There’s the sound of footsteps and voices. Dad and Samantha are coming this way. Tyrant takes off his shirt and quickly pulls it over my head, picks me up in his arms, and collects the rifle. When Dad and Samantha come around the corner, I’m sitting in Tyrant’s lap. He has one arm around me, and one hand holding the gun that’s braced on the ground. He glares at them through cold eyes. All his muscles are rigid as I cling to him. Dad stops short, and revulsion washes over his face. For once, I don’t duck my head in shame or tell myself that I’m disgusting and everything I want and need is
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