,” he grunted between slow, calculated blows.

“Leave my son the hell alone,” my mom sobbed, jumping onto his back without warning.

He tossed her off, and she landed beside me on the cold, tile floor.

Blood trickled down from her lip.

She blinked at me, tears streaming down her face.

“Shut up, bitch,” he snapped, glaring down at her like a madman.

Before he could make another move, I crawled on top of my terrified mother, shielding her from his anger. Glimpsing down at her, I noticed the terror in her eyes. All these years I’d been wondering why she had never protected me, and I’d now realized it was because I’d been the one protecting her all along.

And I was okay with that, because she needed to be shielded from monsters like my father. He fisted my hair and yanked me to my feet, before slamming me into the chair in front of the bowl with foul-smelling milk.

She cried from behind me, and to protect the innocent woman who birthed and raised me, I shoved a spoonful of cereal into my bloodied mouth. And I forced down the sour, chunky milk and Frosted Flakes without chewing.

“See?” he angrily questioned. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“No, sir,” I choked out, as he dismissed himself from the room.

For the entire school day, I spent my time running in and out of the bathroom, puking my brains out from my delicious breakfast. The stomach cramps were the worst, considering how badly my ribcage was bruised from being kicked in the same spot again and again.

Jensen and Micah never asked me what happened.

That was what I admired about them.

They never expected anything from me.

There was a note on my nightstand when I got home from school.

I’m sorry about this morning. Be home by eleven tonight. Your father will be at the church. Make sure your bag is packed. We’re leaving. I love you, Damien.

— Mom

Dad couldn’t have seen it because he was gone during the day and was never home before midnight. I always wondered what he did for work at the local, unusually quiet church.