Page 30 of They Call Him Reaper

“Where did you get this?” I inquire softly because I’m scared of his answer.

He drops the towel across a chair, looking unbothered while the rest of my world falls apart.

“It was a birthday gift.”

Tears attack me, each drop hurting that much more. I may not know everything, but I know enough about my dad to draw a conclusion that shouldn't be anywhere near my brain when thinking of a parent.

“He kidnapped you.” Just whispering burns my throat.

“Yeah, and I found out recently that he also killed my parents in the process.”

I sink down to the floor because it’s beyond me how Father could be so cruel.What could a small child have possibly done to warrant such destruction of his life?The article I read said he was missing, and his parents were found dead but, apparently, my dad shielded him from the media. He probably took away Dante’s desire to know the truth.

I don’t want to know about the amount of brainwashing and conditioning involved. I’ve seen some cases as a nurse, but nothing on this level. There weren’t details on how they died. Even after finding out that my dad wasn’t on the up and up, I simply thought Dante’s parents were some sort of associates of his who got caught up in the wrong thing and he took care of Dante because he somehow cared.

Now, I know I have no idea what happened because I was always away, and I never saw Dante when I visited home. Something Dante said to me rambles around in my brain as I lie down and try to remember how to breathe.

"Is killing fun?"

"To some. It's just a part of my missions. My adrenaline spikes, but I don't get pleasure from it."

"Then why do it?"

"Because I can. It's what I was raised to do."

"By who?"

He never answered that question, and now it’s clear why. My sperm donor did all of this to him.

“Oh, no,” I groan as Dante watches me.

He seems so far removed from all of it, but this is the life he’s lived since he was six. I push myself up, my legs wobble and I feel capable of fainting, but I make it to the bed to sit down.

“Why?” It’s not a question I’m asking him. It’s for the universe, for the man I thought was my dad. Hell, how do I know I’m his daughter?

“I ran your DNA,” he tells me like he read my mind.

I cover my ears, although it’s not new information. There’s no way I can associate myself with such a monster at this moment. Snuffing out the pure innocence of a child, no, aschildrenso young can only be achieved by a special kind of monster. He was supposed to be in the arms of his loving parents and not locked in Antoni Wójcik’s cold mansion and trained to do his business.

My hand does its best to calm my chest, but it’s not working. I’ll pass out at this rate. Antoni - I can’t even think of him in relation to me - created the very assassin who plans to destroy both of us.

"None of this would have happened if he would have let me complete my mission when I was eighteen."

"How? Who was your target?"

"Me. I'd taken a bunch of pills." He smiles, but there is so much pain in his eyes. "I was happy when everything went dark." He looks at his hands for a beat. "He couldn't even grant me that. I awakened in my room, hooked up to machines as the doctor on his payroll looked over me. Father came in and slapped the shit out of me and told me to stop acting like a bitch."

The sick feeling in my stomach returns. The more I know about Antoni, the sicker I become. Dante struggles with his anger, his hands wrapped so tightly into fists that they start to turn white.

"He brought in another kid. He looked to be around eight. I understood the terror in his eyes. Father told me that he went and got me a brother. Our lives were tied, and my death would kill him."

His laugh has no mirth. "He told me to man up like being in his care for twelve years was easy. Like he didn't constantly attack me after my thirteenth birthday because a six-year-old learned my name and wanted to give me a birthday gift."

My head snaps up at that information. Guilt floods my system, even knowing it’s irrational to blame my younger self for my dad's callousness.

"No," I whisper as more tears fall down my cheeks.

"Yes, and every birthday attack after that was a reminder that knowing my name meant you knew too much about me. From my thirteenth up until last year, he'd deliver hisreminderslike I knew where the fuck you were. I never bothered to look, but when you keep getting accused of the same thing…"

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