Page 173 of Prey for You

I nodded and swallowed, but I was shaking.

These were therules of engagement,as Gerald had called them. Me and Sam had met with him together every week for the past month since I got cocky and decided that, yeah, I could see my dad. If it would free up some stiff, frozen little part of me, why not?

Why not?What the fuck had I been thinking?

This was why not—this was a fucking prison that they kept him locked in even though he was dyingbecause he was a fucking murderer.

“I need to go,” I whispered. And because my husband was the best person in the world, he didn’t ask again. He stood up, put his arm around me and kissed my hair, walking me backwards towards the door in the circle of his arms.

“We’ll try again when you’re read—”

The door behind him clanked and I froze on the spot. Sam looked back over his shoulder and his chest expanded.

“He’s here,” he said, then looked down at me.

I looked up at Sam and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t fucking move.

“Bridget? Do you want to go?”

There were noises behind him. People moving. Something squeaking. Key rings or chains clinking.

Maybe fangs gnashing?

“Bree?” The voice was thin and husky and much higher than I remembered.

Time slowed down when I moved. It seemed to take forever to lean past Sam, my body moving like I was stuck in cement, and everyone staring at me. But it also happened in a blink.

My heartbeat thrummed in my bones, making my skin hum.

I recognized the old guy I’d seen in the picture with Sam, but he’d lost more weight since then.

He was in a wheelchair. His eyes were watery and kind of cloudy, his cheeks, jaw, and half his neck covered in coarse salt-and-pepper stubble. His scrubs looked like they were two sizestoo big. And his shoulders were narrow and hunched towards his ears.

They rolled him up to the other side of the table, then the guard leaned down to lock the wheels while me and my father stared at each other.

Every instinct screamed. Every muscle went granite hard.

My lungs didn’t want to expand, but I made them.

The thudding in my head was my thundering pulse,notblows. I reminded myself of that.

Sam’s hand rested on my back, his fingers splayed and stroking in tiny moves like he didn’t want other people to see, but he wanted me to remember he was there.

“Thank you for coming, Bridget,” my father said hoarsely as the guard finished locking his wheelchair. “I mean it. It’s really good to see you.”

Air huffed out of my nose. I folded my arms as I stepped past Sam. “I didn’t want to,” I said, then gritted my teeth because I sounded like I was ten years old and pouting.

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Dad croaked.

There was a long, awkward silence then. I wanted to turn around and walk out. I wanted to swear at him. I wanted to punch him, and throw him out of that chair, grab the few strands of hair he still had left and use them for grip to smack his head on the cement floor until he died.

But I couldn’t move.

“Gordon, this has been a lot for Bridget,” Sam said in a low voice. “I’m not going to talk after this—I’m here for her. But I think if you’ve got anything important to say, you should say it right away. I told Bridget we’d leave as soon as she wanted to. No hesitations.”

My father looked at Sam and I saw his expression flash, a tiny shadow of anger when Sam said we’d leave. My stomach clenched with nerves.

But then he nodded once and looked back at me. “I told you in the letter,” he said gruffly. “And I meant it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry you got hurt. What happened between me and your mom wasn’t good.”

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