Page 107 of Saving Sophia

“Is that true, Sophie?” His stern voice sent shivers through me.

My mouth opened, and my eyelashes fluttered, fighting back tears for the words I was about to say. He was my Daddy, in my heart and forever, but for this moment I had to be strong. Callie tensed next to me.

“Remember when we played Would You Rather?” I asked, trying to make my voice into a sneer.

Mr. Roscoe snickered.

I ignored him. I had a message to deliver. “I told you that I wanted filet mignon, and all you could offer me was a sandwich. Why would I ever stick around for that?” I gave myself exactly three seconds to stare directly into Daddy’s eyes, sending my sheer force of will at him like a psychic punch, hoping it would be enough.

I caught the briefest flicker of recognition in his beautiful eyes, the tiniest nod. A spark of hope flickered in my heart. Had he understood? Would he go and get the police? Could they really rescue us?

“Well,” Mr. Roscoe plucked at the creases of his pants and rolled his eyes. “Not sure what that’s all about, but I think it’s clear.” He glanced at his watch as if the conversation bored him. “No one is here against their will.”

“I suppose,” Daddy said. I waited for him to stand. To leave. But he didn’t. He tilted his head, considering Mr. Roscoe. “Still, I hate to leave a deal unfinished. And I sense a deal here.”

I blinked, twice. What was he doing? I wanted him to get my message, but not try rescuing us alone. It was too dangerous.

Mr. Roscoe snapped his attention back to Daddy. “What kind of deal? Apparently, I have something you want,” he looked at where I hovered by the couch, still clutching Callie’s hand and my server’s tray. “Though I can’t see what it is about that one that’s got you so hooked.”

“Exactly,” Daddy said, though his lips turned down. His eyes, cool and subdued, stayed riveted on Mr. Roscoe. “She’s nothing but a problem for you. She’s already discredited her statement. Let me take her off your hands.”

My mouth gaped open, but Mr. Roscoe shook his head. “I still don’t see the benefit for me,” he said in that mock-regretful tone I hated. “You don’t have anything I want. She’s still a liability. And I already have a problem-solver.”

The moon-faced man stepped out of the shadows. I flinched, terrified of what he might do.

“Have you considered expansion?” Daddy asked calmly. He scanned the room, his eyes lingering on the busy club through the wall of one-way mirrors.

Mr. Roscoe paused, steepling his fingers together. After a moment, he said, “I’m listening.”

“Twelve thousand square feet of premium night club space. Westside. Eighteenth floor of the recently renovated Hotel Hedon. And access to some foreign investors with exceptionally deep pockets.”

“You’re involved with Hotel Hedon?” Mr. Roscoe sat forward, suddenly laser-focused.

“I am Hotel Hedon.”

Somehow the room was quiet, despite the booming club music.

Mr. Roscoe leaned back again and tapped his forefinger on the arched back of the couch. “Tell me more.”

Daddy ran his fingers through his perfectly tousled hair. “High end, recently remodeled, catering to very exclusive clientele.”

My tummy churned at the idea of Mr. Roscoe getting his creepy hands on Daddy’s beautiful hotel. It was too big a sacrifice. We would never be free of him, even if he let Callie and me go, which I doubted he would do.

“Investors?” There was a hungry tone in Mr. Roscoe’s voice.

“They have a lot of money and ask very few questions.” Daddy pulled out his phone, glanced at it then tucked it away again.

Mr. Roscoe chuckled. “They sound perfect.”

“Sir?”

We all looked over to John the bouncer, who was still standing by the door.

“What is it?” Mr. Roscoe sounded annoyed at the interruption.

“There’s some trouble on the floor.” John pressed his finger to his ear and cocked his head, listening.

“Fine, take care of it.” Mr. Roscoe frowned but kept his attention on Daddy. “And find out where Brad went. How long does it take to fetch drinks for Christ’s sake?”

---