Winter's Kiss

“I don’t mean any harm,” Michael said. “If you want to me go, I will. I just... I wanted to see you. Tell you how proud I am. I mean...look at you.” He gestured to her black cap and gown. “You’re all grown up. Graduating today and starting college in the fall. You’re doing real well for yourself.”

She raised her eyebrows. She was seventeen. If by “well for herself” he meant the minimum wage she earned at the fast-food restaurant where she worked, then yeah, she was kicking butt and taking names. Unsure what to say, she fell back on the manners her mother and Zach had instilled in her. “Thank you.”

But instead of getting him to move on his way, her words seemed to please him. He stepped closer and she shifted farther away, realizing too late he’d maneuvered her back against the wall, blocking her escape. “See, the thing is, I’ve hit a...rough patch...and could use your help.”

“My help?”

He nodded. “Five grand should cover it.”

Her eyes widened. “You want me to give you five thousand dollars?”

“Seems the least you can do, seeing as how I supported you all those years.”

Her jaw dropped. He hadn’t been a part of her life since she was ten. Even before her mother kicked him out, he’d spent his wages on booze and drugs. Not on his family. “I don’t have five thousand dollars,” she told him.

“You can get it easy enough.”

“Uh...no. I can’t.” Her duh may have been silent but even a drunk like him could hear it being implied.

“But we both know you can.” He edged closer and she shrank back, hating her cowardice. Her weakness. “Come on now. You’re a smart girl. Figure it out.”

And she knew what he was saying. “You think Zach is going to give me five thousand dollars?”

“If you ask him he will. He’ll do anything for his baby sister.”

She shook her head, the corner of her mortarboard scratching the wall. “No. Not this.”

“Why not? We both know he has it. And more.”

Yes, her brother had money. Lots and lots of it thanks to being one of four sons of the superrich Clinton Bartasavich, Sr. But Zach refused to use the money in his trust fund on himself, preferring to make his own way in the world.

Letting his father know he wanted nothing from him.

“Even if I thought Zach might agree to this, I would never ask him to give me that much money,” Daphne said, though she knew without doubt that he would. If she told him she needed money, he’d gladly hand it over. Would take care of her, just like he always did. “I’m not some charity case going around with my hand out, letting other people take care of me.”

She worked for everything she’d accomplished—following the example Zach had set for her. It hadn’t been easy earning the spot of valedictorian, but she’d done it by studying twice as much, twice as hard as her peers. All while working double shifts to pay for trips to the mall and to keep gas in the ancient Subaru she’d bought after her sixteenth birthday.

She wasn’t like her father.

And her point couldn’t have been clearer if she’d jabbed her father in the heart with it.

Michael grabbed her arms above her elbows, his fingers digging painfully into her flesh. “You think you’re better than me?” he whispered harshly, his foul breath washing over her. He shook her. Hard. Rapped the back of her head against the wall with a sharp crack, dislodging her graduation cap. She grew dizzy, fear coating the back of her throat. He yanked her forward, lifted her onto her toes. “I’m your father. You owe me.” Another shake, this one snapping her teeth together. “You ungrateful little bitch. You’re nothing, you hear me? Noth—”

His words were cut off, his hands wrenched from her as a rocket slammed into him, pushing him into the wooden-slat banister across from her.

Gulping in air, Daphne took a shaky step away. She stared, wide-eyed and confused at her father, now bent backward over the railing, his face pale, his hands desperately clawing at the forearm currently lodged, quite solidly if she did say so herself, against his throat.

No, it hadn’t been a rocket that had saved her. But a man. A handsome, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man in a tailored, grey suit who’d come at Michael like some bastard-seeking missile sent by the wrath of God.

“Are you okay?” Oakes Bartasavich asked her over his shoulder, all calm and collected, as if slowly crushing another person’s windpipe was just one of those things he did every day.

Maybe she was concussed. Hallucinating. Or else she’d stepped into some alternate reality, where Zach’s older half brother, a mild-mannered bajillionaire law student who used his words instead of his fists, swooped in and saved the day.

“Daphne,” he said, his voice a bit sharper, his green eyes narrowed. “Are you hurt?”

“Yes.”

His expression darkened to something very scary and un-Oakes-like before he turned back to Michael. “You son of a bitch,” Oakes hissed, leveraging more of his weight against her father’s throat, practically bending him in half. Michael’s eyes bugged out and he made horrible, gagging, gasping sounds.

“No, wait.” Crap. She rushed over and touched Oakes’s upper arm, surprised by how solid his muscles were, how...bulky. She had no idea he was so built. She tugged on his sleeve until he looked at her. “I meant, yes, I’m okay. I’m not hurt.”

But he didn’t seem to be getting it, just stared at her, rage in his eyes, his mouth a grim line. Was he in shock? Or pushed over the edge? Either way, it was up to her to talk him down. She stepped closer, sort of...stroked his arm, trying to soothe him out of this temper. Trying to bring back the man she knew. “Oakes, I’m not hurt. Really. Please let him go. He’s not worth it.”

Not worth Oakes getting into trouble over, or worse, being arrested for assault or whatever people got arrested for when they attacked drunks on the grounds of a private high school.

Finally, thankfully, Oakes blinked. He stepped back and lowered his arm. Michael sagged against the banister.

“Call 911,” Oakes told Daphne.

“What? No.” She shook her head. “No, no, no.”

He speared her with a narrow, dark look. Who was this man? Oakes was usually all smiles and charm. In the four years she’d known him she’d never, not once, seen him get even remotely angry. He was always patient, laid-back and...well...even. No ups or downs for Oakes Bartasavich. He was like the calmest of lakes. Placid.

And now he looked as if he wanted to slam her father’s head against the concrete floor, oh...a dozen or so times.

“He assaulted you,” Oakes said in a tone most people used to explain things that are obvious. The sky is blue. The sun rises in the east. “He should be arrested.”

“Assaulted?” Michael repeated, his voice raspy. “You attacked me.” He drew himself up, obviously feeling confident, if not downright cocky, now that Oakes hadn’t killed him. “The only one getting arrested will be you.”

Oakes whirled on her father. “You had your hands on her.”

“We were just having a little disagreement, that’s all.” Michael glanced at her. “Isn’t that right, Daphne?”

Both sets of eyes were on her. Waiting. Both expecting her to do, to say, what they wanted.

One of them would be disappointed. She was sorry it had to be Oakes.

“I just want him to leave,” she told Oakes softly, refusing to lie outright to him about what had happened. “Could you...could you please just make him leave? Like I said, he’s not worth the trouble.”

“You heard her,” he told Michael. “Get out of here. Now.”

Michael smoothed back his greasy hair. Attempted to straighten his shirt, but nothing short of a miracle would accomplish that. Edging away from Oakes, he stopped by Daphne. Spoke quietly. “We’re not done, little girl.”

She flinched, wanted to move, but was frozen. Luckily, Oakes wasn’t. He stepped between them, all big and broad and protective. A wall between her and her mistake. “You know who I am,” he said to her father.

It wasn’t so much a question as a statement, but Michael sneered and answered him anyway. “You’re one of them Bartasavich bastards.” He inclined his head toward Daphne. “Like her brother.”

“You know who I am,” Oakes repeated. “So you know what I’m capable of. My stepfather is a judge. My father has connections across the country. If you so much as look at Daphne again, if you so much as come close enough to breathe the same air as her, I will make sure your life is more of a living hell than it already is. There’s no place you can hide from me. Do you understand?”