by K. Webster
“Koyn,” she chokes out. “You’re not being fair. I knew nothing about this or my dad’s business affairs.”
“Business affairs?” I roar, heaving the bottle at the fireplace. It lands in the fire, sending a little burst of flame billowing out. “It was an ambush and cold, blooded murder all for the name of greed.”
She sniffles and sits up, her entire body shaking. “The ‘X’ on your face?”
“‘X’ is where the treasure is located on the map. They branded me. I stare into the mirror every day and am reminded that the shit inside my head is what got my family killed.” I scrub my palm down my face and bark out a sinister laugh. “But they didn’t kill me. I was supposed to die. It was too late for me to save my girls, but I broke free. I killed Putnam’s friend and have been hunting him down ever since.”
She sits up on her knees, her chin quivering. “So now you’re going to hurt me? To make my father pay?”
“It’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“It’s no better than what they did to Blaire!” she accuses. “You’re doing the same thing!”
I shrug. “Casualties of war.”
She shakes her head, her eyes wild. “N-No. You can’t do that. I’m like her. Like Blaire.”
“You’re nothing like her,” I snarl.
Shakily, she crawls toward me. “I am. I’m still a teenager. Before all this, I watched Netflix and obsessed over my hair and loved to shop.”
“Stop.”
“I took more selfies than was humanly possible. I spent a lot of time thinking about my dead mother. Missing her. I was just a lonely girl who was sad.”
“Stop.”
“Did Blaire like school? I hated it. I always wanted to be free because at my house, it felt like a prison.”
“Stop saying her name!”
“I bet we would’ve been great friends. Someone like her would have spent the night with someone like me.” She crawls closer, sobbing. “We’d stay up late talking about boys and watching movies. We’d eat M&Ms and drink too much soda. What was her favorite candy?”
I close my eyes.
M&Ms.
Not peanut. Plain.
“Please stop,” I beg, my voice hoarse.
Her palms cover my knees. “Was it M&Ms?”
I nod, refusing to open my eyes.
“Can we get some, Daddy?”
Blaire. Blaire. Blaire.
I remember looking over at her in the passenger seat as she happily ate her candy and rambled on about her school day. Blaire wanted to be an artist. Drew all over everything with pencils and sharpies. Hearts and flowers and doodles. She’d pour a bunch of M&Ms on the table and absently eat them while she would sketch.
“I’m scared, Daddy.”
Oh, fuck.
“Please help me, Daddy.”
Deep in the recesses of my mind, I know it’s not Blaire begging for help, but try telling my heart that. I pull my girl into my arms and cradle her to me. Her hair is greasy and dirty. Another man’s cum—fucking Putnam—remains on her thighs. She stinks of body odor and vomit. Fuck, she’s so skinny. And cold.
“Daddy,” she sobs. “I’m cold and scared and hungry.”
“Shhh,” I whisper, stroking her hair. “I’ve got you now. I’m going to take care of you.”
Not Blaire. Not Blaire. Not Blaire.
Everything is murky and confusing. Maybe it’s due to the Jack or maybe it’s the huge crack splintering right down the center of my mind. All I know is the girl in my arms needs to be taken care of. She needs me.
“I’m going to make everything okay,” I vow, kissing her dirty strands of hair. “I promise, baby girl.”
“I know, Daddy.”
Everything spins when I stand with her in my arms. Her legs go around my waist and her arms hook around my neck. She clings to me like a toddler would. It makes my heart fucking bleed. I yank up the blanket from the mattress and wrap it around her. As we walk out of the slaughterhouse, I hug her tight and try my damnedest to keep her warm. The trek back to the house is cold and windy.
The moment I fling open the back door, voices hush to silence. My hackles are raised and I’m ready to fight any motherfucker who stands in my way.
“Bermuda,” I bark out. “Make my girl some food and bring it to my room.”
“What the fuck,” Dragon rumbles.
I shoot him a scathing glare that has him rising and cracking his neck. Katana stands, placing his body in front of him.
“Prez,” Filter starts, but I stop him with a shake of my head.
“She needs to eat and bathe and be warmed the fuck up,” I explain, my words coming out choppy and angry. “Who the fuck wants to argue with me?”
Filter and Halo exchange a look and then Filter holds his hands up in surrender.
“Do what you gotta do, Prez. We got your back,” Filter assures me.
Some of the guys mutter angrily, but I ignore them all. I carry her up to my room and into the bathroom. With her still clinging to me, I start a hot bath. She whimpers when I try to peel her away from me.
“Want bubbles?” I ask, patting her back.
She nods. “Please, Daddy.”
Not Blaire. Not Blaire. Not Blaire.
But she feels like mine.
Gently, I manage to pull her from me and make her stand on her own two feet. I add in some bubbles that are under the sink. More of Stormy’s weird girly shit she leaves all over the house that I am suddenly thankful for.
Soon, the bathroom smells like lavender.
“Get in,” I instruct, motioning for the steamy bathtub.
She drops the blanket and gingerly steps into the hot water. She hisses and whines but then settles in the water. With the bubbles rising around her in the large tub, she seems so small. Her dark hair hangs in her face as she stares down at the water.
“Do you want me to bathe you, baby girl?”
Hadley
Holy shit. It worked. I knew poking at him about his daughter was chancy considering how much it still haunts him, but it worked. He felt sorry for me. Somehow projected her onto me. Now he wants to save her.
Survival is the only thing on my mind at this point. If it means playing the part of Blaire, I will. Anything to make him treat me like a human rather than a prisoner. It was as though he flipped a switch. Went from being a psychopath to a father. I don’t care why or how it happened, just that it did.
He kneels down beside the bath and sets down a bar of soap, two bottles of what must be shampoo and conditioner, and a washcloth. He grabs the cloth and dunks it under the water that’s slowly rising. I groan when he runs it over my cold back, chasing away the chill. The heat feels good on my aching muscles. Gently, he washes my back and shoulders and then my face and neck. It’s done so efficiently like one would bathe a child. I don’t fight him or try to seduce him. I simply let him clean the horrors of the past two months off me. His hand dives between my thighs and he removes any lasting remnants of Magna, making me sigh a breath of relief. Once he’s finished, he motions for the water.
“Dunk your hair so I can wash it.”
I do as I’m told and then sit back up. He squirts some shampoo into my dirty hair and then massages it into my scalp. His gentleness breaks something inside me. I start to cry because I just want someone to care for me like this all the time. I hate my life and the people in it. It’s nothing but heartache and pain. This, right now, feels anything but painful. It feels right.
“Shhh,” he croons, “don’t cry, sweetheart.”
“You’re being so nice and gentle. I don’t want it to go away.”
He grips my jaw, tilting my head up to look at him. “It’s not going away.”
Tears flood down my cheeks and I nod, though I don’t believe him. He surprises me when he leans forward and kisses my nose.
“Let’s get you finished up here.”
The rest of the bath goes by quickly and soon he’s wrapping me up in a giant towel. He scoops me int
o his arms, but I touch his cheek, halting him.
“Can I please brush my teeth? I can still taste the puke.”
He frowns, his dark eyes filled with pain. “Of course.”
The counter he sets me on is cold and I shiver. He grabs a toothbrush and puts toothpaste on it. He watches like a hawk as I scrub my teeth clean. Once I’m done, he carries me into his room and sets me on the edge of the bed. He scrounges in some drawers before finding sweats and a hoodie. I let him pull the towel away and then dress me.
“Warm yet?” he asks, his brows knitting together in concern.
“Yes, Daddy.”
My words seem to please him because he smiles. The smile is wiped away when someone knocks.
“What?” he barks out.
“Brought food,” Bermuda bellows back.
Koyn strokes his palm down the side of my face before stalking over to the door. He flings it open and takes a plate from Bermuda. Bermuda also hands him a Coke. Koyn dismisses him with a slam of the door. Then, he walks back over to me before sitting down.
My stomach rebels against the smell. Pot roast. Rich and overpowering. Shakily, I grab for the buttered roll instead. Slowly, I tear off pieces and eat the bread. It helps the sick feeling go away and soon hunger takes over. I end up eating the entire plate of food much to my surprise. After drinking most of the Coke, I become so tired I can barely keep my eyes open.
He stands and I start to panic.
“Please don’t leave me, Daddy.”
His features grow soft. “Not going anywhere. Just going to run this downstairs. I’ll be back.”
But I don’t want him to go. If he goes downstairs, they might try to talk some sense into him. The last thing I need is Koyn finding his right mind again.
“Please,” I beg, choking back a sob. “I don’t want you to leave me.”
“I’m coming back.” He gestures to the bed. “Get under the covers.”
Those five minutes are the longest, but he returns, still rippling with protective fatherly instincts. He changes into some sweats and a T-shirt before crawling into bed beside me. His body warms mine as he curls his large frame around me. It only takes a few whispered words and kisses to my temple before I fall fast asleep.
No!
I scream and fight to no avail. I thought I could block him out, but I can’t. He’s here. Stretching and filling me. Tainting me. I hate him. I hate my father.
The sobs die and I start convulsing with shivers.
This life is too hard.
I don’t want this one anymore. I want a new one.
I wake with a start, shudders from my nightmare still tremoring through me. Koyn hugs me to him and nuzzles my hair.
“I have you now.” His words are whispered and sleepy but reassuring. I shouldn’t be comforted by this man considering what he’s done and what he’s capable of. I must be fucked in the head too, though, because I am. I find comfort in him much like he finds comfort in me when he sees me like his Blaire.
It’s on my tongue to tell him I’m not like Dad and Magna. That I’m different. That I can be good—good for him. Admitting what Magna did is one thing. But my father… It’s incest. I can barely stomach the idea of it, much less vomiting the words as some sort of confession that might absolve me from this monster corner he’s painted all three of us in.
Would that disgust him?
Would he feel sorry for me?
Would he know how fucked up that shit makes me?
I snuggle against his chest, clinging to his T-shirt. He strokes his fingers along my arm in a comforting way. If I could just freeze time and stay in this moment, I would. Ever since Mom died, life has felt especially hard. For once, I just want it to be easy.
My mind drifts back to the days when my family was normal and Dad didn’t do the horrible things he did. Back then, I was like any sassy teenager with a shopping addiction. While my friends crushed on boys from our school, my heart was dead set on marrying Junior one day. Before he was Milk and his father’s little bitch.
It feels like a lifetime ago. What would I even be doing if my life were normal? Probably be applying to colleges. Dad wanted me to go to school to learn computers so he could pass down his company to me, but deep down I had no interest, even before he ruined me so badly.
I always thought it’d be fun to do interior design or design clothing. Something fun and creative. Something so far on the opposite end of the spectrum of what Dad did it’s not even funny.
Now I’m just fighting to survive.
Hopes and dreams seem silly when you wonder if someone’s going to beat or fuck you because they can.
God, I just want some fucking peace.
As though attuned into my thoughts, Koyn hugs me tighter. His comforting embrace makes me relax. I drift back to sleep, desperately seeking the peace I’m after.
In his arms, in the dark, I find what I’m looking for.
He’s not here.
He’s not here.
He’s not here.
Panic claws its way up my esophagus as realization sets in. I can hear raised male voices somewhere within the house. If he’s with them, will they convince him I’m the enemy?
Bile burns the back of my throat and I stumble out of the bed, rushing to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet before I’m heaving up everything I ate last night. It’s bitter and disgusting, but the moment it’s gone, I feel better. I’m just flushing the toilet when I feel a presence behind me. I whirl around to face Koyn.
But it’s not Koyn.
“Oh, honey,” Stormy says, her eyes watering as she regards me. “What did he do to you?”
It feels as though I’m punched in the chest. I missed her. The only friend I’ve made in a long time and she’s here. I burst into tears and run over to her. We hug and both cry, neither of us able to talk. Once we’ve calmed, she pulls away to cup my clammy cheeks.
“You’re sick.” Her brows furrow together in concern. Stormy might be a badass biker babe, but most times she feels like a worried big sister.
“Yeah.” I tug from her grip. “I need to brush my teeth.”
She watches me as I scrub away the filth. “Did he rape you?” Her expression is unreadable.
I freeze at her words and spit into the sink. “Who?”
“Koyn.”
Not my father.
“No. We just cuddled.” I rinse and spit again before wiping my face on a towel.
Her blond eyebrows hike up her forehead. “Cuddled?”
“But then he was gone this morning.” My shoulders fall forward. “He’s gone now.”
“And throwing all kinds of a bitch fit downstairs.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I’m so sorry about all of this.”
“It’s not your fault,” I say fiercely because it’s not. She’s my friend.
“If I could have stopped it…I mean…I should have…” She drifts off and bites on her bottom lip. “Just give me some time. I’ll find a way.”
Her cryptic words are confusing. I cross my arms over my chest, cocking my head at her. “What way? How?”
Before she can answer, a wave of sickness hits me again. I fly to the toilet but don’t puke this time. I just hug the porcelain bowl, feeling sorry for myself. Stormy squats beside me and pulls my hair back.
“Is this a virus or…” she trails off, leaving the question hanging.
Or am I pregnant?
My first thought is Dad and I almost throw up again. The moment passes when I remember the condoms. Dad and Junior always used them. The only ones who don’t are Magna and Koyn. Magna fucked me a few times this week. But I haven’t had a period in a while, which means it can’t be his, thank God.
“I, uh,” I croak out, doing the math in my head. I should have started my period a couple of weeks ago. “I think I’m pregnant with Koyn’s baby.”
“Fuck,” Stormy curses. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“This is bad, huh?” My chest aches as tears form. Why can’t anythin
g ever be good?
“Really bad,” she mutters. “For so many reasons. Reason number one and the most important at this time is that he’s going fucking insane down there. He’s furious at himself for getting drunk and letting you use him.”
“Use him?” I shriek. “I did what I had to do to get out of that cold hell hole and into better living conditions. I was surviving not using.”
She strokes my hair and purses her lips together. I can tell she’s torn by an inner decision in her head, but I don’t know what. “I can’t get you out of here just yet,” she says in a pained voice. “The timing isn’t right.”
“They’ll kill you if you try to get me out of here,” I warn. “You know how crazy they all are. Even Filter.”
I expect her to be offended or argue, but she nods. “I know, honey. I know.”
The door to the bedroom flings open as men barge in. They file into the bathroom. Stormy stands, taking a protective stance on my behalf. If the situation weren’t so shitty, I’d hug her for it.
Koyn, looking cruel and hateful, glares down at me with Filter and Halo at his sides.
“Get up,” he commands, his voice icy.
“She’s sick,” Stormy snaps.
Filter’s eyes narrow at her and his jaw clenches. Halo stares on with cool indifference.
“I don’t give a rat’s ass,” Koyn roars. “I said get the fuck up. You’re going back to the slaughterhouse like the piece of shit Genworth pig you are.”
“No!” Stormy cries out, shoving Koyn in the chest. “You can’t do that to her!”
I stand on shaky legs and hug my arms around my middle. I don’t want Stormy to get hurt because of me.
“Filter, get your bitch before I do something that’s gonna piss you off,” Koyn warns. “Right the fuck now.”
Filter grabs Stormy and hauls her to his chest. She kicks and screams, trying to get away.
“Calm the fuck down,” Filter warns.
“She’s pregnant with your baby, Koyn. Remember that when you decide to use her in your fucked up revenge game,” she spits out at Koyn.
His hard features go emotionless as he darts his gaze my way. He roams his eyes down my body, settling at my stomach, before meeting my stare. “This true?”
