Sink or Swim (Beach Kingdom 3)

Andrew only let himself believe that for a split second.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d witnessed his father looming over his mother with a fist raised. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d heard her screaming for help. For mercy.

His hand trembled as he smacked on the light.

No lights. Power out.

Lightning struck once again and this time he watched his father connect. Heard the thud, the crunch, the gasp of pain. She wasn’t fighting back. She usually fought with a vengeance until one of her sons arrived to intervene. This was bad. She was really hurt.

Anger rocked Andrew so hard, his ears started to ring. He tasted blood from biting down on his own tongue. He’d experienced this level of rage before, mostly when his mother was hurt by their father’s hand, but Andrew’s refusal to share his father’s most prominent trait was usually enough to rein in Andrew’s temper. To stop it dead.

Nothing would stop it now. He was already running into the living room.

This wasn’t happening again.

He wasn’t letting this happen to her again.

Rory broke up their fights often, but he’d come back from prison with a finer edge of violence and Andrew had no doubt that next time? He’d kill the son of a bitch they called father. Andrew couldn’t let that happen. It had to be him. Or this would never end. She was too scared to leave him—and rightly so. Their father was a mean, vengeful bastard and he wouldn’t let her be happy. Wouldn’t give her a moment of peace.

None of them would have peace.

How many times had Andrew been belted across the mouth or had his ribs blackened? And for what? Spilling water? Not closing the door fast enough? Existing?

It ended tonight.

It ended now.

He didn’t pause in his stride as he scooped up his mother’s favorite brass rocking horse figurine and swung it. Once. That was all it took.

His father dropped and Andrew just knew. He just knew without double checking that he’d ended it. And he was shocked at himself and terrified of what was to come, but most of all, he was worried what kind of shape he’d find his mother—

When he looked down, though, it wasn’t his mother lying unconscious.

It was Jiya.

NO. Oh Jesus, please, no. Don’t let this be happening. Not Jiya. He wouldn’t be able to stand it if she’d been injured by his own flesh and blood. Couldn’t stand the possibility of living in a world without her. A miserable wail left him. She looked so small.

Why wouldn’t she move?

Wake up, sweetheart. Please.

“Andrew.”

Her voice. How could he hear her voice when her mouth wasn’t moving? He ran futile hands over her still form, shouting at her to wake up. “Jiya!”

Cold hands gripped his shoulders, but when he looked down, nothing was there but his leather jacket and blood—

Andrew jolted awake in a cold sweat, his heart racing fast enough to make him dizzy. It took him several heaved breaths to figure out where he was, what was happening. Nightmare. Just a nightmare. Jiya was fine and it was all a nightmare. He knew that because she was sitting on his bed, shaking him. Relief like he’d never known blanketed him and he reached for her, dragging her across the bed, up against his chest. Squeezing her. She’s okay. She’s okay.

He didn’t realize he was speaking aloud until Jiya said, “Yes, I’m okay. I’m fine.” She straddled him, rubbing circles onto his bare, sweaty back. “You were just having a bad dream. I heard you through the window.”

Looking over her shoulder at his bedroom, Andrew saw he must have opened the window before passing out, probably hoping Jiya would come out and talk to him. Her window, too, was open in the distance, lamplight glowing from within her bedroom. “Did you climb in here?” he croaked. “You could have hurt yourself.”

“Shhh.” She played with the ends of his hair. “Do you want to talk about the dream?”

“No,” he said on a shudder, inhaling her neck, inhaling any part of her he could reach. “Thank you for coming over.”

Such a formal thing to say when his open mouth was practically molesting her neck. He needed to stop. Now. Now, Andrew. Lift her off your lap and make her go home. But even if he hadn’t drunk a pint of whiskey tonight, the dream would have been enough to snap his control. Enough to make him laugh in the face of what was right. He needed this girl in the most basic, vital, urgent way. Needed to know in his bones that she was alive, living, breathing, and God help him, was he going to ruin everything right here, right now? Just burn it down?

He looked down at the pressed bodies and saw she wore nothing but a cotton ruffle nightgown. It ended at her hips, displaying a sweet pair of lavender panties. Andrew groaned, his hips lifting of their own volition to make her gasp.