The Runaways

Chapter 9

Caleb

Through the sliver of a swollen eye, I caught a smile slip between Hailey’s lips from across the room. God knows whether or not that smile was meant for me, but seeing it had me sweating worse than the Manassas heat.

I tensed up just trying to keep the fire in my blood from tearing its way through my skin. Hailey's stare only made things worse, but I hoped she'd mistake my buzz for first-degree burns.

She still had that hundred-watt spark in her eyes, bright enough for me to know Liam hadn't had his way with her. Not yet, at least. Good to see all that fighting was worth something. Even if it just bought her some time.

Marcus had his eyes on the two of us, and I caught the sting of his silence seconds after walking through our front door. I'd played off the fear at first and focused on Hailey instead of on him.

I didn't have to look in him in the eye to know what was going on behind them—something a little like shame and a lot like disappointment. He had a way of looking at people like he could judge them without having to blink. Especially me. The feeling always left me raw, but today, he turned me inside out.

The longer I stayed quiet the more he cracked around the edges. He didn’t need to blink for me to know I was in trouble. Couldn't tell you the last time I wasn't.

For every line I'd put in his forehead, he’d give me at least three flap-jaw lectures as soon as he had the chance to stand and deliver. He liked running his mouth before he fully understood a situation. Didn't matter what the truth was 'cause his truth was law.

He could be as pissed as he wanted, it wouldn’t change the fact that he didn’t know the story. He hadn't been in the field. He hadn't seen anything more then the end of his nose this morning, and none of us had time for his bullshit. Not with a cop in the room.

Cillian hadn't moved from his post on the wall since I'd come back. Didn't even look at me. Didn't even try, but that's just how he was. He didn't bother dealing with things unless Liam told him to.

He didn't do much of anything unless Liam told him to. Never mind that I'd nearly burned alive. Right or wrong, Liam owned this house and everyone in it. Not even outsiders were safe.

Liam caught me out of the corner of his eye, and my blood pressure spiked. Just having him in the room wore me down so bad I didn’t know how long I could hold together at the hinges. He smiled to himself, like he found something funny about the fact that I was still breathing.

Guess I hadn't spent enough time on the wrong end of sanity to find any humor in that.

Back when he'd pinned me down, I kept waiting to see him change. Waiting to see the brother who'd carried me bleeding and broken out of Dad's house 'cause he gave a damn. But now he had that same silent rage in his eyes that Dad did.

He hit me like Dad did. Worse even.

But I tried my best not to feel too bad about it. I tried buying into the idea that this was just how things were and that I could take it. But lying doesn't do much for the soul except make it sicker, and I felt that sickness deeper than my bones.

Liam shifted his focus off his carvings on the kitchen table and over to me. My legs went numb. Didn't matter how hard I tried to look like he didn't scare the skin off me, he sensed the fear like a butcher does when he leads an animal out to the killing floor.

The cop was the only buffer left between Liam keeping his cool or losing his shit. I didn't mind leading the pigs to our slaughterhouse if it meant skipping out on another beating. Good news was, the cop who'd picked me up wasn’t the kind we were running from.