Father (Blood Brotherhood 1)

Bryn picks up a cane from one of the racks of stuff and things. I didn't see it as a cane until it was in his hand. Before that, it was just a woody stick thing. Now it has intention. At least it’s not one of the swords. I want to call out to Jonah, tell him to be careful, but Jonah wouldn’t listen anyway.

Priests aren’t generally scary, but this one, whatever the hell he is, is absolutely terrifying. I can tell by the look on Jonah’s face that he's suddenly not so sure how much the phone actually matters. Bryn's expression is unnerving. Dark and twisted, and happy Jonah has given him a reason to unleash on him. Whatever scraps of self-preservation he has left compel Jonah to give up.

“Fine! Have it!” Jonah throws the phone at him. It clatters onto the floor and the screen cracks visibly.

“Now you've made me break it!”

“I’ll break you, boy,” Bryn says, still advancing on him.

“I gave you the phone!” Jonah is backing away from Bryn now, as quick as he can. But he runs out of room, and the wall catches him. He puts his hands up to protect himself.

Bryn lifts the cane high in the air and brings it down. Hard. He’s going to beat the shit out of Jonah, maybe even break his nose. There's something about this man that is just absolutely out of fucking control.

“NO!” I scream the word. At first, I was frozen, a spectator separate from all the action, just happy it wasn’t me facing a beating. But now I can’t just stand there and watch. I rush in between them, throwing myself between Jonah and the descending cane and take the blow across my arm and shoulder before collapsing with a scream of pain.

Bryn realizes he’s hit the wrong one of us. I see a brief flash of horror across his face, then it turns to irritation.

“What did you do that for, you stupid girl!”

“Don't call her stupid!” Jonah shouts at him. “You're the psychopath who hits people. What the actual fuck, asshole! I should fuck you up….”

Bryn backhands Jonah across the face hard enough to knock him down. Now we're both on the floor, groaning to ourselves. Bryn looks down at me, meeting my eyes with something like regret.

“What the Hades am I going to do with the two of you?” He crouches down and lifts me up into his arms. Jonah does not get such tender treatment.

“Get the hell out of my dungeon,” he says, putting a boot sharply into Jonah’s ribs. Jonah screams, a horrible sound that dies down into a pitiful whimper. This man is not playing. He leans down with me in his arms so he can threaten Jonah more effectively. When he speaks, he means what he says.

“If I catch you down here again, I’ll skin you alive.”

Chapter Five

Bryn

“Can you breathe?”

I am worried I broke her ribs or hurt her neck or did some other intense damage to her slight form. A stroke of the cane designed to chastise a solid man is far too much for a female, and I must admit I did not particularly care what damage I did to Jonah when I hit him. He had trespassed in the most egregious way and deserved to have something broken for his troubles.

“I’m okay,” she says weakly.

She’s not okay. I was going to hit Jonah too hard, and now I’ve hit her far too hard. She is becoming my accidental whipping girl. I lay her down on a couch and put my hands to the soft pink cardigan she is wearing. Fortunately, it has buttons.

“I’m going to take off this jersey and see how bad you are.”

“I’m not going to be bad,” she whimpers.

“No, I mean what kind of injury you’ve sustained.”

“But I’m not wearing…”

She’s concerned for her modesty. I am more concerned about her well-being. Her lack of undergarments is not an issue for me. I peel back the soft, tender garment and find more soft tenderness beneath, sweet breasts tipped with eager nipples, soft skin, and the curves of a young woman whom nature has designed to draw virile men to, moth to flame.

I cannot enjoy the view because a harsh bruise is already starting to appear in a straight line across her arm and shoulder. I don't think any real damage has been done, not of the long-term physical variety, at least. But I have marked her. I have marred this smooth perfection with a damaging welt. It so easily could have been her pretty face caught in the violent swing of my heavy cane.

This was an amateur mistake and I am furious at myself. I should have seen her coming. I should have pulled back before she was hit. She seemed to move impossibly fast. I need to pay more attention and be infinitely more careful around these two. They are both troublesome, and now both are at least partially injured.