The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,65

arrive.

My mother glided over to me, a graceful smile spreading her painted lips as if nothing had happened. “Doesn’t she look beautiful, Elliot?”

My father barely glanced at me before nodding. “She’ll suffice.”

I almost longed for the days when there was someone around to impress. It was the only time my father treated me like a human being. Elliot Montgomery couldn’t have his friends and business partners thinking he was mentally and emotionally abusive toward his daughter.

At least he doesn’t beat me anymore.

During those early days spent turning me into this shell, I’d been the most resistant. It wasn’t until my father learned how easily I bruised on the outside that he stopped. They hadn’t cared about the scars they’d left behind on the inside.

My mother rejoined my father at his side, and I took a seat on the sofa across from them, getting comfortable before pulling my phone from my clutch.

I was so close to finally beating level ninety-seven of Candy Crush. And let’s face it, I had all night.

“What time did Ever say he’d be picking you up?” my father questioned. “It’s after nine.”

“He didn’t say,” I answered without looking away from my game. Sensing my father’s anger, I smiled only to curse under my breath when I ran out of moves.

“Barbette, you’ll show your father respect,” my mother chastised.

“Why? I have as much respect for him as he does for me.” My father angrily shoved to his feet, so I finally gave him my full attention. “Are you going to beat me?” I mocked. “Send me to prom all broken and bruised? What will people think?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, daughter. I’ll make sure they won’t see a damn thing under that dress.”

He took a threatening step forward, and although my breath had gotten caught in my throat, I stood, too, inching toward the lamp on the side table. I was no longer the thirteen-year-old girl who’d been too terrified of her father to fight back.

Just as he raised his hand to slap me down, and I dove for the lamp, the doorbell rang. My father and I froze with less than two feet separating us.

“Oh, dear, that must be Ever,” my mother announced.

Knowing that it couldn’t be, I clutched the lamp tighter, preparing to strike if my father so much as blinked at me wrong.

“Barbette, please put that down,” my mother urged. “Someone might see.”

“Tell your husband to back off.”

To my surprise, he did just that, though the threat in his eyes was still there. “We’ll revisit this conversation later.”

“Looking forward to it.” I had no idea what had gotten into me. I just knew I refused to be their whipped dog any longer.

The doorbell rang again, and my mother rushed to answer the door. I kept my gaze on my father even after he was seated again and sipping his brandy with his legs crossed as if nothing had happened. Of course, he wouldn’t want Ever to know that he’d just been preparing to beat his fiancé.

“Barbette.” My mother’s soft voice carried from the foyer. Tossing the lamp on the sofa, I charged from the room. A man I didn’t recognize stood inside the foyer with his cap in his hand.

“Madam. I’m Oliver, your driver for the night.”

“Well, where is Ever?” my mother asked. “Shouldn’t he be here to escort you?”

“He’s probably still embarrassed over the interview.” Laying a comforting hand on her arm, I thanked God for not giving me sensibilities as delicate as my mother’s. “Give him some time.” Turning to the driver, I narrowed my gaze on him. “Ever did send you, right?”

Oliver simply smiled, although nervously, before extending his hand toward the open front door. I moved until I could see out the door and stared at the white stretch limo parked in the drive. The windows were too dark for me to see who waited inside.

Why had Ever come? He should have been on his knees, begging Four’s forgiveness. Hell, I should have been right beside him.

Angry with my best friend for being such a fucking, self-sacrificing idiot, I marched past the driver and out the front door without saying goodbye to my mother.

Oliver somehow managed to beat me to the limo, and I offered him a weak smile when he opened the door for me. The moment it closed behind me, I knew I’d been led into a trap. I saw the shadow of a hand reaching up before there was a click. Light now bathed the other end of the