Striker: A Dark Bully Romance (Redwood Rebels Book 1) by Rachel Leigh (best historical fiction books of all time .txt) 📗

the walls of my chest. Mom stands by watching apathetically with a hand over her mouth, though she doesn’t stop him. His arm lifts and comes crashing down on me. A karate chop straight to the top of my head. I don’t even cringe. My body has learned not to react because he feeds off of it. 

Wake up, Talon. 

Fingers close around my wrist, and he begins dragging me up the stairs. My limp body hits each step with a thud. No, Dad. Please. I internally beg for him to stop. But he doesn’t. Fully clothed, he grabs me by the leg and arm and swings me into the bathtub of scalding hot water. 

Open your eyes.

My body burns as I lie there floating in the water. Motionless. Emotionless. Forcing my ears to drift just below the ripple of the water to drown out the sound of his sadistic laughter. 

My body shoots up. Wiping at the dampness of my hairline, I look at my hand expecting blood. It’s just sweat. It was just a dream. Slowing my breaths, I lie back down with my head on the black satin pillow. My hand grazes the skin of my side beneath my t-shirt. Hitting every bumpy ridge of the scars that decorate it.

Closing my eyes again, I try to sleep, but she slithers back into my thoughts. Like a saint there to rescue me from the darkest of nightmares—the darkness of my past.

In slow motion, the gust of wind catches her hair as she stands in a dark room. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, drawing them up as her eyes stay fixated on whatever is in front of her. My body shoots up again when Josh’s face replaces her. Bloodied and dirt covered.

I gasp for breath then tear the blanket off of me. Grabbing my phone off the nightstand, my feet hit the floor and I head straight for the door in just my boxers and t-shirt. I have to get the hell out of this room.

As soon as I open the door to the hallway at the bottom of the stairs, I hear her. Whimpers, followed by a deep sob.

Fucking A. Ignore her, Talon. 

With each step, her cries ring closer.

When I’m directly in front of the door to her room, I stop. Pressing my hand against it and giving it a push to see if it’s open, but it’s latched shut. Suddenly, the cries stop. Right when my ear touches the door, it pulls open. Marni stands there in just an oversized t-shirt, but it’s not the shirt she’s wearing that grabs my attention. It’s the swollen skin beneath her eyelids. Her blush tipped nose and the dampness on her cheeks. “How long have you been out here?” she sniffles.

I press my palms against the inside of the door frame. “I just got here. Why aren’t you sleeping? You have school tomorrow.”

She sweeps her hand across her cheek aggressively and grimaces. “Yeah, like I can get any sleep after everything that’s happened.” Turning around, she walks back into the bedroom, leaving the door open.

I stand there for a moment, telling myself that I need to leave. Get some fresh air and then go back to bed. Leave her alone. But the magnetic pull between her and I has me following her in.

My phone begins buzzing in my hand, but I ignore it and end the call. Her eyes dance from my phone to my face. “Shouldn’t you get that? It’s pretty late. Must be important.” She sits down on the bed with her hands in her lap and her bare feet on the floor.

“Nah. If it’s important, they’ll leave a message.” I step closer, but stop in my tracks right next to her bed when she jerks her head up and snarls, “What are you doing?”

I point at the door. “You left it open. Assumed you wanted—”

“You assumed wrong.” Her face drops into her hands. “This is all your fault. I should have never...we should have never…” Her voice trails off.

She doesn't have to say it. I know what she’s talking about. She’s having regrets about tonight. For good reason. It was nothing short of fantastic, but the end result isn’t going to make this any easier on her. I’d like to tell her it’s going to get better, but that would be another lie. I run my fingers through my hair. “Hang in there. That’s all you can do.” Turning around, I head back for the door and keep walking, even when she says my name.

Should have never gone in there. I can’t let this girl weaken me. I can’t care. I don’t fucking care. It’s just that when girls cry, it makes me think of Blakely. My sister shed so many unnecessary tears because of the fucked-up life we were given. I could never even console her because Dad told me that it made me look weak and weakened her in the process. Our pain makes us stronger. We cry, then we get up and fight back. That’s what Mom would say. What the hell did she know? She never fought back. She took every beating that was handed to her and watched while we got ours.

Thinking about it fuels the fire inside of me. He will get what’s coming to him and I will savor every moment of shredding him with my own bare hands.

When I get down to the kitchen, I tap my screen and my fingers shadow over the missed call.

What the hell does he want?

9

Walking out of the bedroom, I leave the door open and step quietly down the hall. I hear someone talking—arguing actually. Yet, there is no one arguing back. It’s a one-sided conversation, and I’d know that voice anywhere. Taking a couple steps down the staircase, I’m shielded by walls on both sides. Sitting down, right before the wall turns to banister, I hold my breath while trying to listen. His words are muffled from the distance