“He gave up on you.”
Her quiet words set my entire body to trembling.
Even so, I retorted, “Dad had Gill pouring acid on his face.”
“Dad himself poured boiling oil on your back and you didn’t give up on Tommy,” she shot back.
I looked away, the trembling worse, the pain resurfacing. Vast assortments of pain. Entire collections.
She was right. We’d been found where we thought we were safe in Baja. We’d been dragged back. And the torture hadn’t been just for Tommy for overstepping his bounds, daring to fall in love with the king’s princess, taking her away.
The torture had been for me too.
We both had a lesson to learn.
Everyone associated with Vincent Shade had a lesson to learn.
But I’d been first.
There was a small area of skin on Tommy’s left cheekbone that looked like it was melting.
He’d endured that for five minutes and renounced me. Promised it was over. Accepted his punishment of working by my side and never again touching me. Ending forever what we’d had. And last, committing his future to my father’s sister’s daughter.
He’d married my cousin three months later.
But for ages, Tommy had watched the oil poured along the small of my back, my upper hips, and I had not renounced him. He’d shouted. Cursed. Fought against his restraints. Begged them to burn him.
But when they turned to him, he hadn’t endured his long.
I’d endured it silently, focusing as best I could on making new plans. Plans for when it was over, we were healed and it was time to try again (this time successfully). The oil dripped on my back while I decided our next destination. How we’d get there. How we’d cover our tracks. At the same time hoping with each drop gliding pure agony, I was proving to my father that I loved the man I was accepting torment for so he’d find it in him to simply let us be free.
“Liv, sissy, you need to give up on him too,” Georgia told me gently.
Her words brought me back into the room.
“He’s a soldier, nothing more. He’s not yours. He’s ours,” she went on. “And he needs to do his job.”
She was correct.
In this world where we lived, she was absolutely correct.
It was just that I didn’t want to live in a world where things like that were the way you lived.
“Right now I hate you,” I whispered.
Her shoulders slumped slightly, but that was all she gave to me.
“It isn’t the first time,” she replied.
She was again absolutely right.
She was my sister.
But she was also her father’s daughter.
And I detested him.
“No,” I agreed and watched her fight the flinch. “And I’m sure not the last.”