Chapter 2

“Dad, What do you mean by that?” I asked and his eyes flared, irrational etching as he landed a slap immediately, burning my cheek.

“I don’t want to hear you call me Dad! Don’t you ever try that!” he warned with a furious look, his voice sending chills down my spine.

I could only nod.

Just then his phone rang and he brought it out. A little smile tugged his lips as he placed the phone on his ear, flashing a sly smile at me.

“Oh yes, money received. She is ready to have you, and after you’re done, don’t hesitate to pay my balance.” he laughed, saying those words that cleared my doubt.

He was really going to sell my body?

“I am not ready for anybody! I won’t allow….”

His cold glare cut my words but I stared back in defiance. Wasn’t the pain and suffering enough? The whipping, starvation, public humiliation and isolation like I was a leper.

I won’t be used as a sex toy to anyone. Never!

“Get out,” he snapped at me with a loathing stare.

“I won’t allow anybody to use me!” I retorted with the last ounce of courage before I ran to my room, breath shaky, slamming the door.

My room was like a cold box with a thin mattress and cracked window letting in the night’s chill. I sank onto the bed, his words choking me as tears blurred my vision.

I couldn’t imagine being molested, raped and assaulted by a stranger who paid for my body. How cruel could my father be to his own daughter?

My fingers traced the bed and found it, under my pillow was the cold, sharp edge of a kitchen knife I had swiped last week when suicide felt relieving.

Maybe I will be using it on someone else tomorrow. I rather kill him than allow him rape me.

The next day Dad did not allow me to attend school. It was to prepare me for my first client as he said. My door was locked, the security bringing in my food.

It was finally night. The moment I dreaded. Sitting on my bed and leaning on the wall, I prayed my father would change his mind, maybe develop a bit of pity for his daughter but just then my door gave way.

The whiskey stink rolled off him, sour and thick, mixing with the lavender from Mom’s oil that clung to everything.

“You’re awake,” he growled, voice slurred but mean. “Good. Saves me the trouble.”

I stayed still, back pressed against the wall, my breath shallow. “What do you want?” I said, voice low, trying to sound steady. My eyes flicked to the pillow, to the knife hidden there.

He stepped closer, boots thudding, the floor groaning. “You ruined my mate’s life, you evil little shit,” he said, same old song, but tonight it felt sharper, like he was building to something worse.

“You took everything—her legs, my son who should have made the Beta title continue in our family. You took away my legacy in the pack. And now you just sit there, breathing our air.”

I swallowed, throat tight, my hands clenching the mattress. “I didn’t mean to,” I said, hating how small my voice sounded. “I didn’t ask to be born either.”

He laughed, a nasty, barking sound that made my skin prickle as he closed in the space between us.

Then his hand shot out, fast, and the slap cracked across my cheek, hot and stinging.

My head snapped to the side, tears burning my eyes, but I bit them back. I was used to this—his constant slap, Mom’s whip and the constant pain that came with being ‘the cursed Rose.’

But tonight, something in me snapped too.

“Strip,” he said, voice low and ugly. “My friends paid good money to use you tonight and they are already in their way. Have you taken your bath?”

My blood went cold, then hot, like fire in my veins. A subtle laughter slipped out, bitter, broken.

His eyes narrowed, face twisting with rage. “What’s funny?” he snarled, stepping closer again, his breath choking me with whiskey and hate.

“Your pathetic cruelty,” I said, voice shaking but sharp. “You’ve got two other daughters. Sell their body for money. I am sure they will earn you bigger cash.”

His face went red, veins bulging, and he yanked his belt off, the leather snapping in the air. “You little bitch,” he roared, swinging it at my neck.

I ducked, heart pounding, and my hand dove under the pillow, fingers closing around the knife’s handle. It felt alive, like it was waiting for this.

He came at me, blind to the blade in my hand, belt raised so I moved fast, faster than I thought I could.

The knife flashed, sinking into his stomach, the blade meeting flesh with a sickening thrust.

He froze, eyes wide, a gurgle in his throat. I yanked the knife out, blood hot on my hand, and stabbed again, harder, my arm shaking but sure. He grabbed my shoulders, weak, his fingers slipping as blood dripped from his mouth, staining his chin red.

“Die,” I whispered, stepping back. He collapsed, heavy, the floor shuddering under him. Blood pooled, dark and glistening, and I stood there, knife dripping, my breath ragged.

Not fear. Not guilt. Relief. Like a weight I’d carried forever was gone.

The wheelchair creaked, sharp and sudden, and I spun. Mom was in the doorway, her face pale, eyes wide with horror.

She opened her mouth to scream, and panic hit me knowing screams would call attention including my sisters and that meant the pack would come for my head. They would stone to death.

I lunged, knife raised. “Shut up,” I hissed, “or I’ll kill you too.”

She bit my hand, teeth sinking in, and she screamed, a high, piercing sound that could wake the whole valley. I didn’t think twice as I slashed, the knife cutting across her throat, quick and clean.

Blood sprayed, warm and wet, and she slumped, eyes empty, wheelchair creaking one last time.

I stood there for a few seconds, chest heaving, the knife slick in my hand.

The room smelled of blood and whiskey now, thick and heavy. Their bodies lay still, blood pooling together, and for the first time in my life, I felt… free. Not happy, not sad—just free, like a chain had snapped.

It might be night but the scream must have reached someone’s ear so I dropped the knife, grabbed my jacket, and climbed out the window, the cold night air hitting my face like a slap.

My boots hit the ground, and I ran, heart pounding, the pack’s mark on my skin burning, fading, gone.

I was a rogue now, no turning back.

The forest swallowed me, branches scratching my face, the howls of the pack’s wolves echoing behind.

I didn’t stop, didn’t look back, just ran toward the slums, that lawless place for rogues which I’d heard whispers about. A place for the broken, the cursed. A place for me now I guess.