M.I.A.

Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen:

Corey

I straighten and glance at Mia. Her expression has closed down to the very basic of primal fear. Cutter is home.

Swallowing hard, I motion for her to keep quiet and slide from the room. As I come downstairs, I see that Cutter has again visited the liquor store and didn't wait to get home for me to destroy the habit. The bottle of vodka is half gone and he's weaving around the kitchen, preparing for dinner. Eggs. He always eats eggs.

I cross my arms and lean against the doorjamb. "Oh, real classy."

He wobbles in place as he cracks eggs in the pan.

"You've got a sick girl upstairs. You need to take care of her." Nothing. I don't know why I bother. I advance on him, grabbing his arm and shoving the pan across the stove and out from under him. "Hey!"

He goes still and blinks. The egg he just cracked—one handed—slides out of the shell and hisses as it plops onto the electric burner. He stares down at it, like he doesn't quite understand what's going on. I stare at him, hoping that for once, he's listening to me.

Next thing I know, he's screaming and there's a pan of greasy eggs flying at my head. I duck on impulse and it flies across the room. Instinct has me leaping at his stomach in an effort to get him to the floor, but that doesn't really work. I just summersault across the cracked linoleum tiles like a Karate Kid flunkey. I hit the screen door with an oomph and crumple into a heap.

"Idiots! Morons! Mother fuckers said I was nothing! Nothing! God damn it!"

It takes me a disoriented moment to register that Cutter must have come home angry about something that happened at work and is now more than a little pissed off that I ruined his snack time. He's having a tantrum, knocking down chairs and throwing things and cussing up a storm. Next thing I know, he's hauling ass up the stairs, still howling.

"I'll show you! I'm better than you!"

I scramble to my feet, my shoes squeaking against the tile, and run after him. By the time I make it into The Room, he's already pounding his meaty fist into Mia's stomach.

"Stupid whore! Stupid cunt!" he bellows.

Her mouth and eyes are gaping as she moans, trying to beg mercy; her hands are wide claws and straining against the chains. She's thrashing and squirming. She wants to ball up and cover herself, but she can't.

It makes my blood explode hot and hard through my veins.

With a wild howl, I run at him again, intent on tackling him, but I just fly head over heels, tumbling onto Mia. I throw myself over her, trying to cover her shaking body with mine. "No! Stop it!" I scream. Her heart beats mouse-scared beneath mine and her breath is a mewling rasp against my neck.

"I'll show you!" His hand finds its way through my skull, through my brain. I hear flesh meeting flesh and her body slams sideways underneath mine. And then she's still. For a moment, I'm terrified that she's dead.

"I'll show you! Dumb bitch!" He hits her twice more, each time losing more steam until he staggers backward and blinks down at us—me breathing like I've run a marathon and Mia broken and beaten unconscious beneath me. I feel my own terror and hatred on my face. Know it is reflected in his eyes. I've never thought myself capable of murder. But I know, in this moment, I would do worse things to Cutter if I were physically able. I would make him suffer and bleed and I would enjoy it. Because he'd deserve every moment of it.

Suddenly, Cutter begins shaking like a withdrawing junkie. He balls his fists again, advances forward and plants his foot against the side of the bed. He shoves it hard, making it scrape and rattle across the room until it hits the wall. I brace myself over Mia, as if somehow I could do anything. And then, just like that, Cutter backpedals into the far wall, buries his face in his hands, and begins bawling.