This chapter is dedicated to lucyface for her amazing cover. Maybe the most talented cover artist on Wattpad - check out her website rendercompose for quotes. 

Please note that due to the subject matter, this story has been rated mature. Do not proceed if you are a reader under the age of seventeen.

1 - The First Time

Stepping out on the porch in front of the three story mansion, my eyes are fixed on Lake Michigan. The wind almost takes me off my feet while the rain whips my face and body and mixes with a few stray tears. I shiver, hugging myself tightly. Ever since I heard his car pull into the garage a few minutes ago, a sensation of despair has taken over my body functions – even breathing has become an effort. He will be joining me soon and no one else is at home. I will be his play toy for the rest of the afternoon.

A few more tears roll down my cheeks when the porch door opens before Marcus's words cause goosebumps to spring all over my arms.

"Patrice, come inside. You'll catch a cold out there."

I close my eyes, sucking in a deep breath when he steps behind me. The scent of his aftershave surrounds me, his fingers caressing my bare arm. The touch  almost turns my stomach. I bite my lip to suppress more tears, following him inside like a good lapdog.

His eyes travel up and down my frame before stopping right on my breasts. My nipples have reacted to the cold. An appreciative glimmer is in his eyes when he clears his throat. "Go hop under the shower. I will be right there."

There is no use to disobey him. If I refuse, he will drag me into the bathroom by my hair. My legs automatically carry me upstairs and I peel out of my wet clothes. The water is soothingly warm and pearls on my skin. The next time I will set foot into the shower, I will turn the temperature up to as high as I can manage to get his stench off my body.

I hear the shower door open, holding my breath when his hands are upon me.

Just play along and it will be quicker. I fight the nausea in my throat, knowing what is expected of me. He has groomed me since I was fourteen and I've learned how to please him . This is just a routine exercise—the reason why I hate my life.

~~~~

It all began a month after I got my first boyfriend, Keith Simmons. He was already fifteen. We had just finished our freshman year and were enjoying our time off for the summer. My mom was usually out and about with my brother and sister; Marcus occupied with a big trial. Keith and I quickly got used to spending time alone at the house. One thing led to another. We were making out for most of the day, slowly advancing to exploring our bodies.

That bright afternoon, we were out by the pool. Totally exhausted after a splashing fight in the water during which Keith had dunked me under a few times, I plopped into the launch chair.  At least I had gotten him back by pouring a glass of cola over his head. Still giggling, I snuggled against the soft cushion, enjoying the warm sunshine on my skin.

Keith squatted down next to me. "Let me get some lotion on you."

I snickered, not really sure why I needed twenty plus sun filter when he was the one turning slowly into a lobster. He got to work on my stomach. I didn't stop him when he peeled off my bikini top.

A shiver ran through me as he caressed my breasts, his fingers gently massaging the lotion around my nipples. Heat pooled between my legs as he moved to my thighs. His touch tingled on my skin and my breath quickened when he traced along the hem of my bikini bottoms.

The clearing of a throat made Keith jump. I sat up in alarm, pulling a towel over my boobs. Marcus was standing in the doorway to the living room, his eyes darker than ever. This was bad. I had never seen him this angry before, not even when he had beaten my mom.

"What are you doing with my daughter?" His chilling words turned my stomach to ice.

"I—I—" Keith's face was the color of a tomato.

Marcus closed the gap between them with a few strides, grabbing him by the throat. He was easily a head taller than Keith and my boyfriend looked like a small boy next to his impressive frame.

"Do you believe I have some little honkey come into my house and knock Patrice up?!" Spit was flying from Marcus's mouth and he drove Keith backward until his back hit the wall. "That's all you little motherfuckers think about." He shook my boyfriend, still holding firmly onto his neck.

Keith gasped for air, his lips moving, but nothing came out until Marcus eased his grip.

"I'm sorry, sir." Keith's voice had been reduced to a whimper and tears sparkled in his eyes. "I—I—."

Marcus eyebrows knotted together. "You'd better get out of here before I cut off your balls." He glanced at me. "And stay away from my daughter or I swear you'll regret it."

I had never seen anyone move as fast as Keith  when he grabbed his clothes off the lounger and sprinted out, mumbling some more apologies on the way.

Marcus turned to me next. "Go to your room. You're grounded."

"You can't order me around. You're not even my dad." My glare was challenging.

With narrow eyes, he raised his hand. I cowered, sure he was going to slap me, but only his finger poked straight at me. "You'll do what I tell you, Patrice, or there'll be serious consequences. I adopted you and legally, I'm your father and have the right to discipline you. Don't forget that."

I stomped my foot, the towel slipping through my fingers. For a moment, his gaze lingered on my breasts before I grabbed the bikini top and stormed inside. He would not get away with treating me like a child. I would tell my mom and she would lift my punishment.

~~~~

I stayed in my room for the remainder of the afternoon but ventured outside at dinner time. Marcus was in the kitchen, fixing himself a sandwich. There was no sign of my mother.

"Where's my mom?"

"She's staying at your grandparents tonight." He slowly sliced into a tomato. "She wanted us to join, but I told her what happened and she agreed that you should stay put for the rest of the month."

I gasped. "That's three weeks. You can't keep me locked up in this house that long."

"Oh sweetheart, I can do so much more if I want. Your mom won't be stupid enough to fight me on this. She is well aware of the consequences for disagreeing with me." He placed the tomato slices on his ham in two perfect straight lines, a small smile of triumph playing on his lips. "And you will never see that boy again. Understood?"

"Fat chance. I do what I want."

With a low growl, his fingers got hold of my hair and he jerked me toward him before grabbing my wrist. "I've had it up to here with your smart lip. Don't challenge me again, Patrice, or—." He didn't finish the sentence, instead his eyes stayed fixed on my lips. His thumb ran along my cheekbone. "You know, I can't even blame the little fucker. You're turning into a beautiful young woman."

I was unable to hold his gaze as I tried to wiggle from his grip. He was creeping me out. His eyes drilled into my skull; I flinched when his breath grazed my neck. We were only inches apart.

"You smell nice, Patrice. Is that a new perfume?"

His question reached a whole new level of creepiness. "Can I go back to my room?"

"Go ahead." He finally released me. "I'll bring you a sandwich after I ate."

I gave him the stinky eye. "Don't bother. I'm not hungry."

His gaze burned into my back as I was leaving the kitchen. A sudden chill ran through my body, my arms wrapping instinctively around my chest. He was such an asshole.

~~~~

It was already dark when I heard him rummaging in the hallway right outside my room. Turning the music up, I was hoping he would leave me alone, but I would not be that lucky. His broad frame appeared on the threshold. The dim light of the reading lamp on my nightstand barely allowed to make out his features.

He stepped inside and pushed the door close with his heel. Only dressed in sweat pants, a few water droplets glistened on his naked torso. When he sat down on my bed, I could smell his shower gel. Edging closer to the wall, I pulled the blanket up to my nose.

With one jolt, the cover was torn away.

I stared at him. What the fuck was his problem?  When he smirked, fear crawled up my spine. The sudden vicious darkness in his eyes was beyond creepy.

"Please, Dad, I'd rather be alone."

"Oh, now I'm Dad again. I thought you said I wasn't your father."

"Well, I didn't mean it like that."

"No, you don't really mean anything you say." His smirk was unbearable when he started to unbutton my shirt. 

"What are you doing?" I tried to swat his hand away. "Dad, stop!"

"Shh, honey. We both know you really want this, so don't pretend. I mean, you were practically screaming it out when you teased me with that shaking booty of yours tonight."

My mouth dried up as my heart threatened to jump from my chest. What the fuck was wrong with him? "Dad, I—."

His finger on my lips silenced me. "Don't make me angry, Patrice. You know what happens when I get angry. You don't want me to hurt you, do you?" His voice had this snarling undertone that he got before he beat my mother.

I shook my head, terror slowly sweeping through my body.

"And call me Marcus when we're alone." He finished opening my buttons and folded back my pajama top.  His tongue moisturized his lips at the sight of my naked breasts. "There. This wasn't so hard."

"Please." I was trembling so hard that the words barely made it out. "I don't want to do this."

His lips crushed down hard on mine. When his body flattened me on the bed, the force of his chest knocked the wind out of me. His tongue forced its way inside my mouth. I whimpered and struggled to push him off me, but his hands wrapped firmly around my wrists, his grip tightening until pain shot up my arms.

"Stop fighting, Patrice, or it will hurt. I promise I'll be gentle. Just try to relax."

Is he fucking serious? I kicked and scratched, wiggling with all my might to free myself from underneath him. Yet, his body was crushing and I was slowly running out of steam. Tears made matters worse, my hysterical sobs only stuffing up my nose. He ignored my pleas. When his hands slid into my panties and he touched me down there, I screamed "stop" at the top of my lungs.

His backhand came down hard on me, a metallic taste flushing my mouth."I told you to be quiet. I swear, one more sound or wrong move and you'll regret it."

The anger springing from his eyes was all consuming—he would kill me if I didn't do what he wanted. The salt of my tears mixed with the blood on my lips when I stilled in stifling fear as my panties were torn off me with one snag. He got out of the bed and shook out of his pants, his erection springing free. I choked—he would tear me in half. When he climbed on top of me with a wide smirk, I punched at him again, but my blows were so weak that he only laughed.

A sorrowful wail ran off my lips when he thrusted himself inside me. Pain raged through my body and soul, destroying everything good in my heart. I cried out with every thrust, praying to God for him to finish. He took his time, stilling in between and enjoying every second of the violent act of robbing me of my innocence against my will.

The whole room was blurred from my tears by the time he was done and collapsed on top of me, panting.

"God, you're so tight, Patrice." He wiped a strand of my hair off my cheek. "It'll be a while to break you in. This will even be better than I thought."

I howled, my sobs only interrupted by hiccups.

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me. "Calm down now, girl. Get yourself cleaned up and rest. I'll check on you later."

As soon as I reached the bathroom, my stomach heaved and I retched into the toilet over and over again until there was only dry air left. Crawling into the shower, I felt dirty, used and despicable. It was the first night I discovered that showering after the act did help me forget. The hotter the water burned on my skin, the easier it was to overpower the pain inside me. After that day, there was never a morning that I didn't dread my life.

Welcome to Patrice's Story and I hope you have buckled your seat belts since you will be in for a rough ride. This is a very touchy subject, but something that is much more common than people think and which I have unfortunately encountered many times in my law career. 

Marcus behavior needs to be strictly separated from that of a pedophile - he is not interested in young children and would never touch his own kids in that way, but strictly views Patrice as a young woman not biologically related to him. There were even instances where men married their stepchildren after raising them for many years (example: Woody Allen). This story is not meant to judge those types of practices, but to simply convey the trauma that a child of sexual abuse goes through (since this is a mature story, you should be able to form your own opinions).

It's a novella, so there will only be 15 chapters in total. I thought a little bit of background would be helpful before Marcus will take the villain center stage in 'Road To Redemption' which will also bring Rena's journey to a conclusion.

Please feel free to share your thoughts or rant and rage. All feedback is welcome. This story has been completed and will update once a week on Saturdays. Thanks for reading and see you next week :)