The man who gave me half of my DNA steps closer to us, my body tensing up at his proximity.
“Still hanging around with lowlife chavs, I see.” His eyes flick over to Dax then back to me.
Dax grips my shoulder even harder, his thick fingers digging into my flesh. Unlike me, Dax would probably love to have a go at my dad. Fighting’s in his blood. “Well, I guess that’s something I inherited from you,” I throw back at him.
My dad smirks. “Oh, I think you’re more like me than you’ll admit. Word’s out that you’re working for Danny again.”
“I’m not working for Danny,” I hiss, the anger building deep inside me, begging to be let out. “I worked for Danny, it’s not something I plan on doing again.” My eyes dart around the small room. “Where’s Mum?” I don’t know why I ask, I can’t say I care where she is most days.
He takes another step forward, now close enough for me to smell the whiskey that perpetually surrounds him, a smell that brings back memories of pain and terror. “I heard that you’re not working for Danny anymore because you’re too much of a nancy to prevent getting jumped. Maybe I didn’t do a good enough job teaching your sorry arse how to fight.” He takes another step. “And who cares where your pathetic whore of a mother is? She’s probably out selling herself for a hit.” His spiteful laugh echoes througho
ut the flat.
I grit my teeth together, simultaneously afraid of the man who beat me more times than I can count, and furious at his assumption that I should have been able to fight off three guys with knives. I hate violence, I loathe it. The fight with Callum made me sick to my stomach and gave me nightmares for weeks. All because I’m afraid of becoming exactly who I hate the most, my dad.
“I don’t fight… I’m not you. I’ll never be like you!” I shout, biting the inside of my cheek to focus on the blood in my mouth instead of raining fists down on this sorry excuse for a human.
My words cause something dark to spark in my father’s eyes. Something I’ve seen time and time again. I stiffen up, ready for the blows that always follow that look.
My dad lunges for me, and I’m prepared to take a punch to the jaw as I’ve done so many times before. Instead of the pain of a fist, I’m shoved to the ground roughly, so caught off guard that I can’t keep my balance. I scramble to get back on my feet, not wanting to be subjected to the brutal kicks to my ribs that he loves to inflict when I’m on the ground. I get up just in time to see Dax land several expert jabs to my dad’s body, and a final blow to his temple, sending him down… hard.
Dax shakes out his hands and turns to face me. “Let’s get your stuff and get out of here. He’s not going to be happy when he wakes.” His voice is calm and even, as if he didn’t just lay someone out.
My best mate cracks his neck and flexes his enormous biceps, not having broken a sweat or showing any signs that he just knocked my dad out cold. Then again, unlike me, Dax does fight. A lot. And his conscious is somewhat less developed than most people. Frankly, he just doesn’t give a shit.
I nod and head for my room, stuffing as much as I can into two big, ratty duffels. I grab my notebook and guitar and meet Dax at the door. Taking one last look back at the sad, dilapidated flat, my pathetic father splayed out on the dirty floor, I close the door.
I’m never going back to that life. I’m free.
* * *
“So you’ll crash here with me, and we’ll move up our plan and fly to the U.S. a few weeks early to meet Gavin and Hawke.” Dax paces his tiny room in a flat across town from mine trying to figure out our next move. He shares it with his oldest brother so there’s hardly space to turn around, let alone pace. I sit on one of the beds to stay out of his way.
“Dax, keep your hair on, yeah?” I watch my best mate as he realizes the consequences of knocking out my dad. “Let’s not go completely mental yet. I don’t think your parents will appreciate me staying here that long.”
I’m trying my best to calm Dax down, but I know as well as he does that he’s right. My dad isn’t going to forget what happened. The only things we have on our side are Dax, his three huge brothers, and the fact that we’re leaving the U.K. very soon.
Dax scowls at me, crossing his arms over his wide chest. “Don’t be ridiculous, my parents love you.” He pauses, scrubbing a large hand over the back of his neck. “Do you think your dad will tell Danny?”
“You know Danny doesn’t give a crap about our dad. Unless we nicked Danny’s drugs or money he’s not going to do shit about anything,” I remind Dax.
“Alright then. I have a fight tonight after practice, you coming? You can help out round the club if you want to make yourself feel better about staying here.” He finally stops his twitching to see what I’ll say.
“Why not?” I figure if I go with Dax, I’ll have a bunch of huge guys around me in case my dad gets any ideas. He can be a dangerous bastard and wouldn’t think twice about fucking me up right good, son or not.
Dax grabs his bag and throws a few things in it for tonight. “We might as well go now and I can warm up. Plus, I can tell my brothers to look out for your arsehole of a dad.” He hauls the bag up on his shoulder and opens his bedroom door, stalking out as I follow behind.
I don’t say anything. What would I say? He’s right, my dad is an arsehole, and because he defended me, Dax is probably someone he would love to see suffer. Not that Dax can’t take care of himself, but just like the punks who stabbed me, my dad is well connected with some really dodgy blokes. Two or three stints in lock-up will get you those kinds of friends.
Dax has three brothers, all only separated by a few years. I think his oldest brother, Ethan, is only twenty-two. Liam and Shaun are in the middle, twins. I can’t imagine growing up in this miniscule flat with that many boys, especially the Davies boys, because they are fucking enormous, each and every one of them. Their dad raised them to fight, and once they were old enough he expected them to do their share to earn money, even if it meant having more broken bones than they could possibly count.
We head out for the underground fight club that Dax’s dad runs and I pray that his brothers are receptive to helping us get out of the country in one piece.
16
Ellie
Pounding. No, it’s more of a banging. Wait… actually, it sounds like hammering. Yes, a constant hammering, that’s what I hear.