Page 42 of Dirty Tricks

His hand reaches for me, and I take it, cuddling it against my cheek, kissing his knuckles where the skin is crisscrossed with old scars.

My blood runs cold when he whispers, “You thought I was your father.”

Tears threaten and I suck them back because I’ve cried enough tears to last me a lifetime. Alone in my bed, locked in a bathroom stall at school, or huddled in my wardrobe, hoping tonight he won’t come home. Or if he does, he’ll have picked up some woman at a bar he can loudly fuck in his bedroom instead of coming into mine.

Shame fills me but when I look at Xander again, he shows the same emotion. “I’m sorry. I promised I would protect you and left you to deal with the worst person alone.”

My hand clutches his twice as hard until I can feel his bones grinding against each other. “I’m not alone.”

He nods, misery still suffusing his face.

“I’m not alone,” I repeat. “And neither are you.”

This time when he nods, it’s firmer, more like a promise than a concession.

And I gladly throw the last of my fears away as I answer his earlier question. “Let’s go see my daddy.”

CHAPTERTHIRTEEN

LEXA

My body tremblesas we walk up the side path to the front door. The suburb is old money. Well-established trees line the wide streets, large houses set far back from the road, with long, winding driveways.

It’s strange to be back here. The months away have diminished it, turned it back to normal size instead of it looming above me.

Or perhaps that’s the company by my side. All the way here, Xander steered with one hand, the other holding onto mine, giving me reassuring squeezes whenever I grew tense.

Now his arm is loose around my waist, resting on my hip. Blood is smeared everywhere. Xander might as well still be wearing the mask, his face is that crimson.

When I politely knock like I’m entering a stranger’s dwelling, my expectations mount a fight with reality. I’m determined, but that mightn’t stick long enough for me to do what I have to do. This man isn’t just a monster like Finn. He’s my father. My flesh and blood.

The footfalls inside turn my stomach into a tight fist, the pain worse than the throbbing from my pummelled head.

My dad throws the door open, stares at me, then stares again, his face undergoing a thousand different expressive changes. Then it settles into its usual rage. “Get inside,” he thunders, grabbing my upper arm. “You can’t have the neighbours see you like this.”

I jerk away but can’t loosen his grip. The old inertia grabs me. The seductive call to just give in, to do what he wants so he’ll finish quicker, and I can go back to living inside my head.

Then Xander reaches across to clutch my father’s forearm. The tendons on his wrist show in stark relief as he tightens his grip, tightens, tightens, then my father lets go of me and Xander releases him. Dad shifts his stance, rubbing his wrist. “Who the fuck are you?”

I pull out the gun, pointing it at him. My hands want to shake but I force them to hold steady.

I’ve already been through so much tonight, I don’t want to let myself down now.

“Get into the garage,” I tell him, jerking the barrel towards the internal door. “Don’t make a sound.”

Not that it would matter out here. These enormous houses and their old sections are set so spaciously it’s akin to soundproofing.

I know because of how many times my screams went unanswered.

“What are you doing, sweetie?”

The endearment makes my stomach acid bubble. What should be a soft word is baked hard by the pain he inflicted over long years.

Xander bristles at my distress. “She’s telling you to move. I suggest you obey her.”

My father’s lip curls. “And then what? You’re going to rob me? You think you’re some kind of modern day Bonnie and Clyde?”

“How about I tell you what’ll happen if you don’t follow my instructions?” I shift the grip of the gun between my palms, taking a firmer hold where they’re sweating. “I’ll start a countdown and when I get to one, I’ll shoot.”

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