Page 175 of Endgame
The need to drag information out of her is no more. Anger forces its way through, and I clench my fist, placing it on the bar. A demonstration of power.
“I meantyou,” she continues, undisturbed.
That gives me pause. Then I ask, “What about me?”
“You know…” Her eyebrows rise meaningfully. Her smile never leaves her lips. “Being passed around from one Daddy to another.”
“Daddy?” My forehead creases.
Suggesting that Winston was a father to me is an insult to daddies everywhere.
“Yeah, someone to look after you.” She’s being rude as fuck, gesturing at me. Blabbering loudly. “While you can kick back and do basically nothing.”
Listening to her, trying to get the information she won’t give me—I have to focus on that.
Kind of hard when I’m fighting the urge to strangle her for mocking me.
When I lived at the Clarkes, I didn’tkick back. I was a prisoner.
And Everett? She said she wasn’t into him, but the more I think about it, the more I realize that calling someone Daddy is sexy. Really sexy.
She doesn’t get to talk about him like that.
“Stop fantasizing about my husband,” I snarl, a little too loudly.
“Not into him.” While she talks, a man huffs behind me, closing in on us. “I was just saying that I see how a Daddy kink works for someone like you.”
“I never…” I lean forward, putting my face in hers. I won’t let anyone suggest that Winston was ever a father to me. That abuser. Fuck no. “…had a Daddy.”
Her jaw drops at my tone.
Then she doesn’t get to say a word. She gasps at the same time a familiar hand wraps around my arm.
My adoptive dad yanks at my arm hard. Hard enough to have me flying in the air and toward him.
“Aurora Coraline,” he growls, face purple, nostrils flaring. “Are you ever going to stop being an embarrassment? Goddammit, you’re just like her. Just like your mother.”
My mother?
He can’t be talking about Molly. She’s the perfect society lady. Always has been, always will be. Winston said so himself, numerous times.
Just like her. Just like your mother.
He hissed it in his fit of violent anger. It was a slip-up.
He knows who my biological mother is.
He’s known her since before she became my mother.
The girl in the picture.
Has to be her.
Who. Was. She?
A lump forms in my throat. I’m past words. Past prying Winston’s hand off me.
I’m desperately trying to process what the hell is going on, simply staring at him.
