Glass Heart Hero: A Dark High School Romance by Lindsey Iler (free ebook reader for iphone .TXT) 📕

you. I imagine that’s how she felt on that bridge as she was falling, or should I say, was shoved?”

“You don’t understand,” my father pleads.

“Greed is a fickle bitch, Mr. Chambers and Mr. Davenport.” Loving the part he’s playing, Byron circles the table, picking up the fancy silverware and tossing it in front of them. The theatrics are half the fun for him. “On one hand, it sends a shot of adrenaline through you. You get to be the kid with the best and most expensive toys. On the other, there’s always someone bigger, or in your case smarter, who comes along and stomps on the fragile toy you cherish so dearly.”

“What do you want from us? Money?” Mr. Chambers asks. Leave it to him to believe he can pay for his sins.

“Money?” Byron’s sinister cackle echoes through the dining room. “This mother fucker is dead broke because he put all his fragile little eggs in one basket of young girls, and after we’re done with you, I suspect your money won’t mean shit.”

“Delaney, stop this at once.” Mr. Chambers’ fist crashes into the table, rattling our place settings.

“Don’t you dare look at her,” I scold.

“Don’t speak to me like that, Father.” Delaney’s head is hung low.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Chambers growls.

Delaney lifts her head, piercing him with her cold-as-iceberg blue eyes. It’s a strange contrast to what I’m used to looking into. “You are not allowed to speak to me that way. You aren’t allowed to speak to me ever again.”

“You’re going to take these hoodlums’ side, these bottom dwellers?” He feigns hurt, knowing damn well he’s going to have to scramble to keep a little resemblance of his life. It will be useless, though. I plan on taking everything from him.

“Let’s all calm down, okay?” My father holds out his hands, preparing to negotiate. “I think we can come up with some sort of agreement.”

My eyes find Delaney’s.

“Listen to her story.” My chest may as well split open, giving everything inside of me the chance to spill out on this table, painting it red.

“Excuse me.” His eyebrows pinch together.

“I want you to hear a story from the mouth of someone who got out before it was too late. Your little operation is built on the backs of young girls. Listen to her.” I wrap my hand around Delaney’s.

My dad looks at Delaney expectantly. “Okay.”

“I will not sit here and listen to this.” Mr. Chambers pushes his chair back.

“You fucking will, or else I’ll announce to everyone here”—Byron’s voice raises a little louder, giving Mr. Chambers no choice but to sit his ass down—“how you think it’s appropriate to sell young girls to the highest bidder?” He glances around the room. “Actually, if I were to take a guess, some of these lovely patrons are more than likely your associates. It would be a shame to interrupt their family meals to let them know what kind of dirt bag is sleeping under the same roof as them.”

“Okay, hush!” Mr. Chambers demands, which causes Byron’s jaw to clench tighter. If I gave him permission, he’d bury Mr. Chambers under this table. “Tell your story, Delaney, if you must.”

As she speaks, I only half listen. Reliving the horror of what she’s experienced isn’t something I actively try to do. I’ve felt the fear, seen it firsthand in her eyes. I’ve been in the room where her body was nearly taken away from her. I’ve picked up the pieces, broken a few of my own, and somehow, we’ve made it out, alive, together. Her telling her story isn’t for me to hear again.

I’m looking for one thing.

Remorse. Humanity. A sense of responsibility, at the very least.

Her father sits stoic, unmoved, and completely detached. There’s no reaching out to his daughter to apologize. There’s no fatherly instinct on display.

Mine is no better. A man with two daughters, listening to what Delaney went through, should at least feel a tug at what little heart strings remain. We aren’t born heartless. We’re created. We’re molded to be the way we are. Some of us are lucky enough to be coddled with love and affection, teaching us that there are things in this world worth protecting.

These men don’t understand a single thing about that. They weren’t there. She was.

“Breaker took the knife from my hand. Blood was streaming down my fingers from where I stabbed Declan. Breaker demanded I close my eyes, but I didn’t listen to him.” She retells the story as if she didn’t live it. “Declan tried to wrestle the blade from Breaker, and when he couldn’t, he lunged for the easy target. Me. He grabbed my ankles and yanked me to the end of the bed. He didn’t care if Breaker was there to watch him because the kind of rage and entitlement your operation creates is ugly and dark. It’s seething with vile thoughts and behaviors because you’ve given them the opportunity to commit the crimes. You gave them a safe space, but what about my safe space, huh? What about every girl you plan to shuffle through the foundation? You plaster your face in all the news articles like you’re a saint when you’re nothing but the devil.”

“That’s a riveting story, doll, but what happened to you is none of my problem.” Seeing my father rise, carefree and without a second thought, fills my vision with red. Mr. Chambers has the decency to look embarrassed.

“She didn’t get to the best part!” I holler, determined to warn him against taking another step. “He ripped her dress more, and you know what I did after that, Dad?” At my question, he eyes me with exasperation. I’m taking up too much of his time. “I burrowed that knife into his chest until he stopped moving. Don’t think for a second I’m going to let you walk out of this country club untouched. I may have hated Declan Dumas, but I promise you, I hate you far more.”

My father, the man who made me,