Page 20 of Kiss, Kill, Thrill Me, Daddy

Scotty rushes behind Brody, using the mountain of a man as a human shield. “Tell him he can’t yell at me, Daddy. I don’t like it. Makes me scared.”

“I’m going to do a lot more than yell at you,” Abi says, taking a step forward.

There’s a loud pop, and when I look down, I see a smoking gun in Brody’s hand. He’s fired a warning shot into the floorboards, and he’s got an animalistic, almost feral expression on his face. “Watch that tone when you’re talking to my boy. He fucked up, but there’s no reason to scare him like this.”

“Hefucked up?” I manage, finally finding my voice. “By the looks of it, you went right along with it.”

Brody casually shrugs and stuffs the gun into his jeans. “I don’t fuckin’ like you, dude. I don’t give a fuck if you live or die. Scotty seems to be enamored with you for some reason, though, so I did him a solid. If you raise your voice with either of us again, I’ll slit your fuckin’ throat.”

Abi’s finger twitches inside me, striking my prostate and making me moan. “Brody?” When I look at him, he doesn’t seem confused anymore, just hurt. “How could you?”

For the first time since I’ve known him, I see the smallest trace of remorse on Brody’s face. The color has drained from hischeeks, he’s breathing a little faster, and there’s sweat beading against his brow.

“I’m sorry, bro. I just wanted to make Freakshow happy. He’s so fucking scared of walking down the aisle.” He leans down and kisses Scotty’s forehead. “My boy was scared, and I did the only thing I could think of to make him feel better.”

“You didn’t need a forged marriage license for that!” I shout, flabbergasted by this turn of events. Scotty can be a bit flighty, but this seems extreme, even for him. “You could have had a rehearsal in the goddessdamned parking lot, for fuck’s sake.” The room goes silent, and for the briefest of moments, I believe Scotty might apologize.

“You love him,” Scotty finally says. When I open my eyes, I realize he’s talking to Abi. “You love him just as much as I love Daddy. I thought it might finally give you both the push you need. I just want all of us to be one big happy family. Now you’re married, and Tatum might not run anymore. He might finally let go of his stupid boyfriends and let himself be happy.”

“Married,” I whisper, trying to make sense of the word. I’m married to Abi Kincaid. On paper, at least. Or maybe officially too? Scotty mentioned a Justice of the Peace, but I’m praying it was simply a janitor he mistook for a city employee. Every muscle in my body has gone rogue, and all I can do is cling to Abi in hopes he’ll make it better.

“Leave us. I wish to speak with him privately.”

“But—” Scotty begins before being cut off.

“Nyet,” Abi snaps. “Out. Both of you.”

The bell above the door chimes, and I realize every ounce of emotion I’ve been hiding is about to spill over. I’m about to break, and I can’t stop the cracks from spreading. This is terrifying. All of it.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers in my ear.

“Daddy,” I whisper, hating myself for letting the word slip out. It’s a word I know he wants me to use more often, but it feels dirty. Wrong. Speaking it aloud is the pinnacle of unhingedbehavior, and I know it’s an admission that shifts my role from complacent captive to willing participant, but I can’t help it. I have to say it. So, I say it again. “Daddy, I can’t ...”

“Do not worry. I’m here, Tatum. It is just you and me.”

And then it happens. I snap. I shatter. Every pent-up emotion breaks through my resistance, and all I can do is whine and whimper as he strokes my back. How the fuck am I supposed to explain any of this to my parents? To Austin. To the Bens. We might not be together anymore, but their opinions matter to me. I’m going to have to introduce Abi as my husband. Or my fiancé?

Once my tears finally stop, I pull away and stare at Abi. His expression is vacant. There’s no trace of emotion on his face, which sucks, because I can’t gauge where we stand right now.

“What are we going to do?” I finally ask. “We’re leaving in less than a week.”

His brows are knitted together in the center of his forehead, and they stay that way as he studies me. “How do you wish to handle it?”

I close my eyes and attempt a groan, but all that escapes me is another sob. “I don’t fucking know! That’s why I’m asking. You’re supposed to be the one who takes charge. Do something. Please!”

He walks us back to the chair and takes a seat, sighing once we’re settled. I reach for his hand and guide him to my ass, needing his finger to center me. It slips in with little effort, and the moment it does, a bit of the worry fades, and I’m able to focus on him.

“What would you have me do, Tatum? Just tell me how you want to handle it, and I will.”

What I want is to turn Scotty in for marriage license fraud—if that’s even a thing—but that would only lead to a prison sentence, and my shitty excuse for a biffle wouldn’t survive a day in jail. He’d be turned out within seconds of entering.

“Do we have to get a divorce?” I ask. “Or an annulment? I don’t know what the next step to ending a marriage even is.”

He’s chewing on his cheek as his big brown eyes stare into mine. After a pause, he clears his throat and asks, “You wish to end the marriage?”

“Of course I want to end it. We’re not even dating.”

“I know,” he says, sounding defeated. There was fear on his face before, but there was also a small morsel of something that looked a lot like hope. I’ve taken that away. While I feel guilty for doing so, what other option do I have? I can’t just stay married to my kidnapper. That’s problematic on every possible level.

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