Page 22 of Look how well You take this C*ck

CHAPTER 14

Ellie

Strong hands. Thick thighs. Heated weight.

They’re flashing memories every time I close my eyes. The way Daddy Lars touches me has me in a constant state of arousal and need.

When he makes promises, it’s so easy to believe him, accept him at his word, and know he won’t let me down. Last night, he promised to take all kinds of filthy pictures of us together, and he did not disappoint. The man is dirtier than my wildest imaginings, and I want more. More of him. More of us. More of whatever the future is about to bring.

“I’m ready,” I murmur, standing outside the interview room in Lars’ precinct.

“You’re sure?” I love how protective he is over me.

Nodding my head, he opens the door, and inside is the man who spent years torturing me, left scars on my back, in my heart, and in my head. He was always much larger than life. Imposing and terrifying in ways I couldn’t dream of running from.

Now, chained to the table, wearing a dark grey jumpsuit with greasy slicked-back hair and bags filled with sleepless nights under his eyes, I’m not afraid. His gaunt eyes don’t hold me hostage. Nor am I shaking with terror over a temper that could make me cry harder than the torrent of a tsunami.

He’s… Human.

A monster, still. But one who no longer holds me in the depths of despair.

“Ellie.” His slick smile makes me cringe as we enter the room. The door closes quietly behind Lars while I take a seat in the metal chair across the table from the man who killed my mother. “I said I wanted to talk to her, Captain, not you.”

“I stay, or she leaves with me. Take it or leave it.” Lars leans casually against a wall. “This is not being recorded, and your lawyer isn’t here. Anything you say stays here.” But I could testify. That’s what the DA told me when I met her this morning. Anything he says to me, I can be asked about.

“What do you want?” I ask him, my voice quiet, not wanting to chance what he’ll do if I’m too loud. Guess that fear isn’t completely gone.

“To see how you’re doing,” he says, but there’s no caring in his eyes. Not like a regular father. Not like Connor Hillard when he’s asked about my day.

“I’m coping.” I don’t want to divulge too many details; he’ll use them against me if possible. “Why’d you kill her?” I ask the only thing I want to know.

His eyes flare in surprise at my direct question. “She wasn’t faithful. She took you away. Everything was always her way or no way.”

“Why?” I repeat. I won’t argue with him.

“I hated her guts. She was an unfaithful whore and deserved every second of suffering I gave her. All she wanted was money for you. Like I gave a shit about you.” The venom in his tone shouldn’t surprise me, but it does, and I feel tears surfacing.

“You could have just left us alone. Moved on,” I respond, my anger growing.

“No, I couldn’t.” There is a gleam in his eyes, and I try to prepare myself for his next words, but there’s no preparation. “If I had, I’d have had to leave it all behind.”

“All?” I regret it as soon as I say it.

“My trophies.” He grins sickly as he relays the things he kept from each woman he murdered over the years. He couldn’t flee the country with body parts in tow.

“You’re disgusting.”

The way he stares down at his own ring finger, the trophy he kept and preserved from each woman, makes me want to vomit.

He lifts a shoulder carelessly. “I would have had yours, too.” My body jolts at the confession, and Lars moves forward, his protectiveness apparent. My dad chuckles, obviously sensing the meaning behind the action. “Well, who would have guessed? The stuck-up captain banging a serial killer's barely legal daughter. The press is going to have a field day with this one. Tell me, Captain, is she a screamer? I’ve always loved listening to her pain-filled screams of terror when I was slicing up her back.”

“Watch your fucking mouth, Dawson. Prison can get much worse for you,” Lars warns, although it’s more of a threat than anything else.

Dad throws his head back and laughs like it’s all a great big joke. Women’s lives mean nothing to him, and I can see now the only reason he wanted me here was to hurt me. Deep down, I knew that was why, but some part of me–the little girl inside who just wanted her daddy to love her–had hoped it was because he wanted to apologize and ensure I was being taken care of.

Standing slowly, I take Lars’ hand and tell my father, “I hope you get the death penalty,” before walking out and leaving this part of my life in the past where it belongs.

As the door closes behind us, Lars pulls me into his comforting embrace. I bury my face in his chest, soothed by the steady pounding of his heart. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”

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