Burning Bridges by Nadege Richards Page A

” Another lie , but it wasn ’ t too far from the truth.
    “ So, she just leaves it out in plain sight? For anyone to take? ”
    Spitting the remainder of blood out of my mouth, I said, “ I guess so. ”
    Tyron snapped his fingers toward me and hands encircled my waist, pulling me up to stand. “ How about we make a deal? If you can pull it off again, you can walk out of here a living man five thousand dollars richer.
    Five thousand?
    “ I can ’ t, ” I said, though the temptation was strong. “ I made a vow to myself I wouldn ’ t. ”
    Tyron sighed, and then with a speed I wouldn ’ t deem earthly, he struck the side of my face with a knuckled punch . “ I didn ’ t ask you about a damn vow! Unless you want to end up in a pr ison sector, eating your own mates just to keep your eyes open, you had better listen up. Tomorrow night is the Grand Season ’ s Ball at the R oyal Palace and guess who ’ s invited? You are , my friend . ” He threw the money they ’ d collected at my feet. “ Get the money and you ’ re a free man. ”
    The guys dropped me to the ground and I watched with resentment as they left with Tyron and disappeared out of the alley and ebbed into the day. I sat alone and contemplated whether I should get up or lie here and wish for my death . Neither sounded good to me, but the latter promised a better outcome. If I died—right then in that alley—my troubles would be over. The pain, the suffering, and the long days of never-ending work would all be gone.
    But where did that leave my family?
    As soon as that thought occurred to me, I stumbled to my feet, taking the money with me, and set out for home. Losing my family wasn ’ t an option, neither was leaving them. Striving became my only priority, living my only goal.
    The door to the house was left ajar, so I easily slipped in and kicked off my shoes on the old, disheveled mat. I tried to be silent in case no one had seen me come in, but as soon as I stepped into the kitchen, all eyes were on me. I wondered how I must ’ ve looked—bruised, bleeding, and possibly on the brink of unconsciousness. Somehow, I didn ’ t really care. All I wanted now was silence.
    As I moved toward the small table my family had crowded around, my Mother whispered, “ Ayden, baby, what— ”
    “ Carys, ” my father warned, as if I was some dangerous animal and she was getting to close to the cage .
    Without looking at any of them, especially Milo and Misty ’ s saddened gazes, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the money, slapping it onto the tabletop. The sound of the coins hitting the linoleum was loud compared to the silence between us. “ Put some food in the damn fridge, ” I said, an d then turned and made my way out the ba ck of the house .
    I could only imagine my mother ’ s face .
    I walked through the weeded backyard and to the cottage I had built two years ago when Father had trained me as a carpen ter. Those days he ’ d been sober . Things weren ’ t as bad and the twins were in school. Compared to then, things were a wreck now. It would take me years before I managed us out of poverty, and I knew my time was running short.
    I nudged the door open with my shoulder and stumbled through the small foyer as I made my way to the bathroom. I turned on the lamp and watched myself in the mirror. The swelling was bad, but not bad enough to leave a mark . It ’ d go down by tomorrow morning, I assumed. Even though the external scars weren ’ t visible, the internal ones very much were. I ’ d learned to embrace pai n form a very young age, but growing up with an impassive father, I never knew how to handle it emotionally .
    I was drowning— drowning in an oblivion so estranged not even the gods could save me. I was a lost cause lost within itself.
    I had no plans of redemption.
     

 
     
     
     
     
    S E V E N
    Echo
     
    “ I s this really necessary? ” I snarled, as Mother tightened the mesh over my face. Its itchy thread