Page 42 of Daughter of a Monster

“I never said anything of the sort,” he replies, his voice drifting through the darkness. “I just needed to remind myself what sort of a woman you are.”

The door creaks open. Sunlight fills the small space, blinding me for an instant. I can only just make out his silhouette as he stands framed by the sky.

I grip the wire. “Please,” I beg. “Please don’t leave me in the darkness. Please! I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t like the dark.”

He climbs through the tilted door and then closes it, plunging me back into night. I sink to the ground, not even bothering to cover my face as the tears fall freely.

Without his visits, I lose count of the days. There’s no way to track them. No light. No way to tell the time. Day and night blend together in an endless trail of darkness. I eat when I’m hungry. I sleep when I’m tired.

Sometimes I try to do some exercises, sit-ups, and pushups, running on the spot, anything to keep my mind occupied.

I count the rungs of springs under the mattress. They’re rectangular-shaped. Six short springs connecting to run sideways and five long springs connecting to run lengthways.

I count the holes in each of the shelves. They’re sporadic, as though someone has made them by hand.

I trace the scars that run along my arms and try to convince myself that I’m better off now than I was then. But it’s hard to convince myself that anything could be worse than this constant darkness. All memories fade in comparison to the present. They always do. It’s the only way I’ve been able to survive. By forgetting the past.

At some stage I run out of food. I can easily refill the water bottles from the faucet over the sink, but it doesn’t take long for my stomach to start grumbling. I thought I was sick of cereal, but now I dream of it.

I’m not sure how much time passes before I hear the groan of the door open again. And this time, instead of cringing in fear, I cry with relief.

chapter fourteen

BERKLEY

I stand in front of the mirror and frown at my reflection. I’m due to go down for dinner in minutes and yet this is the best I can come up with. Admittedly, I didn’t have a lot to work with.

My hair is loose and free. I wear minimal makeup, just enough to emphasize my eyes and add some gloss to my lips, but it’s more than my usual ‘fresh-face’ look. Turning up in a dress when all I’ve worn are sweaters and leggings for the past few weeks would be too obvious, so I’ve opted just to remove my singlet from under the sweater, allowing as much flesh to be exposed when it slips down my shoulder as well as a flash of my midriff. Not scandalous or glamorous by any means but teasing enough. If he notices. Gingerly, I touch the scar on my shoulder, wincing when a shock of pain shoots through me. It’s not physical pain. More like the memory of it.

Assuming Jericho Priest has been hired by my father, there is no chance he will lay a finger on me, let alone his mouth or any other body parts like I want him to. My father would have made sure of it. He was fiercely protective of me growing up, and that was before he’d publicly claimed me as his daughter.

So I intend on testing the theory.

Jericho has been gone for days. I don’t know where he went. No one speaks of his absences and he hasn’t been at dinner for five nights now. I overheard Miss Jones muttering about his return tonight, hence the reason I’m trying to look my most seductive. It’s not easy. I’m used to hiding from attention, not drawing it. Besides, I doubt he’ll even notice the subtle changes I’ve made.

I’ve never attempted to seduce anyone before. I’ve never needed to. My first boyfriend was a kid from school who pestered me until I agreed to be his girlfriend. We were twelve. We shared one chaste kiss and that was it. Basically, we hung out until we didn’t. I’m not sure what happened. I’m not sure if we ever broke up. We just stopped hanging out together.

My first real relationship, the one where I actually felt things, was when I was at boarding school. I was fifteen. He was three years older and ordered to ‘keep an eye on me’ by my father. Not that I knew that at the time. Michael Gorman was my first. First love. First kiss. First everything. He had a mischievous smile and blue eyes that twinkled. We dated until my life imploded and I haven’t seen him since. I guess technically we never broke up either.

Since then, there has only been the odd drunken one-night stand. Two in fact. The rest of the time I spent pushing men away. It’s hard to trust my instincts after what my father did. So I guess it’s almost fitting that the man I am now attracted to in ways I never thought possible could be working for my father. Could even be as bad as my him.

My plan is simple. Get Jericho talking about himself. I learned quickly that it was one of my father’s most enjoyable habits, so I assume most powerful men would be the same.

But I am wrong.

Both Gideon and Jericho are already seated at the table when I appear. Gideon looks up. His eyes widen just a fraction, then instantly zero in on my shoulder and the exposed swell of my breast. One corner of his mouth twitches, forming a twisted smile.

Jericho, on the other hand, looks up briefly, nods in greeting and then turns his attention to the food Mrs Bellamy places in front of him.

He looks divine tonight. Not that he doesn’t every other time I see him. But tonight he’s dressed in jeans and a shirt that brings out the flecks of blue in his eyes. Somehow he’s even more attractive now that I know what’s beneath the shirt. His jaw is coated in stubble again, covering the dimple on his chin. There are faint lines between his brows, as though he’s concerned about something.

“As usual, Mrs Bellamy, you’ve outdone yourself,” Jericho says.

“Me?” She laughs. “You know I only carry it out here. It’s Alma that deserves any praise.”

Gideon leans over the table, resting his head on his hand. His curls flop into his eyes. “I must say, Not-Miss-Berkley, you’re looking particularly ravishing tonight.”

Ette frowns. “She looks the same as always.”

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