Page 52 of Daddy, Sir

Westerly’s Way

Maggie Ryan

Chapter One

I can hear your moans, your cries, and listen to your pleas,

I’ve imagined your tongue, your fingers, your hands stroke and teaSe.

Your limbs would writhe, your body twist as you beg for permission,

When what you truly need do is fAll to your knees and seek redemption.

The path you’ve chosen is that of the devil—they are his words you spew,

Your saving grace is that I alone have been chosen to saVe you—from you.

Do you see? Do you hear? Every sense inside screams for recognition,

That feeling of snakes slithering across your skIn isn’t just premonition.

Those who choose to leave the light are left to walk through the darkness in fear,

There is always a price, a sacrifice made—for those who sin—atOnement is near.

Fiona

I wanted to ask her to stop, tried to block out her voice, because I didn’t need to hear the words again. I’d read them dozens of times… why, I wasn’t sure. Perhaps because I thought that somewhere within them lay the identity of the… the what? Poet? I couldn’t accept that this was poetry–words meant only to frighten me. And that is what each one of those slips of paper had done the moment I’d received them. What they were still doing.

Scaring the shit out of me.

Being terrified didn’t mean I would cower in a dark corner and hide, though. I refused to be defined by some demented monster’s idea of what wasrightand what required redemption. All I could do was wrap my arms across my middle and present a brave front.

“Is this all of them?”

The question came from the woman seated behind the desk. She had the eyes of someone who not only understood my fear but someone I was pretty sure had experienced terror at some point in her life. When I didn’t immediately answer, she stood and moved around the desk, not to take the chair next to the one I was currently sitting in, but to squat down until she was eye level with me. It wasn’t until she held out the tissue that I realized she’d plucked it from the box on the corner of the desk.

“I know this is shitty and scary as fuck, but you’re no longer alone.”

After I’d taken the tissue and wiped away tears I hadn’t even been aware of shedding, I tried to speak, but it was as if I’d either forgotten how or was too afraid that if I opened my mouth, instead of words, a scream would come out. Feared that once the first note of hysteria sounded, I’d be unable to stop others from escaping.

Audra Brooke, as the blonde woman had introduced herself, didn’t rush me, didn’t look at her watch or act as if she had anything else to do other than remain at my side and hand me a second and then a third tissue. And when I finally broke and no amount of tissues was enough, she simply opened her arms and wrapped them around me. I had no idea how long I cried, but by the time the flood had tapered off, I was exhausted and the front of her white blouse was soaked enough I could tell she’d chosen to wear a pale-pink bra beneath the saturated fabric.

I inhaled deeply, and though it was admittedly shaky, it was enough to have Audra give me a little smile.

“Hold that breath.”

I obeyed and when she instructed me to release it slowly, I did that as well. She had me repeat the cycle three more times before she dropped her hand over my clenched ones and gave them a squeeze. The fact she managed to rise without so much as a grimace after squatting for so long told me she wasn’t a stranger to the gym. I’d always been pretty content in my own skin, but right now I really wanted to be the gorgeous woman in the black pencil skirt and white blouse, wet spot and all. I wasn’t sure what startled me the most. The sound of a laugh or the fact it came from me.

Audra didn’t seem surprised in the least. “Good.”

“Good?” I had no clue what could possibly be considered good.

“I knew you weren’t some meek little lamb the moment you came through the door, but to hear you laugh tells me you are also ready to kick some arse.”

Audra walked to the credenza spanning the wall to my right. Opening a door, she pulled out a rather large bottle and two shot glasses. From the level of the liquor, this wasn’t the first time the bottle had come out of its hidey hole. That didn’t particularly surprise me, but the label on the bottle sure did. If I wasn’t mistaken, the portrait of the man on the label with his wire-rimmed glasses and smoking cigar told me she was currently pouring one of the most expensive bourbons in the world. She offered a glass to me and I was pleased to see my hand wasn’t shaking as I took it… well, at least not enough to cause the rich, amber-hued liquor to slosh over the glass’s rim.

Damn, just hearing the suggestion in the lilt of her accent, proved the British had the upper hand when it came to calling someone an ass and still making it sound both a little naughty as well as a whole lot sexier. She clinked her glass against mine and we both tilted our heads back. We didn’t take dainty sips. That wasn’t what this situation called for. No. Girding our loins to figure out how to find and stop the creep stalking me required throwing back the entire contents of the glass in one move.

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