Page 90 of Love Sick

“I saw the attic,” I reveal, hoping to distract him. “Nice setup you have up there.”

“You just can’t mind your own business, can you?”

“Whose room was it? Yours?”

This house has been in Daddy’s family for generations. The horrors these walls have seen would be ghastly.

“Shut up,” he snarls, pressing the makeshift blade into Luna’s throat. A droplet of blood trickles down her neck.

“How about you fight like a man, Big Daddy, and stop hiding behind women? Alanna has bigger balls than you do. What’s your damage? Your momma didn’t tuck you in at night? Or maybe she tucked you in too tight,” I add, seeing as incest doesn’t seem to be a big deal in this family.

On the outside, Daddy looks like a respectable, law-abiding citizen with his well-cut suit and dazzling smile. But it’s men like him that are the most dangerous. Everyone suspects the bad guys to be monsters, but it’s the “good guys” who are far worse.

“You’re going to let us go and be thankful we’re not going to report your asses to the cops. I don’t care if they believe us or not. I’ll take my chances.” I’m talking up a big game because letting us go isn’t an option.

But I need to bide my time until I can take this fucker down.

Daddy ponders over my threat and sighs. “I suppose it would be easier if we came to some sort of an agreement, as this arrangement isn’t working.”

“No shit,” I counter.

Daddy takes his time while I look at Luna, hoping she can read my facial cues.

She can.

“Fine, you can go…but I want one thing in return.”

“What?”

There’s a pregnant pause before Daddy says, “This.”

In one swift motion, he cuts across Luna’s throat, her blood coating his fingers as she gasps for air.

And just like that, Daddy wins…

“No!” I scream, my world crumbling as he shoves her to the floor like she is nothing but garbage.

My heart breaks into a thousand irreparable pieces and although I don’t hear Misha anymore, I know that he speaks to me via his heart.

He always will.

I run to where Luna is, bleeding out on the floor.

Dropping to my knees, I place my hands over her throat to stop the bleeding. “It’s going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.”

She coughs, spittle and blood trickling down her chin. Tears are in her wide eyes because she’s dying, and she knows it.

She didn’t get a chance to live.

She doesn’t deserve this fate.

Her eyes suddenly roll back into her head, and I lift her limp body into my arms. “Stay with me!” I cry, putting pressure over the deep wound.

I feel muscle and flesh beneath my fingers.

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. Her floppy hand finds the strength to attempt to pry my fingers away from her throat. She is asking I let her go, let her go to a place where there will be no more pain.

“No!” I scream. “I’m not about to let you die. Fucking no!”

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