Catching Teardrops (MAC Security 5)

Faith was never a thing I had to think about growing up, it just was. When your dad is a preacher you have no choice, not that I minded anyway. But something’s changed lately, I still feel at peace, but I don’t know if someone is up there watching over me.

I tell myself over and over again if there was they’d stop it. Stop the pain, the suffering, the—

“Liliana! Dinner!”

My eyelids snap open, my head turning to the left and toward our house. It’s next to the church, a wall separating it but with its own little path that leads into the church grounds.

“Coming!” I shout back, taking one last look inside the church and seeing Reid sitting back in the pew but his eyes focused on me. I quickly look away before slamming the church doors shut and running through the rain, along the path.

“What took you so long?” Dad sneers when I step inside and shut the door behind me.

“Sorry,” comes my automatic reply as I look into his dark-blue eyes currently verging on black. I swallow at the fire burning behind his irises. “I’ll go and get changed and—”

He grabs my bicep as I put my foot on the first stair. “No, you won’t, you’ll start my dinner right now.”

“I’m wet—”

“And I don’t give a shit, get my fucking dinner cooked.” My breaths come as gasps at his words. He’d never talk like this outside of the house, but once the door is shut and it’s only me and him, everything he preaches goes out the window—everything but how he views the word of God.

“Can—”

He squeezes my arm harder, yanking me toward him and causing me to stumble. “If you’re wet then take the clothes off.”

My cheeks heat as his gaze burns a path down my body and over the wet t-shirt sticking to my body. I shiver, disgust rolling through me as he pulls me again, this time making me collide with his chest.

“Dinner. Now.”

I nod emphatically, my eyes wide when I feel something hard pressing against my stomach. I want to close my eyes, take myself somewhere else—a place where he’s not waiting for me—but I don’t because I’ve learned it’s the worst thing I can do. I have to know what’s coming with him so I can prepare myself.

His grip loosens slowly, allowing me to step back and slide past him into the living room. I slide my ballet flats off, my feet hitting the cold hardwood floors and making me shiver.

My gaze lands on the open fireplace. I can’t remember the last time it was lit. Definitely before Mom died.

Walking between the small table sitting in the center of the room and the two-seater sofa, I head through the only door off this room.

There’re three rooms downstairs: a kitchen, living room, and laundry room; and four upstairs; three bedrooms—one of which is now my dad’s office—and a bathroom.

Footsteps follow behind me and I keep my head lowered as I step into the small kitchen. Things are basic in here. He likes to portray that he leads a simple life, but I think he enjoys having the control over another human being.

Abuse victims are usually in denial, whether that be a child being abused by an adult, a wife being hurt by her husband, or the other way around.

But I’m not in denial. I know exactly what it is he’s doing. I’ve tried so many times to tell someone, but being laughed out of the precinct—literally—knocks you. There’s only so many times you can go to the same people and have them tell you you’re a liar.

Maybe that’s why I didn’t tell Luke? Maybe on some subconscious level I thought he wouldn’t actually believe me?

I’m stupid. So, so, stupid.

Turning around, I lift my head, looking into his now fully black eyes.

I don’t want to protect him; I don’t want to live like this anymore.

“What would you like?” I ask.

He tips his head back, groaning low in his throat as he grabs his belt, the metal clanging as he undoes it making me flinch.

“What would I like?” he repeats back to me, keeping his gaze fixed to mine as he slowly pulls the leather out of each loop on his pants. “That’s a loaded question, my little petal.” My stomach churns at his nickname he only uses when he’s about to inflict pain.

Stepping back as he moves forward, my back collides with the countertop—another reason he likes the small place, because there’s nowhere to hide.