CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR THE PUMMELING

Bart and I rose in unison, a maneuvering so familiar it was almost instinctive. He inclined toward me, his lips beckoning a kiss, a silent pact we had honored countless times before. Enveloped in his warm embrace, I was hit by an avalanche of conflicting emotions. My heart, a traitor to my conscience, whispered longings I thought I had buried deep. As I teetered on the brink of succumbing, a sudden awareness clawed at me, urging me to retreat. But it was too late—my hesitation was shattered as Uncle Brock, fueled by a thunderstorm of rage, catapulted Bart from me, his hands unforgiving as he pummeled Bart's face while he lay on the ground.

My screams tore through the chaos, primal and laden with a betrayal that anchored in my throat. “Stop!” I yelled, my fists beating against Uncle Brock's broad back in desperation. Each blow was a silent scream of the inner turmoil that raged within me—my loyalty to my family clashing with the remnants of affection for Bart.

Amid the frenzy, I caught