Page 123 of Blades Out
My father's jaw tightened. For a moment, he looked like he might push back, might try to assert dominance the way he always had. But something in Rhys's expression—something cold and utterly unmoved—made him hesitate.
The silence stretched. Taut. Unbearable.
"Livvy." The nickname slithered off his tongue, sweet and poisonous. "You don't want him to get hurt, do you? Come back home."
The sound of it made my skin crawl. Livvy. He'd always used it when he wanted something, when he was playing nice before the storm. I hated it. Hated the way it made me feel small and compliant and terrified all over again.
My throat closed. I forced the word out, anyway. "No." Barely a whisper.
My father's eyes went cold. "Excuse me?"
Rhys shifted his weight forward, a fractional movement that somehow made him seem larger. More immovable. "You heard her."
My father's attention snapped back to Rhys, and something ugly twisted in his expression. He looked him up and down slowly, deliberately, then let out a harsh laugh.
"You know what's funny?" He leaned against the doorframe like he had all the time in the world. "You were what, twenty when you stepped in back then? Playing hero, breaking down doors." His smile sharpened. "And now look at you. Fucking her."
Heat flooded my face—shame, rage, humiliation mixing into something unbearable.
"A little old for her, don't you think?" My father continued, voice dripping with false concern. "She's what, twenty-two? Twenty-three? You're pushing forty, and you're taking advantage of the same girl you 'saved.'" He made air quotes around the word, mocking. "Preying on her vulnerability. That's what they'll call it, you know. When people find out."
My chest constricted. The words hit exactly where they were meant to—every insecurity, every doubt I'd swallowed down about Rhys and me. Every fear that what we had was wrong, that I was too young, that he was using me.
"Stop it." My voice cracked, but I pushed through. "It's not true."
My father ignored me completely, eyes locked on Rhys. "Yes, it is. And deep down, you know it. You're nothing but a predator who waited until she was legal." He paused, letting the accusation hang. "But I can protect her from men like you. I'm her father. That's my job."
The audacity of it stole my breath. Protect me. From the man standing between me and the only real danger I'd ever faced.
Rhys still hadn't moved. Hadn't flinched. But I felt the rage building in him—controlled, contained, lethal.
My father must have felt it too, because his smile faltered slightly before he forced it back into place.
Rhys's voice dropped to something so quiet I almost didn't hear it.
"If you ever come near her again," he said, each word deliberate, surgical, "I will bury you so deep no one will find what's left."
The temperature in the hallway plummeted. My father's smirk wavered, just for a second, but I saw it—the flash of genuine fear before he covered it with bravado.
"You threatening me?" He tried to laugh, but it came out strained. "You think you scare me, Ackerman? I know guys like you. All talk, no?—"
"Try me." Rhys stepped closer, and my father actually stumbled back. "Try stepping inside her home. Try touching her. Try saying one more word to her."
The air felt suffocating. Rhys wasn't yelling, wasn't raising his voice at all, but the controlled violence radiating from him made my knees weak. This wasn't anger. This was something colder. More permanent.
My father opened his mouth, closed it. For the first time since he'd appeared at my door, he looked uncertain. "She's my daughter?—"
"She's nothing to you." Rhys cut him off, voice flat and final. "You lost that right the first time you laid hands on her."
My father's face darkened. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I was there." Three words, clipped and brutal. "I remember exactly what I saw. Blood on the walls. Her screaming. Her mother unconscious on the floor." Rhys leaned in, close enough that my father had to crane his neck back. "You hurt her once. You won't get a second chance."
Something in my chest cracked open. He did remember. Every detail. Every moment. And he'd been carrying it all these years, just like I had.
My father's jaw worked silently. He tried to summon that cruel confidence again, tried to pull himself up to his full height, but Rhys didn't budge. Didn't blink.
"This isn't over," my father finally said, voice tight with suppressed rage. "She's still my blood. Still my?—"
