A Father's Betrayal

POV: Tessa

My boots dragged across the cracked pavement as I finally made my way back to our crumbling house. Every step sent a dull, throbbing ache radiating through my thighs. The raw, lingering sting between my legs was a constant, cruel reminder of the horrific ordeal I had survived at the club. I had practically sprinted out of that VIP room, desperate to escape the suffocating presence of the ruthless stranger who took my innocence. I just needed the sanctuary of my own bed. I needed the scalding heat of a shower to wash his lingering scent off my skin.

I pushed the heavy front door open. The depressing squeal of un-oiled hinges echoed through the empty space, immediately accompanied by the familiar stench of cheap cigarettes and mildew. I stepped inside, closing the door behind me with a soft click, hoping to slip upstairs unnoticed.

"Hey. Come back here."

My bitter stepmother, Myra, was already waiting like a predator. She sat perched on the edge of the stained, sagging sofa, glaring daggers at my exhausted frame.

"Do you need anything?" I asked in a clipped tone. I kept my hand gripping the cold metal doorknob, desperately hoping to flee to my cramped bedroom.

Myra’s eyes narrowed into terrifying slits. "You have the guts to ask me that. Come here." She raised a sharp, manicured finger, aggressively gesturing away from the exit. "Stand right there in the middle."

I let out a shaky sigh and stepped dead into the middle of our severely poorly furnished, dilapidated living room. The peeling wallpaper seemed to close in around me. Myra stood up, invading my personal space, practically vibrating with greed.

"What do you—"

"It's been a month, Tessa, and you haven't brought any money," she demanded abruptly, cutting me off. Her tone dripped with pure, unfiltered poison.

"I told you I quit," I stated firmly. I repeated the undeniable truth for the millionth time. I had definitively made up my mind. I refused to ever go back to working as a degrading stripper. Not after the horrific rape that happened to me just hours ago. The terrifying memories flashed behind my eyelids—the suffocating weight of the man, the sharp pain as he brutally forced his cock inside me without a shred of mercy. I would rather starve on the streets than step foot in that hellish club again.

Myra scoffed loudly, stepping even closer. "What do you mean you quit? Then how exactly are you going to contribute to this household financially? Eat? Sleep? You must be joking."

I scanned the miserable living room, feeling a sudden surge of hot anger. "What does Sloane do?" I asked, my voice rising in challenge.

"Nothing!" I answered my own question before she could speak. "You know there's an open dancing slot at the club. Sloane could easily apply for a shift to bring in the much-needed cash. Just leave—"

A deafening crack echoed through the room. Myra's hand flew out, slapping me incredibly hard across the face. A fierce, burning sting radiated across my cheek. My head snapped to the side. I stumbled back, touching my burning skin, gasping at the sudden strike.

"My daughter is not a whore!!" Myra yelled furiously, her face twisting in rage.

"And you think I'm one!!" I screamed right back. Hot, frustrated tears rapidly brimmed in my green eyes, blurring my vision. I refused to back down this time. "I have a life too! I am not your slave, wearing skimpy clothes to dance for disgusting men at night while Sloane is sitting upstairs on her phone all damn day. I am done!"

Every penny I ever made from the club went straight into Myra's greedy pockets. I only kept loose change for basic necessities.

Myra glared back with bone-chilling coldness. "Oh yes, you are. You officially became my slave the exact moment your biological mother died."

My stomach churned. "Stop bringing my mother into this."

"Why shouldn't I?" Myra hissed mercilessly. "We are facing total financial ruin because of you. Instead of working, you quit! For what?"

The blatant hypocrisy literally sickened me to my core.

"Because I'm exhausted, Myra!" I shouted, my voice cracking. "All the massive, crippling debts Dad incurred are because of you and Sloane! The roof over our heads literally leaks every time it rains, but he constantly buys Sloane the latest iPhone models and expensive fake Birkin bags! How is any of this my cross to bear?"

I felt physically and mentally shattered. A wave of dizziness washed over me. I had been secretly and terrifyingly battling bouts of unexplained morning sickness recently. I was silently praying to God with every fiber of my being that I was not pregnant from the monstrous stranger who forced his cock inside me. I was just trying to earn a meager living for this hopelessly ungrateful family, and it had cost me everything.

"It should be your problem," Myra hissed. "I'm asking you to bring money to deal with our situation, and you stand here sprouting rubbish."

"I have nothing to do with your situation," I muttered tiredly, rubbing my temples.

Myra’s lips curled into a malicious, sinister sneer. "You will have something to do with it when your father's head is brought home in a box."

The words shattered my internal thoughts. My blood instantly ran ice cold. I stiffened in horror, the air leaving my lungs.

"What did you say?" I whispered. Silas might be a terrible parent, but he was still my dad.

"Your father owes money," Myra scoffed cruelly.

"That's not news," I mumbled. He owed half the neighborhood.

"Well, this is new news," she fired back in disdain. "Your father stupidly borrowed a massive sum of money from an incredibly vicious, unforgiving Mafia gang exactly a week ago."

My heart hammered against my ribs. The Mafia? Those people were dark, ruthless, and deadly.

"He currently has zero money to pay them back," Myra continued, stepping closer to gloat. "He possesses zero assets for collateral. He had to go to their headquarters today simply to beg on his knees for his very life. Heaven knows if he will even come back alive."

She paused, cruelly mocking me. "If you had simply kept your mouth shut and kept working at the strip club, we would have at least had a few measly dollars to attempt to appease those ruthless mobsters."

I was deeply disgusted by these parasitic people who literally drove me to the point of brutal defilement just to selfishly fund their lavish, fake lifestyle. I felt totally suffocated.

"Excuse me," I muttered quickly.

I turned on my heel and headed straight for the front door. I desperately needed to get out of this suffocating house to breathe and formulate a plan. I grabbed the cold handle and aggressively pulled the front door open to leave.

I instantly froze in my tracks.

My father, Silas, was standing right there on the porch.

His hair was a disheveled mess, and his clothes were torn. His face was heavily covered in deep, bloody scratches and dark purple bruises. He clearly just took a remarkably harsh, punishing beating from the Mafia.

"Dad," I called out. Despite my overwhelming anger, my voice was laced with immediate concern.

A deeply unsettling, mischievous, and twisted smile slowly played on Silas's badly bruised, bloody lips.

"Thank God I found you here. You're coming with me," he stated firmly.

My brow furrowed deeply. A horrible, sinking feeling dropped like a lead weight in my chest.

What the hell is he talking about?