Page 4 of Perilous

Yes, he’s my father. It’s not some weird kinky shit where I’m calling a guy ‘Dad’…

Like I mentioned, probably nobody here knows the name Holom Alistair, but I’m sure the things he does on a daily basis touches their lives.

Call me a rich girl. Call me a brat. Call me spoiled. Do the assumption thing. It doesn’t bother me.

In reality, I’m here meeting with my father (which took me three weeks and three phone calls to his new secretary—who he is obviously fucking—to find time for me) to make arrangements for me to graciously exit fromSinners Academy, as it’s so famously called.

Now let me be clear, I have not spent any time at all on the northern side of that campus. The side where all the fucked up, murderous rich people are sent to hide and wait for their chance to control parts of society. I attendSAbecause I was told that’s where I was going to attend. And I’ve done as I was told. For long enough.

“My Annika,” Dad says.

“Drop themypart,” I say. “It’s a whole new world and generation out there. People will get the wrong impression of us.”

“Really?”

“How’s your secretary doing? Adjusting to the new job? How old is she? Younger than me, right?”

Dad pulls his hand from mine and sits up very straight.

That’s what I thought.

Dad rubs his hands together as though he’s grossed out. Amazing thatheis the one grossed out over the fact that he’s fucking his secretary who is younger than me. He’s the one doing it. I’m the one who has to live with that image in my mind.

Gross.

But, hey, it’s legal. Consenting between them. If things go bad, Dad will write a fat check to keep her mouth shut. Life goes on. It always goes on and on for the rich and powerful, doesn’t it?

“Do I have to guess why we’re meeting?” Dad asks.

“A daughter can’t just want to see her father?” I ask.

“You all but hate me, Annika. I’ve made my peace with it. You blame me for your mother and what she did to us. I’ve taken that blame. That’s my job as a father.”

Should I dab the corners of my eyes with a tissue after that Oscar worthy performance?

“I want out of theAcademy,” I say, making sure that word means nothing to me.

Dad’s jaw tightens.

“I’ve played my role,” I say to him. “Okay? I was your puppet for as long as you needed. I’m ready for something else.”

“Well, aren’t you full of attitude.”

“I’ve been wanting this for a long time.Dad.”

Dad smiles. “You’re not a little girl anymore, Annika. The pouty lip princess routine doesn’t work on me. You should know that by now. Now to get a little more serious.” He looks around and he leans toward me. “Did something happen?”

“With?”

“Annika, I’m not playing games.”

His demeanor has changed. His eyes narrowed. Boardroom evilness spreading across his face as though he’s ready to eat me alive like some struggling company his company wants to buy and use as a personal ATM machine to beat up for cash.

I shake my head.

“I asked you a question, Annika.”

I shiver. I hate when Dad acts like this. It’s really terrifying.

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