My father grinned maliciously, striding around her like a predator closing in on its prey, and it made my stomach churn.

"Well. What do we have here?" he taunted, reveling in the fear he instilled.

He circled her, congratulating his followers for their swift capture. My anger boiled, seeing her terrified, tear-streaked face. She was just about my age, too young to endure such horrors.

"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing," my father sneered, his touch making her flinch. "It's time to make a statement."

He callously dragged her toward the door that led to the containment rooms. My stomach twisted in knots; I couldn't stand idly by. I needed to find a way to help her, to end this vicious cycle of suffering.

Oh no. I can't bear to witness any of this. I refuse to be a part of it. I found myself trailing behind as my father dragged the young girl across the floor and into one of the rooms. The room was of a decent size, containing only a single chair in the center and a table at the end cluttered with distressing tools. I shuddered at the mere thought of what lay there. My heart sank as my father callously dumped the girl into the chair.

Swiftly, he bound her to the chair and removed her gag. She wept quietly, and I stood in the corner, my head down, desperate not to be present or implicated in any way.

"Please, don't do this," she pleaded, her voice quivering with fear.

My father approached her furiously and struck her across the face, causing a pained whimper to escape her lips.

"Don't speak," he sneered menacingly.

I watched in horror as my father then turned towards me, advancing until he pinned me against the wall, his grip on my neck a chilling reminder of his control.

"You will watch and you will learn. Understand?" he sneered at me.

I nodded reluctantly, feeling the release of his grip on my throat. He proceeded to the table and picked up a sharp, silver knife. Its size belied the agony it could inflict, and a cold shiver ran down my spine. As my father approached the terrified girl, ready to cause unbearable pain, I knew I couldn't let this continue.

Before my father could react, I dove at him. I saw the knife slip across the room as it hit the floor with a clatter. My father threw me against the wall after growling at me viciously. I crashed to the ground after taking a severe strike to the wall. The impact knocked all the air out of me, and I gasped for air. When I raised my head, I could see my father approaching. He was furious.

Oh gosh. What did I do? I observed the girl fumbling around in her bindings. She was aware that I would suffer significant harm as a result.

She cried, "Don't hurt her. No.

But it was all for naught. I anticipated the suffering I would soon experience. He gave me a hard kick in the stomach as I attempted to stand up. I shouted out as I fell back to the ground, and then he continued to kick. I was in agony as I writhed on the ground. My ribs were blazing hot. I had trouble moving. To get the knife, my father went around the female. I felt sorry for the girl as she gazed at me. I believed I was going to pass away.

Even trying to breathe was difficult for me as I wheezed. I couldn't make it through this. I coughed up some blood, which I immediately recognized as awful. My father returned with the knife in his hand and stalked over. I was on my back after being forcibly shoved by him as he squatted next to me. I hissed in agony.

My stomach was exposed when he pulled up my t-shirt. Small scars from earlier incidents were already present, but I knew this time would be worse. He approached me from the right side, the blade resting just below the edge of my bra. The knife's tip cutting into my skin was felt by me. My wolf couldn't heal it because it was silver. There would be a scar and it would heal at a human rate.

Before I felt the blood start to stream from the cut, I felt the tip pierce my skin. He cut me from top to bottom of my tummy with the knife. As I shouted in agony, I noticed the girl starting to cry. I pleaded with him to end. I was in excruciating pain. When he got to the band of my jeans, he finally stopped.

The moment the blood started to flow from my wound, he backed away from me. He cleaned the blade of my blood before stepping directly in front of me.

"If you do it again, I'll kill you." My dad said.

I groaned in response before blacking out from pain and blood loss.

End of Flashback

When I woke up, it had been three days. The girl was already dead and had been found by the pack. I was weak and hurt and permanently scarred for life both physically and emotionally. I never forgot that day and every time that I look at the scar it reminds me of that day. This is the kind of things my father can do to me. I am scared. I could easily die by his hands. It's more about when for me.

I jolted awake, my eyes snapping open as the remnants of the night's terror still gripped me. I sat up hastily, my head in my hands, desperately trying to dispel the haunting images from my nightmares. The sweat dripped down my forehead, and my body trembled as I fought to regain a semblance of control. Curling into a ball, I hugged my knees to my chest, taking deep breaths in an attempt to return to a sense of normalcy.

If you could even call this life normal.

This was no isolated incident. Every morning, I awoke in this state, haunted by memories of my father's brutalities — the beatings, tortures, and murders he forced me to witness during our training sessions. I was scarred, both physically and mentally, and I feared it was irreversible.

To the world, I presented a facade of dominance and emotional detachment, a mask carefully constructed to hide the terrified and shattered soul beneath. No one knew the true extent of my suffering. I felt like an over-stretched elastic band, pushed beyond the limits of resilience, unable to return to a state of normalcy. I was forever altered, a mere matter of time before the band snapped, leading to either a mental breakdown or my own demise.

Gradually, the shaking subsided, and I threw off the covers, noting the time—5:30. My father wouldn't be awake for another hour and a half. Trembling, I got up from the bed and made my way to the small shower within the caravan. Shedding my pajamas, I took a quick shower, drying my hair until it hung perfectly straight down my back.

I changed into black leggings, paired with leather boots and a black vest top with a red netted overlay, still revealing the black top underneath. After checking my appearance, I threw on a leather coat and stepped out of the caravan, following the enticing aroma of food.

I needed sustenance. I felt weak, especially after the traumatic nightmare. I craved sugar to replenish my strength. Making my way to the tent where food was being prepared, I found a large space supported by a central wooden pole. With the number of rogues in need of sustenance, such a sizable area was necessary.

The entire camp operated like a well-oiled military machine. Each person had a specific role to play, contributing to the camp's efficient functionality. Medical tents, food stations, and training areas were meticulously organized, prepared for any circumstance. This meticulous preparation was how my father achieved success in his quest for domination.

As my father expanded his rogue group, he prioritized structure and organization. This foundation was where he began to build our community of rogues. Everything was meticulously planned, leaving no room for surprises. Everyone had their place and role clearly defined. It was this level of organization that attracted so many rogues to work for him and ultimately fueled his power.

Passing through the tent and the busy tables, occupied by rogues already enjoying their meals, I remained expressionless, indifferent to their presence. They glanced at me briefly before focusing on their food. I served myself some beans and toast, washing it down with a heavily sugared cup of tea.

Finding a table in a secluded spot, I observed my surroundings. Most of the rogues were men, with fewer women among them. Yet, the women could be just as ruthless, if not more so. They were to be avoided. A couple of male rogues close to my age were also present, but I kept my distance; they only wanted one thing, and I wasn't going to allow that.

Finishing my breakfast swiftly, I left the tent. It was now 6:30, giving me another half-hour before I would have to endure the rest of the day with my father. The thought didn't sit well with me. I made my way toward the forest, strolling leisurely through it. Sitting at the foot of a tree, I curled up and immersed myself in the sounds of the forest.

The birds perched in the treetops, the rabbits scurrying across the ground—I took it all in. Breathing in the woodland aroma, I felt a sense of belonging in this natural haven. I let my eyes close slightly, resting my head against the tree trunk, lost in my thoughts. This was my routine—contemplating life.

My wolf companion, Elle, began to stir within me, growing anxious.

"Hey, Elle. What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I can feel something. I sensed it as soon as we came here."

"It will be fine, Elle. I am sure it is nothing."

I reassured her, although internally, doubt began to creep in. Elle always sensed things for a reason, and I trusted her instincts. But what could it be this time? I pondered the possibilities—anything or perhaps nothing at all.

I tensed as I heard the crunch of leaves nearby, snapping my eyes open and scanning for movement. It didn't take much searching to find Wade, leaning against a tree and smirking at me. I despised him, his obsession with me turning my stomach.

Standing up, I leaned against a tree, glaring harshly at Wade. He chuckled lightly and began to approach. I tried to move, but he grabbed my arm and forcefully pushed me against the tree. His hands were on either side of my head, his body pressing against mine. I struggled to escape his touch, but he had me pinned.

"Get off of me," I spat.

"No chance. It is only a matter of time," he spoke cryptically.

Time for what? He was speaking in riddles, and I had no idea what he meant. I needed to get away from him. He assaulted my neck with his lips, kissing down my jaw and neck. Disgust welled up inside me. I fought back, but he had me firmly pinned, continuing his assault.

Enough was enough. I brought my knee up and struck him where it hurt, causing him to back away and bend over, hissing in pain. Seizing the opportunity, I uppercut him, sending him sprawling to the ground. His nose was clearly broken and bleeding.

He glared up at me, spitting out some blood and groaning in pain. I smiled sweetly and innocently at him.

"You stupid bitch!" he screamed.

"Keep your filthy hands away from me. Step near me again, and let's just say you won't be having kids anytime soon," I sneered.

I stalked away, leaving him sprawled on the ground. I was furious, struggling to keep my wolf in check. She wanted to tear him apart, to spill blood, and I was dangerously close to letting her.

Knowing my father would be up by now, I headed to the meeting room we had set up. Leaning against the wall, I watched as the leading warrior rogues filed in, all waiting for my father. Wade hobbled in at some point, and I could barely contain my laughter as he glared at me, clearly annoyed.

My father entered the room, and a hushed silence fell. The rogues turned to him with looks of respect and admiration, sickening me. My father was nothing more than a monster, yet they treated him like a hero. Foolish. They were all foolish.

Taking his seat, my father seized control of the room. No one dared speak until spoken to. He thrived on this absolute control.

"Right. We are on the border of three packs. Now it is time to select which pack we will target first," my father declared.

A subdued murmur circulated through the room as they discussed their opinions. How naive they were, thinking they could influence my father's decision. I was certain my father had already made up his mind.

"I have already made up my mind. We will be attacking the Crescent Pack," he ordered, prompting a murmur of agreement, "Yes, it is a very large pack. Their warriors outnumber ours. However, the Alpha is young, only eighteen and recently taken over. This makes him weak, vulnerable, and inexperienced—problems we will exploit."

The group nodded in agreement as my father began outlining plans. I only half-listened, knowing that in this moment, we had sealed the Crescent Pack's fate. My father was relentless, thorough, and ruthless. The moment he decided to attack, it was over for them.

"I need volunteers to keep an eye out for stragglers on the border to instill fear. We also need someone to patrol today to familiarize themselves with their borders and patrols," my father stated.

The room filled with hushed conversations as people stepped forward to volunteer. I saw this as my chance to prove myself and avoid another beating.

"I will take on the patrol watch," I spoke up.

My father turned to me, smirking slightly, scrutinizing me, unsure if I was being serious.

"Fine. Go now. Report back to me in exactly five hours," he ordered.

I nodded and made my way out of the room through the back door. Heading towards the targeted pack's border, I found a secluded spot behind a tree, where I stripped out of my clothes and neatly stacked them for later retrieval.