Page 43 of Daddy's Dirty Little Secret

“No,” I said, voice thin. I didn’t recognize it.

“Pity.”

The two men behind him were taller, broader, dressed in muted, shapeless clothes. One wore gloves. The other had a thick scar under his chin that caught the light. They didn’t look at me directly. They didn’t need to. Their presence was enough.

“You need to leave,” I said, but it came out shaky. “You can’t be here.”

The man in front took one step in, then another, his shoes soft on the floor.

“We wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t made it necessary,” he said simply.

I backed up two steps, my foot catching the edge of the rug. “I said get out.”

He didn’t even blink. He nodded slightly toward the others. “Hold her.”

One of them moved too fast. His hand grabbed my wrist hard and pulled. I screamed and yanked away, stumbling into the side of the couch, but the second one was already there. He caught my shoulders and shoved me down onto the cushions before I could brace myself. My elbow hit the armrest too hard. Pain flared up my arm.

“Get off me!” I shouted, kicking, twisting, trying to push them away. “Let go—let go of me!”

The man in the blazer crouched to eye level in front of me, his voice calm like we were discussing the weather. “We just need a little message from you,” he said. “Something your father can watch when he gets home.”

“No!” I was crying now, sobbing so hard my shoulders shook. One second I was yelling, the next my face was soaked, my chest heaving like I’d run a marathon in the middle of a blizzard.“Please, don’t do this—please. He doesn’t have anything. I saw the emails. I know. I know how bad it is, but this isn’t the way?—”

He didn’t react. He just lifted his phone and tapped the screen. “Camera’s on,” he said. “Let’s make it count.”

One of the men tightened his grip on my arm while the other leaned in closer. My whole body was shaking. My mouth opened, but nothing came out at first except a strangled breath.

“You can’t do this,” I gasped. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You want to stay calm,” the man holding me said quietly. “You really do.”

“I—I can’t—” My throat closed. I could barely see through the tears. Everything was blurred—his face, the light, even the phone. It didn’t matter. I knew what I was supposed to say.

I looked at the camera, trying not to sob, trying to keep my voice from breaking completely. “Tell Daddy Dearest who has you, sweetheart.” His voice was angry and menacing, not at all matching his words. “Tell him what we’ll do if he doesn’t pay what he owes me.” My blood ran cold, goose bumps rising on my arms. This was Victor Hayes?

“Dad,” I stuttered, the word barely audible. “They’re h-here…They’ve t-taken me.”

I sucked in a breath that felt more like sludge than air. My hands were trembling so badly it felt like my whole body was about to come apart. “Please, Daddy,” I continued, every word harder than the last, “they’ll hurt me. Please—just…please fix this.”

He turned his phone away, stopped the recording. I dropped my head forward and cried into my hands, too weak to move, too sick to think. Then the vomit came, bursting up through my mouth onto his shoes and Dad’s carpet. I couldn’t stop it, no matter how much I wanted to. My body lurched and shook, and when it was over, I coughed, choked, and spat the nasty taste out of my mouth.

They didn’t say anything after that. The two men yanked me up again, one gripping my arm, the other walking behind me. I stumbled trying to keep up with their pace, my feet barely catching the floor. The hallway blurred past me, the kitchen light flickering slightly as we passed.

I saw my reflection in the microwave door as we passed it. My cheeks were red, streaked with tears, hair clinging to my face. I didn’t recognize myself.

I didn’t fight them as they opened the back door again. I couldn’t. My legs barely worked.

But somewhere, underneath the fear and the shaking and the mess I’d become in the last five minutes, I was thinking. I was watching. I was memorizing the way the car looked at the end of the driveway. The license plate. The patch on the taller guy’s jacket. The sound of the engine when the door opened.

The car door slammed shut behind me, and before I could even shift my weight, one of them tied my wrists tighter and pulled a gag across my mouth. The seat was cold and stiff under me. My body twisted on instinct, trying to get away, but there was nowhere to go. I couldn’t breathe right. I could barely think.

The man in the front passenger seat tapped something on his phone. The driver stared straight ahead. Neither of them looked back at me. It was like I wasn’t even a person, just cargo.

I pressed my forehead to the back of the seat, shaking, wishing I had never opened Dad’s office door. I should’ve walked away. Pretended I didn’t see the emails. If I had just left it alone, maybe this wouldn’t be happening.

Or I could have asked Xander. He wouldn’t have liked it, but he would’ve done it. He had the money, the influence. He could’ve ended this with one phone call. It wouldn’t have meant anything to him. Just a favor, a transaction. We didn’t have a relationship. Not a real one. I told myself that over and over, butit didn’t stop me from picturing his face. I wanted to believe he’d care. That if he knew, he’d come for me.

But he didn’t know. No one did.

I thought of Dad. What he’d do when he saw the video. Would he panic? Would he finally tell someone the truth?

And then the worst thought landed in the center of my chest.

What if I never saw either of them again?

My hand curled against my stomach. I was going to die. Alone, in the back of a stranger’s car. And my baby would never take a first breath.

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