Page 57 of Striking Range

Ash laughs, loud and sarcastic. “Telling her yes or no isn’t the problem, son. If she wanted to fuck you, you fuck her! Everyone knows she has an interest in you—we’re not dumb.”

I can feel my own eyes double in size, rounding in shock as my mouth hangs open. “What?”

“It’s called business. Holly has more to lose by Francis finding out than you do. He would have never known, and we would have strengthened our relationship with them. Instead, you offend her! And you get caught doing it! Pathetic—you’re pathetic!”

He begins to pace, hands clenched at his sides. I watch them, remembering every moment I’ve shed a tear from their wrath, my own body becoming something small and weak at the sight of his red knuckles.

“If my relationship with the Johnstons is affected by this, I swear—I swear to god I will lose it, Everett,” he mutters.

“I’m sorry,” is all I can force out. What else can I say?

He just told me that if the situation is to arise again, I’m meant to whore myself out for his connections.

Am I… am I not his son? Am I not worth more than this?

“You better be. The next time this happens, just fuck the woman. Be a man. And by god, do not get caught.” He gifts me one last slap to the face, the door rattling behind him as he storms out.

Just when I think I’ve gained even the smallest fraction of his approval, I fuck it all up again. Any progress I’ve made has been erased by my own damn morals.

I have to finish this—I have to finish my degree and settle down with a nice girl they’ll approve of. Then I can escape this hell; I can escape being his punching bag, his whore.

But even as the plan reforms in my mind, I know there is a chance it won’t matter anyway. As I do the things I’ve been raised to do, I am reminded that I have been made a weak man, and I may never get away.

There is the potential that I will always be my adoptive father’s plaything, no matter how far I run.

Chapter Thirteen

Skylar Parish

“You barely spent any time with us for your birthday! You were here for maybe two hours at breakfast, and that’s it!” Mom complains into the receiver, ever so dramatic.

I hold the phone between my shoulder and my ear, fiddling with the Nintendo Switch in my hands; my character runs around aimlessly.

Distracted, I reply, “I know. I’m sorry, I’m just really busy right now.”

She sighs just as I’m sniped from some mountains off to the east. “We just miss you, baby. I know you feel like we’ve been overbearing ever since… that accident, but we just love you so much.”

I throw the console onto the mattress next to me, closing my eyes to ward off the memories as I take in a large inhale.

“I don’t think that, Mom. And I miss you guys, too. I’ve just been swamped. And starting tomorrow, we start studying for midterms.”

None of this is a lie—between work, beach volley, and finishing my bachelor’s to become a nurse, finding time to drive back home is hard. It has nothing to do with their concerned faces or any resentment toward the lengths to which they went to… fix me.

I hear the front door unlock, the sound of someone kicking off their shoes, and a bag hitting the floor.

My pulse speeds up.

“Well, maybe we can come up there for dinner sometime,” Mom offers.

“That sounds great. Text me a date, okay? Evie just got here.”

“Oh! You guys made up?”

I sigh. “We weren’t fighting, Mom.”

Everett comes into my room in a pair of sweatpants and a Sinclair baseball t-shirt. He looks disheveled, exhausted. I can feel my skin flushing at the sight of him, at the memories that now resurface when I see his face.

“Sure you weren’t. You guys—”