Page 61 of Cook

If I could give her the structure Ward and Mercer talked about, would she respond? There didn’t have to be anything sexual about it.

I leaned my bike on the kickstand, stood, and stretched my back, resisting going inside.

Maddie needed help,realhelp. And I didn’t have the skills to give it to her in Mercer’s way, Ward’s way, or Doctor Richardson’s way. I couldn’t even take care of myself enough to get over the fact that I’d shot Daddy. The episode with that photo proved that shit.

But then I went to the hospital for her and gave her what she said she wanted—an out. And now, if anyone tried to touch her, I would rip off their arm and stick it up their ass.

Whether I knew what the fuck to do or not, she was mine.

Could I do what Sloan Mercer described; what he said I would need to do?

For Maddie?

My nizhóní.

Tossing my head back and bracing myself for what I was about to find, I walked inside.

Maddie

On my knees, I triedto keep my breathing calm, but when I was near Cook, his presence set my skin on fire. A current ran through my blood and up my bones, and my heartbeat quickened. I knew Cook was back by the roar of his motorcycle, and I got to my knees, waiting fretfully through the long moments before he came inside.

I kept my head lowered but felt how his gaze burrowed into me, basically ripping into me and splaying me open.

The floor creaked, and the door snicked shut. Cook’s boots entered my field of view.

He said nothing. Did nothing. Didn’t budge from the spot he stopped.

Slowly, I lifted my head for a peek at him. His mouth was set in a firm line, and his gaze traveled over me, like he was searching for something. Our eyes met for a split second, and I ducked my head again, waiting. My knees ached with the pressure between my bones and the tile ridges. My toes had gone numb.

I studied the juncture between the tiles, the old grout now browning with age. It needed a good bleaching.

There was so much to care for in this house, and I had barely made a dent in what needed to be cleaned. The dust was caked on every surface, and cobwebs draped in the corners. I had scrubbed the first layer of muck off on the stove and fridge, but there were layers after years of sitting unused. The whole house needed to be sanitized.

With Cook in front of me, I put away thoughts of cleaning and my rumbling stomach to concentrate on him.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I whispered, and the floor creaked as Cook shifted again. This had to be what he wanted. “I was bad for masturbating. I should have been more clear in my question. I understand why you decided to punish me by leaving me alone.”

“Punish you?”

I swallowed. “You left me. Because I touched myself—”

“No.” Cook stepped up to me. His boots dirtied the floor that I had worked hard to clean. I stared down at the scuffed tips until Cook put his hand on the top of my head. “Don’t ever apologize for pleasuring yourself. Ever. Do you understand, Maddie?”

I nodded.

“Say it aloud, Maddie.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

The touch on my head lightened then returned. “Not that, Maddie. Repeat what you are not allowed to do.”

“I won’t apologize for...” I didn’t know if I could finish.

“Go on.”

“. . . um, pleasing myself?”

A sharp intake of breath made me tense. And wait.

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