Catching Teardrops (MAC Security 5)

People talk about not being able to leave their living hell, but not once did I believe them when they said they couldn’t escape.

Pack a bag, walk out the door, and never look back.

Easier said than done.

My hand pushes the gate open, my nerves rattling in my chest as I step closer. A veil covers the house, much like the people who live inside. To everyon

e on the outside, they see the preacher father trying to do his best while raising a teenage daughter all on his own. But it’s all a lie; a lie so carefully crafted no one can see through it.

Placing my hand on the doorknob, I close my eyes, preparing myself before opening them back up and pushing the door open.

The cold, dark wood floor greets me along with the wood paneling covering the walls in the small entryway. Not one thing in this house has changed in the last five years. Not one thing has moved out of its place.

It’s a shrine or a warning. I can’t work out which.

My ears prick, listening for any sign of movement, and when silence greets me, I take a step toward the stairs. I manage to get halfway up before his rough voice calls, “Liliana!”

My breath catches in my throat, and I halt, summoning up the courage. “Y-yes, Father?”

I don’t move a muscle, keeping deathly still as the floorboards below creak with each of his footsteps. I can feel him at the bottom of the stairs, looming over me even though I’m higher than he is. I need to turn around, to look at him, but I can’t get my body to move.

“Did you forget something this morning?”

I swallow, finally able to turn and face him. My gaze flicks over his worn and wrinkled face, his dark-blue eyes shooting fire at me—the same eyes I have to look at in the mirror every day.

My hand grips the strap of my backpack tightly. “I… I…”

“Spit it out, child!” He steps forward and comes to a halt at the bottom step. The air is sucked from around me as the small space becomes even tinier, his body looming over mine.

“I don’t think I did,” I say, my voice small as I move my gaze away and bow my head a little.

I sound so unsure, but I know I didn’t forget anything because I adhere to every single one of his demands.

He tuts, and I know he’s shaking his head without having to look at him. “How many times do I have to teach you? You should know by now, Liliana.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” comes my automatic reply. I clench my teeth at the apology, hating I have to do it to diffuse the situation. I have no choice though—I’m trapped in the same circle with no way to escape.

“You’re lucky I have a meeting at the church,” he threatens, and I hear his underlying meaning. “I don’t have time to discipline you.” I keep my mouth closed, my head down as the vibrating tension surrounds me. “Get down here and finish your chores, now.”

“Yes, Father.” I lift my head and take the first step down on shaky legs. He watches me, his eyes taking in every little movement I make, his lips spreading into a grin the closer I get.

I silently beg him to move, but he doesn’t, and even though I’m one step above him now, he still towers over me.

I flinch when his hand moves from his side and presses against the side of my face softly. His eyes spark at the movement, and I curse myself for letting it show.

“You look more and more like your mother every day.” Goose bumps spread over my skin as a shiver rolls through me, his rough palm making my stomach churn. I keep my mouth sewn closed, knowing if I answer him it’ll be detrimental. “She never knew how to do as she was told, either,” he growls, switching from soft to hard in a blink of an eye.

I don’t have a chance to move away before his hand is wrapping around my throat, squeezing as he pushes his face into mine.

His carefully placed veil lifts, showing the monster he keeps so well hidden in front of everyone else. I know what he sees when he looks at me—her. The wife who couldn’t stand to be around him any longer—my mom. She made her choice, leaving me behind and in his hands.

It doesn’t matter how much I try to appease him, all he sees is her. He sees red. He sees a figment of his imagination. He doesn’t see me.

Pain, tears, pleas. He ignores it all because as long as he’s in control, nothing else matters.

“Please,” I croak out, my hand flying up to his forearm to try and pull him away, but it’s no use because he overpowers me in every way possible.

“She used to say that too.” He laughs, pushing his hand with so much force that I fall. My back collides with the steps and steals the breath from me as my eyes widen.