Page 18 of Cinderella and the Daddy
"It wasn't supposed to be you," he says, and I can hear him crying. Actually crying. "It was supposed to be Drew, but…” he takes a ragged breath, “Drew offered you instead.”
The phone nearly slips from my numb fingers.
Drew. Drew fucking offered me up like a sacrificial lamb to save his own worthless skin. At least he got a beating after trying to boss Luka around that day in the garage.
“Dad, please.”
I never call him Dad. Never. Maybe twice in the fifteen years he’s pretended to be my father.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so fucking sorry, Cindy. But if you could just talk to him, maybe convince him to give us more time?—"
"You wantmeto helpyou?" My voice cracks with disbelief. "After what you let happen to me? Have you even tried to get me back?"
I know the answer.
"Please. Anna's scared, and Drew... Luka broke his ribs, Cindy.”
Good. I hope they break every fucking bone in his body.
"Cindy, are you there?"
I'm about to respond when I feel eyes on me. That familiar prickle of awareness that means I'm being watched. I turn slowly, the phone still pressed to my ear, and find Luka standing in the doorway. His hazel gaze is colder than a Siberian winter. He doesn't look angry, exactly—anger would be easier to handle. This is something much more dangerous.
Disappointment.
Betrayal.
The look of a man who's just been stabbed in the back by someone he was starting to trust.
He moves toward me with that predatory grace, never breaking eye contact. Each step is measured and controlled. Like he's hunting.
"Are you working against me?" His voice is barely above a whisper, but it carries the weight of a death sentence.
I fumble with the phone, my fingers suddenly clumsy. "Charles, I have to go?—"
"Cindy, wait?—"
Luka snatches the phone, drops it to the floor, and slams his booted foot on it. Then again.
When he pulls his foot away, there are pieces everywhere.
“Why?” Luka’s voice is full of hate.
"You stole me!" The words explode out of me before I can stop them. "You fucking kidnapped me from my life! I don't owe you shit! What do you mean,why?"
I can smell his cologne and feel the heat radiating from his body. Every instinct screams at me to run, but there's nowhere to go.
I’m dead.
He’s going to kill me.
I take several steps back. I do have some self-preservation.
My escape is stopped when my back hits the wall.
His hands slam against the wall on either side of my head, caging me in. Not hitting, not hurting, just... holding me captive with the sheer force of his presence.
I gulp down my fear. My chin raises, and I stare him in the eyes.
