by Snow, Nicole
Briefly, Daddy’s face crumples. It’s the first honest expression I’ve seen out of him in a long time.
Then it closes over in a look of icy offense, flung right at Riker. “Is this your doing, Woods? Making Olivia think she can survive without my help?”
“Don’t,” Riker says softly.
It's just one word, barely heard, but it’s as heavy as a sledgehammer.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Do you really think I’m that incapable of independent thought? Like I can’t come up with these ideas myself? Do you think I don’t know what to think, without you to tell me?”
“Now, dearest, that’s a bit –”
“Don’t. You heard him. You’re going to say something that makes me feel silly and foolish and small, so you can dismiss everything I think and feel,” I bite off bitterly. “Don’t you get that’s why I don’t want to come back? You think I can’t survive in the outside world, but you’d be surprised how well I do when people trust me to stand on my own. Riker’s trusted me to pull my own weight, and damn it, Daddy, I’ve been pulling.”
My father blinks, leaning back against the sofa, looking between me and Riker, before his eyes widen with an offended gasp, his brows lowering. “You’ve got to be damn well fucking kidding me.”
Finally.
There’s real Daddy.
Not fundraiser Dad, mild and charming for the masses. It's controlling, angry Dad, tongue all sharp barbs and foul words. “You’ve defiled my daughter,” he flings at Riker. “You’re actually sleeping with her, aren't you? Animal. I should sue. To think I'm paying you to take liberties you have no right to!”
“Technically,” Riker points out grimly, eyes flashing with cold green steel and edges sharp enough to cut, “you aren’t paying me at all. Enguard is.”
“Well, they won’t be able to pay you a penny after I sue your entire company into bankruptcy,” my father hisses, glowering at Riker, ignoring that I’m even in the room. “My daughter is not something you can paw over, some toy, you maniac.”
“Your daughter,” I say, lips trembling, throat tight, eyes stinging, “is not some thing at all. That's what you can’t seem to figure out. I’m a person. Not an object. And my life is mine. Not your business. Nothing's your business except what you’ve done to fuck up my life with whatever it was you did to get us in this situation in the first place.”
The entire room goes still. My hand flies to my mouth, to my burning face.
I don’t think I’ve ever said fuck in front of my father in my life, but it just drops out. I’m that angry, but also that ready to breakdown crying.
This is so messed up. I wanted to be strong in front of Daddy, but all he had to do was talk about me in that mortifying, horrible, dehumanizing way to reduce me to tears.
Maybe I really am a little girl after all.
He starts to open his mouth, but Riker stops him with a single cold word. “No.”
A chill runs up my spine. He’s looking at my father with that same blank, deadly expression he’d had when he’d taken that Pilgrim down and made him talk one careful, precisely applied bit of pain and terror at a time. “I don’t think you need to say another word to Liv if you’re going to speak to her that way.” His voice gentles, just for me, but that hard, razor-wire stare is just for my father. “Liv, go wait with Em. Tell her everything’s okay.”
I know I shouldn’t run away, but I need to go right now.
I need to be anywhere but within my father’s sight, when he’s looking at me like I’ve somehow betrayed him.
Of course I have. I’ve refused to be his perfect, docile little doll anymore, empty and quiet and sweet. I’ve refused to live up to the image he’s painted of who I should be. I’ve let him down by daring to be my own person.
But not nearly as much as he’s let me down, by showing who I really am in his eyes.
I turn and run before the tears can come.
And I don’t feel sorry for my father at all, as the bedroom door closes on Riker’s steady murmur of, “Now, Mr. Holly...you and I are going to have a talk.”
* * *
When I step into the bedroom, Em looks as miserable as I feel.
She’s slumped on the bed, her knees pulled up to her chest, and from the wet tracks on her cheeks, she’s obviously been crying. I kind of want to curl up and cry next to her, but I have to be the adult here.
Realizing that Em needs me helps me pull myself together a bit, out of my own shock and upset.
I put on a smile for her and sink down on the edge of the bed near her feet.
“Hey,” I offer softly.
Em sniffles, rubbing at her nose and returning a tremulous smile. “Hey.”
“You okay?”
“Not really,” she mumbles and buries her mouth against her folded forearm. “Dad’s kind of a jerk, you know?”
“Dads can be like that,” I murmur.
“Your Dad’s not so great either, huh?”
“My Dad’s...got issues. Big ones. But Em...” I don’t want to make her feel like what she’s feeling right now is wrong.
I can’t do that to her, not when people do it to me so often. But I know she’s a smart girl, and it might help her to understand that her Dad’s on her side this time. Unlike mine.
Riker’s her everything, her rock, her best friend and her worst enemy, her role model and her chain, all those confusing things a parent is going to be at this age when she’s just figuring out who she is...but he’s not trying to hurt her, and I think with a little nudging, she can see that. “You know your Dad made Ryan leave for his own safety, right? And for ours?”
“He made Ryan leave because I’m not allowed to date boys yet and Dad figured out I like him,” she bites off, her cheeks coloring with anger and mortification. “And now he's humiliated me so bad, Ryan will never talk to me again!”
“Are you kidding me? Ryan probably thinks you’re a cool super spy now. Totally Kim Possible. Later, when this is all over, you can tell him how you helped your dad take down those bad guys at the airport. Not a lot of twelve-year-olds can say they've been in a shootout.”
I bite my tongue. For a second, I feel sick that our mess put her in one, but we lived. And Em just sits up with a look that says something different.
Her eyes light, but warily. “Really, Liv?”
“Really.” I find another smile just for her, reaching out to lightly nudge one knuckle against her cheek. “I know it feels like your dad’s being a massive jerk right now. My dad’s being a massive jerk, too. But all these rules...they’re bigger than school, and crushes, and parents being mean. People are trying to kill me, Em.”
“I know. And they’re trying to kill us, too.”
I hate that she has to say this so calmly, so matter-of-factly. But I’m also proud of her that she’s learned from the lessons Riker’s laid down. “Yes. And if they’ll hurt you, then they’ll hurt Ryan, too. That’s really what this is all about. Your dad wants your friend to be safe, and he wants you to be safe. Once this is over, you can see Ryan again, and I’ll bet your dad will even be glad to chaperone you on a few dates.”
Her face flames, her eyes widening. “Ew, I don’t want to date Ryan! We're friends!”
“No?” I grin. “That’s okay, too. Having friends who like the things you like is the best. And you deserve those kinds of friends, Em.”
She bites her lip, watching me uncertainly. “Are...are we friends, too?”
I don’t know if my heart wants to break or explode with this warm, sweet fullness, but I do know I can’t resist hugging her any longer. I reach for her and she tumbles against me. Then I remember being a little girl tumbling against my older sister just this way, clinging for the kind of comfort words just can’t bring. I hug Em close, and run my fingers through her hair.
“Of course we’re friends, sweetie,” I murmur. “Of course.”
She just clings to me. She’s quiet, so quiet about it, but I can tell she’s crying.
I let her, holding her close, and repress the urge to cry myself. There’s no one here to tell me that my dad really means the best, because he doesn’t.
He means what’s best for him, and I hate that the blinders I’ve been wearing for over twenty years have been stripped away this way so I can see my father for the complete and utter bastard he is.
Honestly, the fact that I need almost an entire hand to count his wives really should have tipped me off sooner.
When that many women can’t stand you, the problem isn’t the women.
I’ve been so naive. So sheltered. This twelve-year-old girl is more worldly wise than I am, but I gotta say...I could pick worse role models than a brilliant little thing like Em Woods.
She subsides before long, and after a few sniffles suddenly breaks the silence with, “I know about you and Dad.” She blinks owlishly up at me through the tear-spiked fan of her lashes. “You’re not as sneaky as you think you are.”
I wince, but try to tease, “Hey, I’d like to think we’re pretty sneaky. You’re just too smart for us.” But it feels fake and forced, and I let the act drop with a sigh, looking at her ruefully. “I’m sorry, Em.”
“Why are you sorry?” She shakes her head, confusion flitting across her face. “Dad’s happy when he’s around you.”
She nearly stops my heart with that one, then starts it again when she admits shyly, “I’m happy when I’m around you.” She rubs at her tear-pinkened nose. “It's...it's okay if you're gonna be my new mom.”
For a second, I'm in shock. Then I'm in this daze of emotions, trying to speak too much at once, this rush of words and feelings and fears that I'll screw this up bad.
“Oh, Em! Sweetie, no.” I gather her close again, cradling her head against my shoulder. “No one can be your new mom, because your real mother loved you very much...no one can take her place. Your mom will always be your mom, even when she’s gone. But me? I’m still your friend. And your dad's.” I press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Even if your dad and I don’t work out...I’ll always be your friend, okay?”
She searches my face, questioning if she can trust those words, before a sweet smile seems to offer her acceptance. “Okay,” she says, and burrows down against me again.
I’m content to stay like this. Em is just as much a comfort to me as I’m trying to be to her. But still, I can hear voices from the living room, Riker’s steady and calm, my father’s raised and agitated, and I wonder.
How many times can my father lie to Riker Woods before Riker loses his patience?
16
A Little Too Hard (Riker)
I’ve never broken a rich man’s fingers before.
I’m very tempted to now.
But I won’t have to lay a hand on Alec Holly to break him. He’s not that kind of man.
He doesn’t need blood and pain to make the fear of what can and will happen to him real. All he needs are words – words he believes with absolute certainty, because I mean them just as absolutely.
I fucking mean it when I say I'll break every finger on both hands until he talks just to make it stop, saving the thumbs for last because they’re the thickest and hurt the most to snap.
I mean that by the time that’s done, I won’t let him speak because I’ll tape his mouth shut, gagging him with a cloth that barely lets him breathe, and then force him to write what I want to know by hand with those broken, mangled fingers. I mean that I’ll find new ways to make him bleed, if the Pilgrims or the Runners or anyone else threatens Liv in this house because of him. I mean that I'll murder this shit in the most exquisite, horrifying way possible if anything happens to my Liv or my Em because of him.
I mean that he has everything to fear from me.
And nothing – not his money, not his companies, not his power, not his connections – could ever make me fear him.
He stares up at me from the couch, eyes wide and wild and pale. He’s trying to maintain some hint of that aloof composure, but it’s the chain on his tie clip that gives him away. It’s rattling ever-so-subtly, this quiet chime of fear that gives away his faint full-body shaking.
I haven’t even taken a single step toward him. I’m leaning against the door, arms folded over my chest, ankles crossed. All I’ve done is talk to him.
“Wh-what the hell's wrong with you?” he stammers.
I arch a brow. “It’s amazing the things you learn you’re capable of in service to God and country. So. Let’s get a few things out in the open.” I unfold my arms. He flinches as I lift a curled fist, but all I do is begin ticking points off on my fingers. “One. You’re an asshole. You’re also not in control of Liv’s life anymore. She is. That’s not up for negotiation.”
A second finger. Middle finger. Satisfying finger. “Two. I know you hired the Runners to take a hit out on a few Pilgrims. Stupid ass move, by the way.” My third finger flies up. “Three. I also know you do a lot of under the table business using the startups you buy to conceal it. I’d bet that business has crossed paths with the Pilgrims’ operations, including their little indentured servitude racket with their traffickers across the border.” Last finger. “Four. You’re at the center of all of this. Not random chance. Not Milah’s drug habits. So you’re going to tell me what’s really happening, and then I’m going to tell Landon Strauss and the FBI.”
Holly starts to open his mouth, then thinks better of it when I count off again on my thumb, his mouth snapping shut hard enough to make his sallow cheeks wobble.
“Fifth and final,” I add, “you’re not going to argue with me, asshole. Because believe it or not, I’m trying to keep your greedy, shitty ass alive, and the only way to do that is for you to come clean so the people trying to protect you and your daughters and my family aren’t shooting in the dark.”
He actually has the nerve to look offended, drawing himself up with false bravado. “You think I don’t care about my daughters? I would do anything to protect them.”
“As long as you can protect yourself first. I bet you’d cry crocodile tears at their funerals if their deaths got the Pilgrims off your ass. You’d be partying in Milan by morning.”
“I most certainly would not!” He sniffs. His angry face falls, and he rubs his temples. “Look, Mr. Woods...this was all a misunderstanding. A domino effect that ran out of control. I never intended for my girls to be hurt. Not for anyone to –”
“Shut up. Tell me about the first domino that fell.”
Alec Holly licks his lips, then pulls the neatly folded pocket square from his coat’s breast pocket and dabs at his sweat-dewed brow and upper lip. “Well. You see, I was quite worried about Milah. She’s been through this song and dance before, you know. And she always backslides. She always finds a new supply for her nasty habit, but her primary supply lines run through this gang. The Pilgrims.”
My eyes beam hot death at him. I nod slightly. “Go on.”
“I only wanted to make them afraid to sell to her. Milah’s skeletons are piling up so deep the closet simply won’t stay closed much longer, and I suppose I just...” His voice cracks dramatically, and he looks off into the distance. I sigh deeply while he continues, “I don’t want to see her bring any more harm to herself, or this family. So, yes, call me guilty. I hired a few men to intimidate a few of the Pilgrims’ drug runners. Murder was never supposed to be involved, but they went too far – and it was only terrible luck my Olivia was there. Don’t you see? A misunderstanding. A truly awful one.”
I stare at him blankly.
The disgust is too thick in my mouth to even speak, and my tongue weighs a hundred pounds when I finally say, “You don’t play the martyr act very well. Nor do you know anything about the criminal underworld, or how seriously a gang like the Pilgrims takes blood vendettas. And you’re leaving something out, Mr. Holly.” I survey my nails. “Are you right-handed or left-handed?”
He cocks his head like a puzzled cocker spaniel. “Right...why?”
“Because I’ll start with the
fingers on your left. I’m generous like that. Let you keep your dominant hand to jerk off when all this is over or whatever the fuck.”
He goes pale, actually hides both hands behind his back. “All right, all right!”
I glare at him, undaunted. But we might be making progress.
His face is all grimacing, hateful lines as he stares me over. “You're a disgusting brute, Woods. I don’t know what my daughter sees in you.”
“I’d say that’s between me and her, isn’t it?” I push away from the door, just the slightest movement to straighten, but it’s enough to make him flatten himself against the sofa. “Talk, Mr. Holly. Or I’ll find more things to break than your stubby fingers.”
“You've made your point, Mr. Woods,” he snaps frigidly, before sniffing and adjusting his collar. “Very well. I was telling the truth when I said I wanted to protect Milah from any additional scandals, despite what you wish to believe. But I'll admit an ulterior motive in protecting my business holdings as well. You see, I...ah...”
He clears his throat, then speaks in a mild, dismissive tone, as if discussing the weather on a balmy day, nothing of particular importance. “A few years ago, I was involved in several land prospecting and investment opportunities tied to a stock trading deal. What I didn't know at the time was that the land rights were tied to a project the Pilgrims were working on with developing a strip mall for less...ah...entitled business owners. They needed their labor cheap and undocumented, the same as their tenants. The Pilgrims were happy to provide. Once it was legally binding, I couldn't pull out without involving my lawyers, audit transparency, a few other things...and considering the fact that tying stock values to this sort of deal is highly frowned on by the SEC, not to mention fiscally supporting the Pilgrims’ less than legal ventures...” He loosens his tie.
