Ramsay Read Free Page B

Lydia to me to the cot and back to me. For the first time, I noticed a smear of blood on the light blue blanket. I watched as rage filled Stuart's expression. He stepped toward me. "What the fuck did you do to my sister?"
    "Stuart!" Lydia screamed, stepping forward.
    "Don't, Lydia," I managed, stepping forward, as well. "What happened here is a private matter. Excuse me." I went to step around Stuart but he pushed me, his hands braced on my chest so I flew backward, slamming into the wall. Lydia gasped. I clenched my jaw against the sensation of hard wood jarring my body and stood up straight, meeting Stuart's eyes. At seventeen, I was already bigger than him at twenty-one. I could kill him right here if I wanted to.
    "Did you rape my sister, you lowlife piece of trash?"
    Rage raced through my system and in a flash I stepped forward and swung on him, nailing him straight in the jaw. Lydia shrieked again as her brother went flying backward, stumbling and catching himself. "You motherfucker!" he yelled, his hand coming up to his jaw, blood dripping from his lip.
    "Of course he didn't rape me, Stuart," Lydia yelled, her voice high-pitched and panicky. She hurried to Stuart and stood in front of him so he wouldn't attack me . . . I assumed.
    She had done this. My Lydia. She had done this. No, not my Lydia. Never mine. Grief clogged my throat, and I almost choked on it.
    Stuart narrowed his eyes at me. We stood there for several tense moments, the only sound in the room my own harsh breath. "Add this up, math genius," he finally said, a nasty edge of mocking in his tone. "You taking advantage of my sister plus you being a disgusting piece of garbage equals me throwing your family off my property. Be gone by morning." I froze, my heart hammering.
    We lived in the small house at the edge of their property, reserved for the gardener. Right this minute my dad was passed out in bed, and Eileen was watching cartoons on the couch in her leg braces. Edward De Havilland was ill, and he was a fair man—although he might not be if he found out what I'd just done with his daughter—but his son was not a fair man, and for the time being, Stuart De Havilland was in charge. He was going to make me beg, here, in front of Lydia and Myles. I let out a long, slow breath, my face growing hot.
    "That's not necessary, Stuart, please," Lydia said weakly.
    "Shut up, Lydia," Stuart said, pushing her aside. I clenched my fists more tightly. Even though she'd just used me cruelly, my instinct to protect her was strong. Grief and anger now competed in my heart. I bloody hated myself.
    "This is not me father's fault, Stuart," I said. "Be fair about this."
    Stuart's eyes narrowed further. Several heartbeats went by before he drawled slowly, "Get down on your knees and beg me, scum."
    My heart faltered, but I wouldn't flinch. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
    "Stuart—"
    "Shut up, Lydia!" Stuart yelled again. I didn't even look at her.
    "Get down on your knees and beg me for your father's job, and I'll let your family stay," Stuart said, his eyes filled with something that looked like barely contained excitement. He'd never liked me, had resented me for some reason I didn't understand. He was finding some sick glee in this. Silence reverberated around the room. I would not do this for my own father. I would not do this thing for him. But for Eileen . . . for her, I would beg.
    I went slowly to my knees, not breaking eye contact with Stuart. "Please don't fire me father. I will not touch your sister again. Not as long as I live." I heard Lydia's quiet cries but vowed not to meet her eyes. Refused to.
    "Kiss my feet and the answer is yes."
    I gritted my jaw so hard I bit my tongue. The metallic flavor of blood filled my mouth. Eileen . . . Eileen . . . I chanted in my head, picturing her sweet, innocent face, the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. I leaned forward, my body vibrating with rage and shattered pride. Before I'd even made it halfway to