Chapter 1
Mo pushed her to the ground and she landed hard on her shoulder and hip. Not expecting the blow, she tumbled to the ground, unable to help herself. Dully, she noted in the back of her mind that she would have bruises there in the morning. If she woke up the next morning.
The last time Raven had seen Mo, she had managed to make him so angry, he had tried to kill her. Raging, he had held her by the throat against a wall, and slashed at her with a shard of glass he had gotten from a broken picture frame. She wasn't sure what had saved her, she didn't remember much of anything beyond the point of the glass shard piercing and digging into her stomach, leaving scars that would stay forever, a painful memory of how her pride could do her so much damage.
Back in the present moment, Raven struggled to a standing position. "What are you doing here, Mo?" No matter how afraid she was, she never let it or the pain show, never gave in to Mo's anger, never ceased to do what she could to anger him more. She was too determined to stay strong. That pride had nearly gotten her killed last time.
Mo shoved her again, this time into the edge of the table. The sharp corner dug into her back. "You are to call me 'Sir', you little brat!" Mo shoved her to the floor, this time putting his foot on her stomach so she couldn't get up.
"Why, Mo? I don't quite understand that," Raven used the most innocent, child-like voice she could muster. Her head hurt where it had slammed into the floor. He glared at her, pushing down on his foot, tearing the air from her lungs, and explained that he was her "superior" and that was reason enough. Raven struggled to take in enough air to speak. Mo was putting more and more weight on his foot, all but cutting off her air supply. "I've always been a rather. . . disobedient child," she replied, her voice, if a bit weak, not portraying any of the fear she felt.
Mo grabbed her by her long, black hair, knotting his fingers in it to better his grip and pulled her up so their eyes were level, the tips of her toes just barely brushing the ground. "Well then," he growled, "If you're a child, how about we play a game? Children love games." Raven could smell the beer and cigar smoke on his breath as he spoke, then gruffly hurled her to the ground. Her head slammed into the counter top on the way down.
Watching Mo storm down the hall and slam open the door to her room, Raven reached up and touched the back of her head. Relieved that there was no blood, she pushed herself upright, fighting the blackness that crept into the edges of her vision. She shoved herself up, with the help of the table, upright. Struggling to her bedroom door, Raven found Mo standing in the middle of the room, holding her scrapbook.
"Alright. So here are the rules to our game. You do what I say, or this happens." He tore a page from her scrapbook. Flipping open the top of his cigarette lighter, he waved it next to the corner of a letter Thorn, Raven's best friend, wrote her a year ago.
Raven watched in horror as the flame licked up and caught the paper. What little breathe she had been able to muster was knocked out of her as the letter crumbled to ashes and fell to the floor. White-hot anger flooded her veins at the smug look on her step-father's face.
An anger she could no longer control.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Raven lunged at her father.
And suddenly, she was struck by an unimaginable pain that lanced through her very being.
But it didn't deter her from her goal.