Catching the Storm

42. Formal Introductions

Crystal's POV

Branson tossed my phone away after he'd hung up on Jackson. His gun still pressed firmly into my chest.

"What are you going to do now?" He asked me, taunting me.

Well, I had already thought about that.

And I'd come up with a solution.

I screamed.

Long and loud. A scream of pure terror. Which really wasn't that hard to fake, considering I really was terrified. Of course, I didn't really put that much thought into what the scream sounded like. I just made sure it was loud.

Branson swore and swung the butt of the gun into my head so hard my vision blurred and went black for a second. Not that I cared. I'd accomplished what I'd set out to do.

Branson seemed to notice too because he swore a blue streak and rolled off of me just as the door to my room was thrown open once more. My father stood in the doorway.

My father took in the sight in front of him. Branson stood as far away from me as he could possibly get in my room, practically leaning into the wall. Meanwhile, I was lying in the middle of the floor, holding my head in pain.

"What is going on in here?" My father looked at me on the floor. "Crystal, are you alright?"

"She fell," Branson said. "Hit her head." The look he gave dared me to say otherwise.

I pushed myself to a sitting position as my father came walking over to me. I could feel a trickle of blood running down the side of my head from where he'd struck me with the gun.

I locked eyes with him for a moment, before letting my expression turn fearful. I let tears form in my eyes and I began shaking as if I was truly terrified. Branson appeared to get angrier with every little thing I did.

"He attacked me," I said as I gazed at him with wide, fearful eyes.

Branson's hands clenched into fists. But there was nothing he could do. He didn't have any evidence. Of course, I doubt that would matter now. Right now I'd backed him into a corner, so I knew what he would say. What he would try to tell my father.

Now, it was just a matter of who would my father believe.

Branson-with no evidence and my blood on the end of his gun.

Or me-his little princess. Currently bleeding on the floor.

My father, after checking my head, stood to his full height and put himself between me and Branson.

I had the ridiculous urge to stick my tongue out at Branson behind my father's back.

I did not do that, however, since I did value my life and I was pretty sure Branson would straight up shoot me for it.

"Sir," Branson said as he faced my father. "Your daughter is the one working to bring you down."

My father glanced over his shoulder at me still on the floor, still letting tears fall down my face. I made a bigger show of holding my head and then letting out more tears.

My father looked back at Branson. "Do you have any evidence of this?"

Branson knelt down and picked up my discarded phone. "I have her phone."

I nearly let out an audible scoff. Like I was stupid enough to put anything on my phone.

My father took my phone from him and scrolled through. Long, tense minutes passed before he shook his head.