Payback Princess (Lost Daughter of a Serial Killer Book 2)

by C. M. Stunich

  Lucky me.

  “Try the fajitas. You’ll be blown away. If you’re like me—a vegetarian,” Justin says this with all due seriousness as I gape up at him. He’s about as tall as Maxx. Like … six foot something? I’m not good with heights. “They have a veggie option for the fajitas. Delightful.”

  “You’re a vegetarian?” I quip back, trying not to scream hypocrite aloud.

  “Animals are individuals with souls,” he tells me, and I just … well, I gawp. “Not just food. Come, princess. I won’t judge you if you want the steak or chicken. I’m a reasonable man.”

  Erm.

  Fuck.

  Just … fuck.

  I am so far out of my league, I might as well be in space.

  So what’s a gamer girl to do with a rich, powerful, serial killer for a father?

  She has to play smart. And careful. Oh so very careful.

  I need a new plan—and quick.

  Time is running out. Not just for Parrish. But for me.

  For all of us. Everyone I love is in danger so long as this man lives and breathes.

  But am I really willing to give up my humanity to kill him? Maybe. I just need to figure out a way to do it.

  Lunch with the Seattle Slayer is oddly more pleasant than it was when I went to the country club with Tess. He’s attentive, and he seems genuinely interested in literally everything about me. He treats the waitstaff—yep, it’s a dad and two daughters who own and run the place—with respect. Tips well. Writes a five-star review on his phone for the restaurant while laughing with the owner.

  The food there is like, heaps above the stuff at the country club. That, and the atmosphere is relaxed and friendly and inviting.

  Also, every second I’m with Justin, I become more afraid of him.

  Nobody is this nice for real. Nobody.

  On the way to a place called Emerald City Medical Center and DNA Specialists for, obviously, the paternity test, Justin puts music on. More specifically, he plays Every Little Thing She Does is Magic by The Police. It’s an old song—far before Justin’s time—but he seems to have the lyrics memorized.

  I know that because he sings and bounces his foot in time to the music.

  When the song ends, and he starts it up again—telling me he loves to listen to songs on repeat, just like me and Tess—I can’t help it. I blurt something stupid out.

  “You’re crazy,” I tell him. It comes out matter-of-factly.

  Justin pauses and turns the music down slightly.

  “Actually, I have complete control of myself.” He reaches inside his jacket pocket and removes a switchblade, flicking the sharp end out with a snap of his wrist. “See, I have a knife on me. I could stab you in the leg if I wanted to. But what good would that do me? I practice restraint.” He puts the knife away while I sit there, wide-eyed and whirling. My mind is working on solutions in the background even as my mammal brain goes into full panic mode.

  We’ve spotted a predator, it says. Run.

  When the next song comes on—Melancholy by AViVA which Justin says he knows I like—I just sit there and let him sing. I’ve learned my lesson quick. Also, I know now that he keeps weapons on him. I should’ve just assumed. Probably has a gun under that suit jacket, too.

  We arrive at the testing center, and I follow him in obediently and let the technician swab my cheek. Been here, done this before. The sterile room with its bright lights brings painful memories back to the forefront of my mind.

  Me and Tess. Three tests. One with a cheek swab, one with our hair, one with our blood.

  All matches.

  She didn’t trust the first one. Or the second.

  Because, according to that page she wrote, I wasn’t what she expected or wanted.

  It doesn’t take long for the employees to gather our samples, and the results will only take about twenty-four hours. Unfortunately for me, I have no doubt that this man is my biological father.

  There’s no way I’d ever be that lucky.

  I do notice, however, that Justin seems to know everyone who works at the place by name. They laugh and joke with him. He even pats a guy on the back and whispers an inappropriate joke under his breath that has the whole staff chortling.

  Does this fucker know every person in the Seattle metro area or something?

  Raúl follows Justin around like a puppy, albeit it one with pink leopard print glasses and a French manicure. He gives me disdainful looks when Justin isn’t watching.

  “You’re so lucky,” he tells me, echoing Mr. Volli’s sentiment, “to have such an amazing father.”

  I glance over at him. We’re both standing near the doors to the medical center, waiting for Justin to finish chatting with his buddies.

  “What is wrong with you people?” I whisper, turning away and shaking my head. I slip my Maxine-phone out of my pocket and then close my eyes as I clench it in a tight fist, struggling not to think about my sister. She pops into my head constantly. I was tempted to ask Justin if I might not be able to talk to her at some point. Knowing that she knows about me and Maxx is an open sore that oozes and bleeds with every breath I take. But I really, really don’t want to draw his attention over to her, so I keep my mouth shut.

  Better she hurts now than dies later.

  Raúl ignores me, his dark gaze focused on my bio dad. I take that moment to check my phone. I haven’t looked at it once since leaving with Justin. How could I? He absorbs every spare second of time, stares at me obsessively, and talks nonstop.

  The first thing I notice is a long, heartfelt message from Maxine. Even though I blocked her number, it isn’t difficult to use an app to make phone calls or texts through a dummy number. That, or she’s using one of her friend’s phones. Got another phone for herself. The possibilities are endless.

  I know it’s from her though because of the first line in the message.

  I don’t care if you slept with Maxx. Baby sister, please call me.

  I delete it and then block that number right away. Justin will know she’s contacted me—he’s a master hacker in every way that matters—but I can’t control that. I can only control if I respond. Surely, he’ll see that.

  With my hand shaking and hot tears fighting to break through my practiced stoicism, I check my other messages.

  Maxx and Chasm are blowing up my phone in a group chat.

  Chasm: Let us know you’re okay, Little Sister. Won’t lie. I’m feeling panicked.

  Maxx: Just one message, one word. Let us know you’re alive.

  Chasm: My dad is being obsessive today. Not sure if I’ll be able to see you tonight. But I’d like to. Let me know when you get home, and I’ll try to escape.

  Maxx: Tess is drinking heavily. It’s not good over here. The police have just released the names of the dead teens from the other night. One of them is Francisca Cortez, the daughter of the host on the talk show you went on. The other is some random fuckboy she was banging.

  Oh.

  Shit.

  I shoot off a quick text—I’m alive, be home soon—and then put my phone away as Justin saunters over to me and Raúl. His assistant opens the door and out we go, father and daughter in step together.

  “You killed Francisca Cortez?” I whisper, and Justin stops short. For a second, I wonder if I’ve made a mistake, but then he just laughs.

  “Uppity little bitch. She was so rude to you behind the scenes at the talk show. She had what was coming to her.” Justin waits for Raúl to open the limo door before climbing in. I scramble after him.

  “Why Francisca?” I ask, trying to puzzle out his methods. I’ve looked at his victims over and over again, and I don’t see any patterns. Like, none at all. “Just because she was rude to me once?” Also, he was spying on me even then. Christ.

  “Well, not just that,” Justin explains as Raúl closes the door and off we go, heading back in the direction of the Vanguard house. “But I was having trouble choosing between Francisca and her younger sister, Maria. The former was
extraordinarily rude to you, so that became the deciding factor.”

  I chew on my thumbnail, a new habit I’ve picked up from somewhere recently. I think I’m just stressed out and looking for easy tics.

  “Besides,” he continues, without any prompting from me. “Don’t you just hate influencers? What a plague. I feel a shred of guilt; it was my generation that introduced the disease known as Myspace. But social media’s gotten so much worse, hasn’t it? All those hideous, ugly, little people fighting for clout.” He cocks his head at me. “You have a lot of followers, Dakota. Don’t allow social media to become an obsession; it’s a dangerous one. I must say however, I did enjoy your last few videos.” He throws both hands up by his chest, giving them a little shake, like spirit fingers or some shit. “Who wants to help me catch a serial killer? I loved that. So dramatic. So much fun.”

  “Why Francisca Cortez?” I repeat, trying to pull him back from his tangent. As sharp as he is, he seems to let his mind wander down random paths when he’s talking. Also, I don’t particularly enjoy being mocked. I understand that my video has yielded little to nothing. The skeleton key video, however, has been a bit more lucrative.

  Speaking of, that’s the plan for tomorrow.

  Find some way to get to the asylum after school. And not just that, but the cemeteries on my list as well as the hotel. Tess will never allow it, but what if I played Justin? He said he enjoyed hearing me ask for what I wanted. Maybe I just tell him I want to go out after school with my friends? He’d know what I was doing, but I also think he’d enjoy watching me run around searching for clues.

  “Francisca is Martina Cortez’s granddaughter, that’s why,” Justin says, scowling rather than smiling for once. And oh my fucking god. Did I say his smiles and grins and laughs were terrifying? Hell no. They’re about a million times better than this. My hackles raise, and my hands curl around the edge of the seat, fingernails digging into the leather with a creak. “Martina Cortez is a heartless snake who uses the backs of others to climb the ladder of success. She’s a pretentious bitch who used the false charges against me to not only launch the most popular episode of her show in internet history, but also gobbled up the money from my company to bolster her failing finances.” Justin inhales and then exhales several times, curling and uncurling his hands. When he opens his eyes and looks at me, I know without a doubt that he must die.

  Because he will never, ever let me go.

  “Because of the things she did—because of the things they all did, this whole accursed town—I lost your mother. And then she lost you. They owe me fourteen years of poverty and struggle, of misery and longing. They owe me a company and all of the research and money that went with it. They owe me a reputation and a social life.” He reaches out to cup my face again, stroking his finger along the length of my jaw as I shudder beneath his touch. His hand his warm, his touch gentle and kind, but there’s a quiet menace to it that penetrates deep into my very soul. “Mostly, they owe me fourteen years with my beautiful daughter, years that I can never, ever get back.” He drops his hand and smiles again, back to his cheerful self. “Fourteen years, fourteen victims, on the fourteenth day of Parrish Vanguard’s disappearance. Poignant. I couldn’t have asked for a better start to my new life.”

  Start?

  Did he just say start?

  “So … you’re going to kill more people then?” I whisper, hating myself for not sounding stronger, but unable to cope with even one more item on my already overflowing plate.

  Justin’s smile turns into a rictus grin.

  “No, princess: you are.”

  And that … that’s what I’ve been afraid of all along.

  Tess is waiting just inside the door when I get home, pacing the floor in a navy-blue pantsuit with a pale pink dress shirt underneath. She stops as soon as I step inside, Justin pausing just beyond the threshold.

  I glance back just in time to see a sly smile spread across his face.

  “We’ve made an incredible daughter together, don’t you think?” Justin asks, about two seconds before Maxx and Chasm appear on the staircase together. He looks up at them, beaming like the psychopath he very clearly is. “Hello, Kwang-seon. I’m assuming you’re coming to my party on Friday?”

  “Uhhhh,” is Chasm’s response as he narrows his amber eyes at Justin, his left hand curling around one of the metal bars that lines the staircase, the jail cell reminiscent bars. “My dad mentioned something today …”

  “And Maxx Wright.” Justin turns to him as Tess stands there in stony silence, seething and crossing her arms over her chest. “Dakota mentioned you kept her up all night last night.” He laughs as my cheeks go red and Tess squinches up her face for a second. “You really shouldn’t play games until sunrise.” Justin turns to look at Tess. “Video games can be fun, but they shouldn’t be a teenager’s primary source of entertainment.”

  “Are you finished lecturing me in my own home? Goodbye, Justin.” Tess moves to slam the door in his face, and he stops it with his palm.

  “Actually, I’m not. Until we arrive at a date for the custody hearing, I do have temporary full custody.” Justin gestures loosely at me, and I exhale, tucking some black hair behind my ear. This is gonna suck some serious donkey balls. “While I’m not the sort of monster who separates a child from her family, I do want some parenting time. What do you think, Dakota? After school tomorrow?”

  I force a smile. Oh, there we go. I’m forcing smiles again. Lucky me.

  “That sounds great,” I grind out between my teeth.

  “You think that’s how it’s going to be?” Tess says, her voice a low, dark, frightening thing. “You dictate to me when you get our daughter, and I just say ‘yes, sir’?”

  “If you would, that’d be lovely,” Justin agrees with an almost believable level of seriousness. “Or I could just take her now and you can wait for the hearing?”

  Tess’ entire body ripples with rage. The worst kind, too, the cold kind that fills you to the brim, demanding an outlet when there isn’t one. If Tess attacks Justin, then she’s essentially throwing in the towel on her custody hearing.

  “Fine. Tomorrow. But only for a few hours.” She tries to shut the door but once again, Justin is stepping forward, putting his shoe between it and the doorjamb.

  “I’ll be taking Dakota on Friday as well. Seamus has been kind enough to offer me the use of his home for the hosting of Milk Carton’s official launch party. But don’t worry, I’ll have her home by midnight, like a proper little princess.” Justin winks at me again. “Enjoy the rest of your afternoon, honey.” He points at me. “And don’t stay up all night with Maxx again.” With another laugh, he turns and heads for the limo where Raúl is waiting.

  “Excuse me. Seamus is hosting the party?” Tess snaps out, but Justin ignores her, sauntering off with a little wave. “You bastard.”

  Tess slams the door so hard that I jump. Maxx and Chasm wait silently on the staircase, exchanging a knowing look between them. I’m glad to see Chas here but like, I’m also nervous as hell.

  Last night, I fucked his best friend.

  Or … his best friend fucked me.

  Goddamn it.

  Tess looks up at Chasm before she even bothers glancing my way.

  “Your father and Justin are friends—” She stops, as if she’d meant to add something more to that statement and then thought better of it. “They’re friends?” she repeats, swallowing back whatever else she’d planned on saying.

  “I honestly have no idea,” Chasm admits, shaking his head. “I guess they used to be friends in high school, too?”

  Tess exhales sharply, nostrils flaring, and then turns to me.

  “How was your visit?” she asks politely, and I offer up a sort of loose shrug in response.

  What can I say? That Justin Prior was infinitely more likable and personable than she is? Or should I tell her that I’m fucking terrified of the guy? That he gives me the creeps? That he has her son trapped in a basement
or a tomb or a wine cellar, and I’m the only person that can save him?

  Which of those things should suffice?

  “It was okay. He seems nice.” I turn and head for the stairs, even as I feel her eyes on me from behind.

  “Maxx, you stay out of her—” Tess starts, and then pauses to clear her throat for a second. It’s an extremely inopportune place for her to stop talking. I look up at the curving staircase to see X staring down at me with wide, green eyes and gritted teeth. “You stay out of her room tonight.”

  “I wasn’t in her room,” he whispers. “We were playing games on our phones. In our own beds. Well, I was in Parrish’s bed …” Maxx stops talking as soon as he sees the effect that Parrish’s name has on Tess. She full-on shudders, and her eyes empty of all of that fire from a minute ago.

  “Either way,” she murmurs, taking off down the hall toward the kitchen. I can hear Paul from here, talking to Laverne loudly on the phone. I know he’s talking to Laverne because he stutters a lot—which he never does otherwise.

  “Let’s go before this gets even weirder,” I murmur, and the boys precede me up the stairs. The three of us end up in my room, but not before dumping our electronics into Parrish’s. I leave my book bag in the bathroom, covered with a towel, the fan on, same old, same old. Maybe we’re being too obvious, I don’t know, but I just need a break.

  Maxx runs over the room quickly with the bug detector while I sit on the edge of the bed and Chasm hovers nearby, scratching at the back of his head with an uncertain expression on his face.

  “Clear,” Maxx confirms, and we all let out a collective sigh of relief.

  “How was it?” Chasm blurts, moving closer to me and dropping his arm by his side. He looks like he wants to touch me, but also like he isn’t sure if he should. That hurts me. That kills me. I wrap my arms around myself and squeeze tight, just to feel like I’m being hugged. “Little Sister, that was risky as fuck. What if he took you and we never saw you again?”

  “It was worth it—for Parrish. I’ll do anything for Parrish.”