Page 147 of Breaking Rosalind
Daughter?
I freeze, the word ringing through my ears and muffling her tirade. The scar above her pubic bone wasn’t from a hysterectomy but a cesarean, which means…
An iron bar hits me over the head before I can even form my next thought. Pain explodes across my cranium and my vision fills with a constellation.
The world tilts on its axis, not just because of the blow, but because of the devastating news that Rosalind is Miranda’s mother.
But how?
I stagger backward just as she swings the iron bar. Another blow lands across my shoulder, the impact jarring me back to the present. Rosalind is a wild, feral creature, protecting her young. I’ve got to restrain her before she does any more damage to me or herself.
Adrenaline surges through my veins, momentarily dulling the pain of her next strike. I charge at her, aiming to grab the iron bar, but she sidesteps and swings it again. This time, it connects with my ribs, and I release a strangled grunt.
“Rosalind, stop!” I yell above her barrage of screams.
She’s beyond reason, and I can’t blame her. Rosalind is reliving every fucked-up thing I did to her and imagining me inflicting it on Miranda. How could she know I would never corrupt a child?
All she sees is the monster who imprisoned her, humiliated her, who enjoyed seeing her suffer.
I raise my arms to block another strike. The iron bar hits my ulna bone with a sharp, tingling sensation. Ignoring the pain flaring across my forearms, I lunge forward, wrap my arms around her waist, and throw us both to the floor. Finally, the iron bar clatters to the ground.
She struggles beneath me, her fists pummeling my chest and face with ruthless precision. The time she’s spent in captivity has weakened her punches, but I still take the blows. The pain is nothing compared to the shock of her revelation.
Pinning her down by the shoulders, using my superior body weight keeping her in place. “You want to kill me, pet?”
“I want you dead,” she screeches, her eyes ablaze with hatred.
“Then do it,” I say between panting breaths. “Give me everything you’ve got.”
She lashes out with renewed vigor, her blows relentless, her insults slicing through the chaos like serrated blades. “Monster, sick bastard. Child molester… Just like him.”
Him who? I flinch, my lips forming a denial, but I’m silenced by a fist to the mouth. Thank fuck we’re in the tower where nobody can hear her slander.
When her punches lose their impact, her hands scrabble for my throat and she squeezes. The pressure is constricting, but I don’t resist.
“Let it all out, pet,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I’m going to tear off your cock,” she yells, her voice shrill.
Her knee connects with my balls. Shock barrels through my insides in a continuum of pain and nausea. All the air leaves my lungs, and for a moment, I can’t inhale. As my body goes slack, she rolls me off her and scrambles to her knees.
When she picks up the iron bar again, I groan.
Once again, I underestimated Rosalind’s skill. Still reeling from the groin strike, I barely manage to grab her ankle in time to pull her back down to the floor tiles.
She lands beside me with a grunt, and I take advantage of her disorientation to snatch her weapon. I toss it across the room, where it lands against the wall with a clatter.
Rosalind lands a fist at my temple, but I wrap my hand around her throat and squeeze.
Tears stream down her cheeks, and her pretty features contort with more anguish than I saw during the time she spent with me in capacity. Remorse punches me in the heart. I wanted to see her break, but not like this. Never out of maternal anguish.
“If you’ve gotten her pregnant?—”
“Look at me, Rosalind,” I command, my voice rough. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I never touched Miranda.”
She screams, the words incoherent. Nothing I say is getting through. She won’t listen to the truth. Why would she when the sounds and images I sent were so incriminating? She should want me dead.
Keeping my grip tight around her throat, I move us both across the floor to the dresser, where I keep my supplies.