Page 24 of Vengeful Sins

“Clark Jenkins, this is my daughter, Maya. Maya celebrated her eighteenth birthday yesterday,” Dad explains, and nobody would know the conversation we just had. The way he talked down to me, the way he routinely degrades me to make sure I know my place. I am so tired of the hypocrisy. Literally weary from it.

There’s nothing to do about that now. I force a smile I don’t feel and shake the man’s hand. It’s clammy, making my skin crawl in distaste, but I’m good at disconnecting from reality.

He holds it a moment or two too long before letting go and looking at Dad with his eyebrows lifted. “Please, have a seat,” Dad invites, while my insides go cold in disgust. I shoot him a confused, surprised look, since this was supposed to be a dinner for the two of us.

“If you insist.” Clark chuckles as he takes the seat to my right, his knee brushing mine under the table before I pull it away. Now I wish I had worn something to cover every inch of skin rather than a knee-length dress with a cardigan over the top. I’m starting to get a creepy feeling about this. Dad wouldn’t go to these lengths, would he?

Wait, what am I saying? Of course he would. I would put nothing past him.

“Congratulations,” Clark murmurs with a twinkle in his eye that turns my stomach. He’s around Dad’s age, if not a little older, but he’s looking me up and down like I’m dessert. He doesn’t even bother hiding it. These are the kind of people my father spends time with. That shouldn’t come as a surprise.

“Thank you.” Looking at Dad doesn’t help. He doesn’t offer any clue what I’m supposed to think about this, how I’m supposed to feel. The appetite I was struggling to find is nonexistent, so I pick listlessly at my food, silently praying this will end quickly. Before I start screaming.

“Now that you’re a young woman, officially,” Clark continues, “what are your plans?”

“I’m not sure.”

“You must have some plans. A beautiful young woman like you?”

What has that got to do with anything?This is getting worse by the second. I want to crawl under the table and never come back. Dad just sits there smiling and murmuring his encouragement, but it’s an empty expression. There’s nothing behind it, nothing in his eyes. They’re just as empty as he is.

“I haven’t thought too much about it.” I can’t stand looking at him for another second, so I don’t, looking down at my plate instead. It’s a good thing I’m so practiced at disconnecting. It comes in handy at moments like this, when it’s either stop caring or start screaming. Wouldn’t that be a memorable birthday dinner? If I started screaming for everyone in the restaurant to hear? I would rather make a scene like that than suffer through this another moment longer.

He hasn’t given up. He still wants to sell me to the highest bidder. What is he getting out of it, I wonder? How much money would I go for? My fingers tighten around my fork and, for one brief but thrilling second, I imagine the satisfaction of sliding it through his eyeball. Hearing him scream. At least it might meangetting a little of my own back. Respecting myself a little after being humiliated this way.

“You know,” Clark suggests as a third plate is added for him by the very confused, slightly exasperated server. Now I see this entire charade for what it was. Clark was always going to join us. Dad just didn’t want to let me know too soon. “I would love the pleasure of taking you out to celebrate, just the two of us. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a beautiful young woman on my arm, and you are certainly beautiful.” He has to search for my knee under the table, reaching for it before making contact. His touch leaves me biting the inside of my cheek to keep from shrieking at him to leave me the fuck alone.

Between the intimacy in his voice and the way he looks at me, like he’s undressing me with his beady eyes, I might have to throw up. How do people like this actually exist? Don’t they know how disgusting they are?

“Now, I know you’re not so overwhelmed you can’t be grateful for a compliment.” Dad nudges my foot with his under the table. “Don’t be rude.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, willing myself to get through it. The steak knife next to Dad’s plate is looking awfully appealing right now—my fists tighten, and I wish I had the guts to reach for it. Later, when I’m alone in my room, I can take care of it.

Somehow, I manage to make it through the rest of the meal, with Dad and Clark making quiet plans as we wait for the valet to bring the car around. Clark’s hand touches my lower back as he helps me into the car, even though I don’t need it. It takes everything I have to not shudder in revulsion. Only once he’s closed the door after shooting one last, lingering look at my boobs can I release the breath I was holding.

Not that my relief lasts long. “I have to say, I’m disappointed.” Now that we’re alone, Dad can let the mask fall away, and he wastes no time once we are on the move. “You satthere acting like some blushing little idiot while a man like Clark treated you so well.”

“Did I ask him to? Dad, he’s your age. That’s gross.”

“Grow up,” he sneers. “You want to be treated like an adult? Then start here and now. You live in the real world, not some fantasy land where everybody gets what they want. And to think, you’re so eager to get out on your own.” His nasty laughter sends a chill down my spine. “Here I am, offering you the opportunity.”

It finally sinks in. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse. “Dad, I’m not going to marry him.” There’s nothing funny about the situation, but I laugh, mostly in disbelief. Which century does he think we live in?

“I wish you wouldn’t shut the idea down without giving it some honest thought.”

“I don’t understand what there is to think about.” I feel like I’m in deep water, dark, kicking and moving my arms, but in just as deep as ever. There’s no pulling myself out of it. I could scream all I wanted, but no one would hear me.

“He’s a decent man. I trust him.” Glancing my way, he asks, “What, you think I would hand you over to someone I don’t trust? You don’t think I would consider every possibility when it comes to your safety and protection?”

And my happiness?Who am I kidding? He doesn’t care about my happiness. My chance at having a parent who gave a damn about anything like that died years ago, thanks to me.

“I can promise you one thing, Maya.” Any attempt at tenderness has drained out of his voice, not that he was trying very hard in the first place. “You will not do better than him. Clark is your best hope of finding a good husband who will keep you comfortable and cared for all your life.”

How does he know? Does he honestly have such little faith in me? That’s a stupid question. Of course he does. He has no faith in me at all, because he doesn’t think of me as anything morethan a pawn. Something to be sold or traded. I’m not a person with wants or needs or dreams of my own. I’m an extension of him, like his arm or his leg. Although something tells me he would care more about one of his limbs than he does about me.

There’s no point in arguing right now. I need to figure out how I’m going to handle this, and begging isn’t going to make a difference. If anything, he’ll only be more determined the harder I beg.

There’s nothing for me to do but wrap my arms around myself and gaze out the window, watching the world fly past. That’s how I feel. Like the world is passing me by while I sit still. Right now, I can’t imagine things ever getting any better.

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