Yes, Chef

Chapter 28: Displaced Revenge

**Content warning - this chapter contains reference to sexual trauma and domestic violence. Reader discretion advised.**

~Mads's POV~

When I arrive at home, I don't know what to make of my brother being here. Has he come to reconcile or spew more bullshit? I know I need to be the bigger person here and get to the root of what's causing him to go so hard on this. I resolve to try.

He's not in his truck, which is odd. Maybe he just got here? I approach my condo cautiously and don't see him waiting outside. Something about this doesn't seem right so I pull out my phone and call Benedict without thinking. He doesn't answer, a quick look at my watch tells me why - dinner service has started.

I turn around to start walking back to my car, waiting for the beep to leave a message to tell him I'm heading to his place for the night. I don't plan on telling him why until later because I don't want him getting all worked up over nothing.

But just as the beep sounds, my head is yanked backward and a hand smashes over my lips. I'm being dragged backwards and my fight or flight instinct tells me I need to act now! I thrash and struggle but the person behind me is too strong. They back us into my condo, kicking the door shut, and flinging me against the entryway wall. I hit and collapse, my phone skidding out of my hand.

Pain radiates from my head and body. I crawl towards the phone knowing I need help. But big boots clomp past me and stomp my phone to bits. I push myself back against the wall to confront my attacker. My brother.

"Vic, what's this about? We can talk this through." My voice trembles although I'm trying to keep it even. I notice he's wearing gloves and it makes my heart race. What is he planning to do here?

"I tried to talk to you and you wouldn't listen so now I'm taking matters into my own hands." He mutters, storming towards me and lifting me by my arm, which aches under is crushing fingers.

"Vic, you're hurting me!" I cry out.

He laughs without humor. "I'm saving you. You don't realize that guy is just like Dad. You might think you have him tamed, just like Mom did. And then next thing you know, he's beating on you and your kids. I can't believe you fell for it, Mads. You know better." He rambles as he drags me into the living room. My eyes widen at the destruction.

"What have you done?!" I shriek and try to wrench away from him.  He maneuvers me into a headlock, squeezing the air from me.

"Oh this wasn't me. It was your boyfriend. He got mad about you tending to poor Garrison. Your guy beat him up, you know? Now he's taking out his rage on you. It was only a matter of time." He speaks in a somber tone like he truly believes his words. He then squeezes me tighter causing me to become lightheaded. "I hope you survive this, sis. It needs to be convincing but I also need you to forget. It'll be better that way."

The last of my adrenaline kicks in and I'm able to propel my body down and back so that he loses his hold on me. Unfortunately I'm so dizzy that I land on my back. Vic steps over me, tsking. "Mads, just play dead, remember?"

He repeats the phrase that took me years of therapy to unlearn. Vic and I had a traumatic childhood, abused by our father until he went too far and almost killed our mother. We were removed from the home and sent to live with my mother's sister who spent a lot of resources to get us both through the immediate trauma. It's what spurred me into counseling. I couldn't do the heavy stuff like what I experienced but performance counseling became a great way to help people. Lucrative too.

I thought Vic was fine too. He never had my drive or compassion but he went into the trades. Pursued bowling as a hobby. Made friends. I never thought he would be capable of something like this but I guess that's the funny thing about being a product of trauma. There's no telling how it might manifest or what may trigger it.