Page 112 of Free to Judge
“Having me kidnapped and beaten doesn’t exactly scream ‘Grandpa’s looking for some long-lost cuddles.’”Then again, this isn’t your everyday family reunion.
“Blame that bastard who sired you. He tried to erase my very existence.” He shuffles closer, letting the shadows fall behind him. “I’m your grandfather, Jack Marshall.”
I hope my acting skills are up to par. It might buy me some time as I pray someone realizes I was taken. I flinch back as far as I can against the chair I’m bound to. “You’re supposedly dead. My father said so years ago.”
“I disappeared,” he corrects, voice sharp. “Walked away from a worthless family. Found one that knows the value of loyalty.”
I snarl, “You mean you abandoned your daughter to monsters. You let your son live with that agony.”
He tilts his head, eyes glittering down at me. “Yet here you are. His child. He survived.”
I jerk up my chin. “He did. Better without you in our lives.”
My already bruised face receives brutal treatment from his punishing fingers as he slaps me across the cheek. “Watch your tone. You’re worth more to me alive than dead—for now.”
I don’t say another word. He takes my silence as acceptance of his edict. Then a raw cackle escapes his withered throat. “Look at ye, lass. I just made you your father’s biggest failure instead of his star.”
My heart aches knowing he’s probably right. Still, I don’t speak. Jack boasts, “For me, you’re a prize I’ll always cherish. I should take a picture and send it to him, showing his perfect princess atmy mercy. Brought straight to me by real men—not that pansy I beget. No, instead, you’re mine by men I trained myself.”
My breath catches. “This is insane.”
“I watched you grow up, you know. From a distance.” Jack kicks the back of the chair across from me, forcing one of my kidnappers to scramble to his feet. He lowers himself down across from me like we’re two people settling in for a long chat. “Didn’t dare get close. Suspect that mother of yours would’ve set me on fire with her bare hands. Wonder if she hates me more than she loves your father.”
“Perhaps because her sister was sold to human traffickers? Ring a bell?”
His smile disappears. “They told you about that?”
It’s with quiet pride I inform him, “My parents don’t hide our family legacy. They told us everything about who we were and why we should be proud of who we became as a family.” Never before had I ever felt such pride in being Katherine Laura Marshall than I did in this moment when I stared into the face of the man who set off the explosion that tried to destroy my family legacy.
He failed then. I just prayed he’d fail tonight as well.
He’s quiet for a long moment. “I did what I needed to do to prove my loyalty to the Byrnes.”
“And Uncle Caleb’s mother,” I taunt, reminding him of the story of the affair between him and my Uncle Caleb’s mother—another winner in our family tree.
He dismisses Mildred Lockwood with a flick of his hand. “She was an easy lay who had the right connections. I used her to gain an introduction to the Byrnes.”
“That isn’t how she remembers it,” recalling what my father told me about the years of pain he endured when Aunt Cassidy went missing.
“It’s the truth.” His eyes take on a distant focus before sharpening back on me. “You know, there was a reason I had you brought here.”
“It wasn’t because you thought I needed some facial work done? I’m touched.”
His eyes scour my face. “My boys get a bit too enthusiastic with their work. I told them to leave you intact, if that helps.”
“Am I supposed to be grateful?”
He lurches forward, causing me to rear back. “You could have had the same treatment as your aunt.”
Thinking of the way Aunt Cassidy was brutalized as a young girl, I find myself eternally grateful, though I’ll never admit it aloud. He doesn’t seem to care much as he continues on in his half dreamlike, wholly unbalanced state. “Did ye know there was once a time when the Marshalls ruled half the docks in New York?”
“No.”
“That kind of legacy doesn’t last on sentiment. I wanted to restore us to that glory. The Byrnes needed proof that I'd do anything.”
“And their price…” I can’t bring myself to say the sentence.
“Was Riley.” He shrugs his shoulders as if selling his daughter off was a simple business transaction.
