Sins of the Father (9 page)

Chapter 9

~Sawyer~

*8 years ago*

“I told you to clean this shit up, Sylvie. You know better than to leave it lying around. What happens when Dad sees it?”

I kicked my foot up on the scarred coffee table and drained the last dregs of my beer. Frank snipped at his sister a little more before doing the same and tossing his empty bottle amongst the others littered around his living room. Technically, we were still six years from doing
this legally, but no one would notice. Or give a damn.

“Jesus. Chill out, Frank. I’m getting to it.” Sylvie plucked a hair tie from the rug and snapped it around the braid hanging over her shoulder.

“Chill out? You’re telling me to
chill out
? Are you
trying
to start a fight?” Frank shoved out of the armchair and stomped across the room, getting all up in his sister’s personal space. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Does it make you feel powerful watching me take a beating for you? Is that it?”

What. The. Hell?
My feet hit the floor with a muted thud.

Sylvie sucked in a sharp breath, her lips compressed in a tight line. “Screw you!”

The
crack
of a slap was so unexpected it took me a moment to place it. I still couldn’t believe my eyes as I watched Sylvie reel sideways into the wall.

“
Shit
.” I stepped between them, angling myself to check on Sylvie, while keeping a watch on Frank from the corner of my eye. “Syl? You alright?”

Her hand hovered over a bright red patch on her cheek and tears shimmered in her eyes.

“What the fuck, man?” I wheeled around on Frank to find him staring at his hands like he didn’t recognize them.

“I . . . I didn’t . . .” His troubled gaze lifted to me and slid over my shoulder. “Sylvie . . . I didn’t mean . . . I’m sor—”

She didn’t give him the chance to organize his scattered thoughts, retreating down the hall and slamming her bedroom door behind her.

“I . . . hit her?” He looked about as confused as I felt.

“Yeah, man, you just
hit
your sister. What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t . . . I didn’t . . . I have to get out of here. I gotta go.” Frank started backpedaling toward the front door and my eyes shot to the clock.

“Go? Your father’s gonna be home any minute.”

“Stay.” His gaze snapped to mine. “You have to stay with her, Sawyer. He never comes home
from Unemployment not in a shit mood. You have to stay. You have to keep her safe.”

“Me? But you—”

“I have to go. Please, Sawyer. You have to protect Sylvie. Promise me. Promise me you’ll protect her.” He was pleading. Desperate. Years of abuse and I’d never seen Frank look desperate before. Not like this.

“Yeah. Of course, I’ll stay.”

Frank nodded, and kept nodding all the way to the door, leaving without another word.

I watched through the dusty bay window as he jogged down the sidewalk and out of sight.

“Did he really leave?” Sylvie huddled in the doorway.

“Yeah, but it’s okay.” I wandered over to the sofa and sat, trying to appear more casual than the situation warranted. “You know he’ll be back soon. And hey . . . I’m here.”

I grinned her way and got a small smile in return. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Listen, Syl.” I drew her down beside me and sighed. I was about to sound like the world’s biggest hypocrite. “I’m not making excuses for what Frank did. There is never an excuse for someone hurting you. But . . . you know your brother. You know what you mean to him. You know he’d never—”

“I know.” Sylvie ducked her head. A defensive maneuver she’d used for years to hide, but with her hair tied back I could still see the tears pooling in her eyes. “He’s been really stressed out lately. And I didn’t listen. I never listen. He’s only trying to keep me safe and I . . .” She sniffled and swiped at her nose with the back of her hand.

“Hey. It’s okay.” Sliding an arm around her back, I tugged her into my side.
Dammit
. It made me sick listening to her blame herself. If she excused this kind of behavior now, what would that mean for her in the future? What kind of sick bastard would take advantage of her for the rest of her life? “Nothing you do or don’t do can ever excuse someone hurting—”

“What the fuck is this?” I’d been so focused on Sylvie that I hadn’t even heard the front door open or Mr. Varis come inside. “I leave for one
goddamn hour and you think you can bring your boyfriend over here to trash the place?”

“No, Daddy. I didn’t . . . He’s not . . .” Sylvie tried to scramble away—put a little more distance between her and her father—but I held her close. If something was going down, I intended to be in the middle of it.

I scanned the array of colorful hair clips and plastic jewelry scattered across the rug. The same shit Frank had been on her to clean up earlier. “Sir, we’ll clean it up right—”

“Was I talking to you, boy?” The large man swayed slightly and I uttered a silent curse.

“I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry.” Sylvie pried my arm from around her and dropped to her knees on the carpet, frantically picking up the offending items.

“You will be.” He took one step toward her and I was on my feet without processing the thought to do so.

“Leave her—” A straight shot to the gut had me doubled over and sucking air before I knew what hit me.

I could hear her screaming the whole way down the hall, but when I tried to right myself it felt like my lungs closed up. I couldn’t get enough air into them. The edges of my vision went dark and I toppled over onto the sofa.

“Sylvie,” I wheezed her name as a door slammed shut. “No.”

It was a struggle to regain control of my body. A battle against time and pain.

As soon as I was on my feet again, I plowed down the hall. “Sylvie!”

Hysterical crying made her words inaudible from behind her bedroom door, but I knew she was begging for mercy—a concept men like her father—and mine—didn’t understand. 

“Sylvie!” I pounded on the locked door. “Leave her alone!
Sylvie!
”

There was a whistle, a sound I recognized all too well. The sound of leather slicing through air. The loud
crack
was nearly drowned out by an ear-splitting scream.

Sylvie. No.
This wasn’t happening. Not to her. Not to Sylvie.

There was another crack. And another. Screams piled on top of one another, creating a deafening buzz in my brain as I kicked, punched and body slammed that damn door. It didn’t budge.

“Sawyer!”

Christ, she was calling for me. Screaming my name. Asking me to save her.

I raced to the end of the hall. Ducking my head, I dug my feet into the carpet to build up speed. This was going to hurt like hell. Footsteps bounced from the narrow walls and I threw myself full-force into the door ahead. It blasted open with the sound of a cannon and I took two more steps before crashing into her dresser. Books, paper, and a small porcelain figurine toppled to the floor.

My mind rebelled against the sight in front of me. I’d seen some pretty fucked up things. Been subjected to most of them. But this? Sylvie was tied face down to her bed. The pretty yellow sundress she’d been wearing discarded on the floor. Her father—the sick fucker—stood beside the bed, belt still swinging in his grasp.

“Son of a bitch!” I launched myself at him. I wasn’t some little kid anymore. At fifteen I had more muscle than most kids my age. That, combined with the fact that he’d already exerted most of his energy beating on his daughter and the element of surprise, I took him down easily.

We collided with the hard floor and I didn’t give him the chance to recover. Rolling myself on top of him, I rained blow after blow. Years of pent up fear and frustration bubbled to the surface. I pounded on him until my knuckles were raw and his blood mingled with mine, painting the whole room red.

“Stop.” Sylvie struggled against her bonds, choking on tears. “Sawyer . . . don’t kill him.”

“I should.” I scowled at the miserable piece of shit dangling in my grasp with every ounce of venom I felt inside me. “I should kill you right now. Make it so you can never lay a hand on her again.”

“Don’t,” Sylvie sobbed. “You’re better than him, Sawyer. Don’t do it. Please.”

Better than him? She thought I was better than him?

Blood stained my fists. Splatter covered my face, my arms, my shirt. Mr. Varis groaned beneath me.

She was wrong.

My knuckles ached as I pried them loose and shoved off of him. Mr. Varis didn’t waste any time, using the dresser to drag himself off the floor and stumbling from the room. A few moments later we heard the front door slam.

I couldn’t drag my eyes away from the reflection staring back at me in her vanity. Rage, pure and simple, was written all over my face. I’d lost control. Completely lost it.

I’m becoming my father.

Disgust curdled in my stomach as I gripped the hem of my shirt and tugged it over my head. The soft cotton didn’t feel nearly abrasive enough to wipe me clean as I scrubbed at my hands and face.

“S-sawyer?”

I froze.
Sylvie
. Turning slowly, I let my eyes wander over her bare body to her sweat and tear soaked face.

“Syl?” My lips moved, but I wasn’t sure any sound actually came out. “Oh, God.”

Welts on top of welts cut terrible paths across her pale skin, the bright red color standing out in stark contrast to the darkening bruises. He’d even drawn blood in at least one place that I could see. She whimpered and my senses returned.

Sliding onto the mattress at her side, I reached above her to untie her hands from the headboard. “Don’t move, okay? I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t go.” Sylvie reached for me, but the movement pulled on her delicate skin, causing her to cry out.

“No. Stay still. I’m just going to get something. I swear I’ll be right back.”

She buried her face in her pillow as I eased off the bed. “I’m right here, Syl. Just getting the ointment.”

I continued talking to her as I dug through the bathroom cabinets for the tub with the blue lid that Frank always used and a couple of painkillers. I filled one of those disposable Dixie cups with water before returning to her.

“Here. Swallow these. It’ll help with the pain.” She could barely lift her head as I tipped the small cup to her lips.

“Sawyer . . .” Her lip trembled, spilling some of the water onto her pillowcase. “It h-hurts.”

“I know.” Her soft hair tangled in the fingers of one hand as I dipped the other in the cool ointment. “I know. Hold really still. I’ll be as gentle as I can. Just hold on.”

Her tiny fingers curled tightly around the sheets as I smeared the medicine into her skin. She hissed and moaned a few times, but never moved.

“Shh, Syl. It’s okay. I’m here. I got you. It’s gonna be okay.” Somewhere around her waistline things got . . . awkward. “They go lower, Sylvie. Can I . . . Do you mind if . . .” I didn’t even know what I was trying to ask her. “Would you rather wait for Frank to get home?”

“No.” She rolled her head against the pillow until she could peer up at me. “I want it to be you, Sawyer.”

Stupid, juvenile embarrassment faded away to a feeling of self-loathing so intense I tasted bile creeping up the back of my throat as I continued to tend to her swelling wounds. They striped the skin of her rear and down the backs of her tender thighs. More than a few oozed blood. As I dabbed at them with a damp towel my heart shrank into a tiny diamond. Hard. Sharp. Impenetrable.

“I’m sorry, Sylvie. I’m so sorry. I—”

“Stop it.” She struggled to sit, clutching a sheet to her chest. Her voice was rough from her screams and choked with tears, but her words . . . they sank inside me and chiseled away at my diamond heart. “You and my brother, you’re always taking on responsibility for things that aren’t your fault.”