Page 144 of Lamb

“You give yourself too much credit.” My father sighed, perusing his used cigar and warming drink. “The only reason you have had so long is because it was not worth my while to chase you down.” He picked up the crystal glass, wrinkled, freckled fingers spread along the rim, and rose again. He abandoned the cane at the side of the chair, his weary legs standing straight and firm as he swirled the liquid around in the glass. “Taking care of you was an opportunity. I was in the States for a work matter, and you just so happened to scamper across my path. I was tying off a loose end.”

My body ached, and my scars singed. I could feel those lead bullets wriggling deeper into my body, pain and anger wrought apart my flesh and bones. “You tried to kill me because it wasconvenient?”

He sighed. “I will not repeat myself.” He moved over to the tall plant and stood aside in the hallway, shoes scuffing against the marble floor, but his footsteps were otherwise strong and stable. He reached out a free hand, caressing one of the feathery leaves. It was a large palm with beautiful bountiful stalks, their tips tall enough to brush his shoulder. “I just get rid of things that have lost their value.” He tilted his hand, the warm whiskey pouring from the glass and sinking into the soil. “Your mother, your stepmother, that little bicycle gang of yours.You.” He released the glass. It landed with a resounding shatter, pieces of expensive crystal exploding across the floor in tiny, jagged fragments.

I started at the noise, my feet staggering back to avoid the cutting crystal embedding into my shoes. A flicker of a smirk pulled at his lips.

“Then why?” I snapped, my voice much calmer than the tornado wreaking havoc on the inside. I stared down at the shattered shards, the epitome of my life, falling apart into amillion pieces, never again to be whole, broken and worthless at the behest of this man’s whim. “Why did you come?”

Glass crunched under my feet as an unstoppable tsunami of anger, pain, and sorrow surged me towards him. My hands tore at my dress, ripped at the edges of my scars, alight with pain as fresh as the day he had made them, red and shiny beneath his bonified crystal chandelier.

“Like I said—”

“No,” I snapped, wrenching his words from his tongue. “I do not mean the day you shot me. I meantthatday. The dayshetried to kill me. The day you put a knife inherhand and left me to die.”

His dark eyes narrowed, his head craning up a few inches to look at me. His presence far exceeded his actual height and, in front of me, the man was no taller than my chin. Crow’s feet bunched in the corners of his eyes, shadowed beneath sunken brows.

“I know you,” I seethed. “I was a little girl, desperate for her father’s attention. I know the sound of your footsteps, the engine of your car, and even the rhythm of your breaths. You are a fool if you think I would not recognise your voice.”

My heartbeat pounded on my eardrums as I struggled to catch my breath. I refused to look away from those cold, dead eyes as silence stretched between us. My fury, now released, was unable to be contained. Too long had I cowered before this man. This monster. If today was my last, I would drag my answers to hell with me.

He laughed.

It was like an icy slap across the face. My retreat was instinctual, the shock of the crisp, cackling sound so foreign and fragmented from my mind I could only full body reject it. I had never known this man to have a soul, never mind a sense of humour.

“That is all?” He heaved a breath, stifling a cough behind the back of his knobbly hand. “You are right. You are a little girl. One much like the stepmother you despised so much.”

He sighed as the noise died once more. “It was merely a coincidence.” He shrugged. “Your stepmother dragged you to a factory I had in mind for acquisition. In hindsight, she had probably hoped I would catch you both there, dreaming for someemotionalreaction, I assume.” He spat the word as if it tasted as unfamiliar. “I came for a prospective visit since I had been nearby for some other business matters, and when I found you both, well, I just wanted her to hurry up and be done with it.”

“So, you gave her the knife.”

“Slow torture is messy. Better to end it quickly.” His eyes scoured down to my scars, and my stomach roiled. “Besides, if she killed you and got herself arrested, then it would be two birds with one stone.” He shrugged. “Though it ended up being the other way around. You are quite difficult to kill.” His tone almost held an imperceptible hint of admiration.

“And it was all … just a coincidence?” I couldn’t believe the words I had just muttered. Flames rose in my chest, and my heart turned to coal, the weight of it crushing me from within.

“In a matter of speaking.” He shrugged.

That could not be it. Itcannot. All of it, every single struggle of my life, my need to survive, my need to escape my father … it was all a lie? Like sugar paper in water, my truth dissolved before my eyes, nothing but a bitter toxin left behind.

My father only spared the time to try to kill me himself because he was nearby. His only daughter. His sole heir.

What did my vengeance mean now? What did it matter? All of this … was fornothing…

“I think I have spared you enough of my time,” Maximus muttered, straightening his gown. “I need to finish getting dressed and finish this façade of a charity ball so I can geton with some real business. I cannot keep my new business partners waiting longer than necessary.” He did not spare me a glimpse as he turned and walked towards the staircase.

“To what end …?” I struggled through the words, my chest threatening to cave in on itself. “To what extent will you let your greed win? How many bodies must you climb to reach your goal?”

He hummed, his shoulder rolling in a small shrug. “I guess I have never thought about it.” He half-turned, his eyes staring into the distance with the first glimmer of interest I had ever seen in them. “There is always something new to take, something new to acquire. Until I have it all in my grasp, there will be no end. Not in my lifetime, and certainly not in yours.”

No end …?

“What aboutme?” I whispered, voice weak, hand clutching my chest. “Will there be no end to this either?”

My father turned, and my head hung from my shoulders. I stared at his slippers, eyes focused on the million tiny pieces of glittering, broken, and destroyed crystal.

“You want me to kill you?” His deep, familiar voice swam in my ears. The voice I had craved for so long as a child. This voice I wished would speak words of affection and familiarity. The voice that had haunted me every moment of my adult life. “You are unworthy of my time.”

Enough.

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