Page 37 of The Rivals' Touch

“Yes.”

His chuckle is bitter, drawn out, filled with disgust.

I jump when he grabs the paperweight off his desk and throws it across the room.

“YOU’RE FUCKING SORRY?!”

I whimper, shrinking back. Fear is a living, breathing entity inside me as I repeat, “I’m sorry.”

It seems to be the only thing Icansay.

Striding over, he smacks my cheek. “Sorrywon’t make my day any fucking better, you stupid girl!” Then he backhands me and throws me down on the floor. “Sorryisn’t going to solve my fucking problems!”

I cry out as he kicks me in the stomach.

“Sorrywon’t cut it!” His shoe connects with my side.

Pain sears through me. Gasping, I double over on the floor.

“Please, Daddy!” I whimper and attempt to crawl away, but he kicks me again.

“Stupid girl!”

I draw my legs up in the fetal position. The next kick connects with my back, causing me to lose my breath. As I lay choking on the floor, he walks over to his desk chair and removes his suit jacket. Then he makes his way back to me and pulls me up by my hair, growling, “Still feeling sorry?”

Blood trickles from a cut on my lip. He’s never made his abuse visible to the outside world before. I have to pray my foundation is full coverage in the morning.

“Get up!” He rises to his feet and waits for me to stagger to mine.

I clutch my burning midriff and straighten up. The blinding pain makes me dizzy. He hits me again, and I fall back on the loveseat behind me. Nothing will satisfy him until he gets his rage out of his system.

He shakes out his hand, then walks over to the desk and sits on the chair. With his elbow on the armrest, he rubs his lips in thought. “How did I get a fucking whore for a daughter?”

My body screams in pain as I struggle to sit up. I don’t answer him. Whatever I say now will work against me. Silence is my best weapon of defense.

“Redo your hair. It’s a fucking mess!”

I reach up with trembling, bloodied hands and pull on my hair tie. My long hair falls around my shoulders in soft waves, and my fingers snag in the strands when I comb it back.

He watches me grimace in pain as I tie it back up. My ribs burn and throb, and I worry he might have cracked one.

“You’re a disgrace,” he comments, leaning back in his desk chair, fingers steepled on his stomach.

“I’m sorry, Daddy!” My swollen lip pulsates in pain, but it’s minor compared to the rest of my body. He seems to be calming down.

He flicks his dark gaze to the hole in the wall from where he threw the paperweight. Plasterboard lies scattered on the floor. “Get undressed.”

Tears well in my eyes, but I know better than to argue, so I remove my cheer top and sports bra.

He sniffs, his cruel eyes on my naked tits. His hands move to his belt, and he undoes the clasp and slowly pulls his zipper down. “Wipe the blood off your chin and come here. Show me how sorry you are!”

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