Until We Fly

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Nora

My spine is ram-rod straight as I wait.

As the clock ticks the minutes past.

The seconds.

The moments.

This summer, there just wasn’t enough time with Brand. It all ticked past so fast. And now that I’ve left him, the seconds are coming so slowly, passing like razor blades on my skin, achingly, wretchedly slow.

I can do this.

I’m brave.

I’m brave.

I’m fucking brave.

Being brave doesn’t mean not being afraid, Nora. It means being afraid and doing it anyway.

The mere memory of Brand’s voice, his words, makes me smile, warms my heart and buoys my resolve.

How dare William threaten him?

I could’ve cowered forever under threats toward me, but toward Brand?

That’s where they fucked up.

The front door opens. I hear the latch, I hear the knob. I lift my chin.

I’m fucking brave.

I’m fucking brave.

I reach under the edge of the mattress, my fingertips reaching, feeling. Cool metal answers my question. It’s there… just within reach. Concealed and waiting.

It all ends today.

A polished loafer appears in my bedroom doorway, and I follow the legs up to the waist, up to the chest, up to the face where hardened brown eyes stare at me.

“Nora,” my father says, a camera dangling from his hand. “I see you’re ready.”

He eyes me, all of me, my bare legs, my breasts spilling from my bra, my bare skin, my arms, my face. It’s all exposed.

For my father and my uncle.

My reality slams into me, hard and fast and ugly.

I’m tainted.

I’m used.

But it all ends today.

One more time.

One.

More.

Time.

I unclench my teeth and lay back on the bed, spreading my legs the way they like.

“A Greene does what it takes,” I tell my father coldly. “You taught me that.”

My father nods, his gaze fixed on my crotch. He snaps a picture, then two, then three.

“Starting without me?”

William steps in. He’s already shed his clothes, probably in the living room, and he’s only wearing his underwear. He’s pale, wrinkled, sagging. My stomach turns, but I ignore it.

I’m fucking brave.

“Take off your bra for your uncle, Nora,” my father tells me, with eyes like a predator. “You know what he likes.”

The camera snaps. Again. Then again.

Just like last time, my father stands in the corner, behind the camera, stroking himself while his brother gets off. Like last time, he’ll be careful to stay out of the photos. He only takes them so that William can get off on them later.

William crawls onto the bed, on all fours, his white gut sagging to the sheets. I pull my legs up, away from his skin, not wanting to touch him.

I squeeze my eyes shut, preparing.

I can do this.

I’m fucking brave.

“Open your eyes, Nora,” William breathes into my ear, his rank breath hot on my face. “I want to see you as I fuck you.”

He moves over me, hovering, positioning, and I reach to the side, beneath the edge of the mattress. My fingers close around the cold steel.

That’s when I open my eyes.

And that’s when the breath freezes on my lips.

Bursting through the doorway, with all the fury of hell in his eyes, is my avenging angel.