Page 101 of Wicked Spite
Two shots ring out in perfect harmony, echoing like music in the hangar. The guards drop like stones, their heads blooming crimson as they fall. John stands there, shock painting his face as blood splatters across his pristine suit.
“Whoops,” I say, barely hiding my grin. “Looks like your boys couldn’t handle the heat.”
Reagan twitches and then sits up.
“Hi daddy, wrong daughter or maybe the right one,” Reagan says, pulling the bag off her head with a flourish.
John’s eyes widen, his confidence faltering for just a split second before he masks it with a sneer. The blood on his suit looks almost decorative, like some twisted avant-garde fashion statement.
“Reagan.” He breathes out, and there’s something raw in his tone. Such fucking anger toward my wife.
“Surprised?” I ask, my voice dripping with sarcasm as I twirl my gun. “You shouldn’t be. You’re not exactly father of the year material. Reese is about six inches shorter, so really it’s quite easy to tell them apart.”
“Miss me, daddy?” she taunts, her smile all edge and venom. She steps forward, her movements liquid and lethal, like a panther stalking its prey. “Or did you forget all about your little girl?”
“Enough games!” John roars, but there’s a tremor in his voice now. “What do you want?”
“Answers,” Reagan says simply, her eyes narrowing. “And maybe a little revenge. You know, family bonding time.”
“Don’t think you’re walking out of here alive,” John spits, his bravado trying to claw its way back. “You have no idea what you’ve stepped into.”
“Funny,” I say, leaning casually against a rusted metal beam. “I was about to say the same thing to you.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Reagan says, her voice steely. “I’ve got better things to do than babysit an old man with delusions of grandeur.”
“You’re still the same insolent brat,” John growls, his eyes flicking between us like a cornered animal.
“Now, let’s clear the air, shall we?” I say, a slow, dangerous smile spreading across my face.
Chapter 38
Reagan
The cold, damp air in the abandoned warehouse sends a shiver up my spine as Penn and I stand before my father. His calculating gaze is locked on me, but I refuse to let him see any fear. Penn’s grip on my hand tightens, lending me his strength.
“You’re such a weak little bitch,” my husband drawls, his charismatic tone masking the absolute tenebrosity that lurks beneath his public mask. “It’s time for some payback, don’t you think? For all the shitty things you’ve done?”
In one swift motion, Penn releases my hand and grabs my father forcefully by the collar, dragging him forward. My heart races with anticipation. This is the moment we’ve been waiting for; our chance to exact revenge for the torture he inflicted upon me and my sister our whole lives. The screaming, raging, threats and violence will all be over soon.
“Hellfire,” Penn says, his voice low and commanding, “hold him steady.”
I step forward, gripping my father’s arms tightly. A perverse sense of satisfaction courses through me as I finallyexert control over the man who has caused me so much pain. As I look into his cold eyes, I can’t help but think that he deserves this, and even more. Nothing we do to him can take away the pain he inflicted on me and the pieces of me he shattered and left in piles of jagged edges.
“Who knew the great St. Pierre could be so easily overpowered?” Penn taunts, a sly grin spreading across his face. “But don’t worry, we’re just getting started.”
Penn quickly retrieves a length of rope from his bag and begins to tie my father to an old chair that must have been left behind from whatever business used to be in this hangar. The knots are elaborate and secure, leaving no room for escape. I watch, fascinated and repulsed in equal measure, as Penn’s efficient movements render my father completely helpless. I’ve dreamed of this day for so long that it doesn’t feel real yet. It feels like I might wake up to some horrible nightmare where none of this with Penn was real. I’ll still be under my father’s thumb, and he’ll be tormenting me and trying to force me to do things with men that make me want to vomit. I look up at Penn and my whole body goes liquid. I love him so much, and I realize I don’t need to have those fears. He’ll never let those hellish things happen to me again.
All I have to do is open my mouth and spill their names, their professions. Where they work and how they are connected. Any little piece of information I have, and my husband will hunt them all down…for me.
“Nice knots,” I remark, my tone playful yet tinged with respect. “You have experience with tying people up?”
“In the words of Bryan Mills, ‘I have a very particular set of skills’,” Penn replies, winking at me playfully as he finishes the last knot. “Now it’s time for the main event.”
As I look at my father, bound and vulnerable before us, awhirlwind of emotions takes hold. I’m thrilled to see the man who has tormented me for so long brought down to a helpless size. He always wanted to appear like the biggest man in the room, but he’s weak. Like all men are, who feel the need to exert control of people like he does.
“Baby,” Penn says, his voice softening as he senses I’m lost in my head. “Are you ready for this?”
Meeting his gaze, I take a deep breath. “Let’s do this.”
