Page 64 of Daughter of a Monster

My heart thuds wildly. I still don’t know the layout of the Sanctuary well, but I know the general direction he’s dragging me. The basement. I tug hard, pulling against him. “Please, I’ll stay in the room. I’ll be quiet. I won’t cause any more trouble,” I beg and plead, not wanting to be locked down there with all the other women he uses.

“Quiet!” he growls.

He keys a code into a keypad next to a locked metal door and then swings it open. A man is lying on the concrete floor, blood splattered around him. There’s an image projected onto one of the walls. A picture of a woman holding a toddler high in the air, sand dunes behind them. The edges of them are blurred, like they’d been caught mid-motion. The man looks up, his eyes filled with disdain until they come to rest on me.

“Dad?” I don’t know why that word falls out of my mouth. I’ve never called him that before. He doesn’t deserve a name now, and certainly not that one. The only thing he should be called is a monster.

“Everly?”

Even though he’s my father, even though he’s covered in cuts and bruises which match the bloodied patches on Jericho’s knuckles, when he moves toward me, hand outstretched, it’s Jericho I shelter behind.

But Jericho doesn’t allow me to stay behind him for long. He grabs me, shoving my back to his chest, his hand around my throat threateningly.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” my father growls.

Jericho laughs. He runs his hand up my side and grips my breast painfully. I close my eyes against the sensation as he massages it. His touch sends coils of lust through me followed by waves of shame. This isn’t how I should want it. This isn’t how I should want him. I shouldn’t want him at all. His erection pushes against my bound hands. He’s hard as steel, enjoying the torment he’s giving to us both.

“What are you going to do, huh?” Jericho sneers. One hand still massages my breast while the other, wrapped around my throat, jerks my head to the side so he can run his tongue over my cheek.

I shudder, unable to pull away. Unable to stop any of it. My father’s eyes go wild. Getting to his feet, he lunges at us, and it is only then I notice the chain around his left foot. It stops him from reaching us and Jericho laughs as he jerks at the end of his tether, unable to go any further.

“Is this how you liked them?” Jericho’s hand slides between my thighs. A tear falls and lands on his hand. He shakes it off before grabbing me harder. “Is this what you did to her as she begged you to stop?”

The demeanor of the monster changes. “It’s not going to work,” he says. He looks me up and down as though I am nothing, no one. “You’re not going to get me to talk about her or tell you where she is.”

Jericho tightens his grip around my throat.

The monster keeps talking. “Sure, she’s a pretty girl, my Everly. Would have fetched a nice price one day, but I don’t have feelings for the kid.” It’s plain that he’s lying. I know it and Jericho knows it. He’s a terrible actor.

“Well, you don’t have to have feelings.” Jericho spits the word out as though it’s poison. “Because I do.”

His fingers lift to my jaw then and he spins me around, crashing his mouth against mine. A moan escapes against my will.

What is wrong with me?

I shouldn’t like this.

My body shouldn’t respond to this.

But it does.

My nipples harden, pushed against his firm chest. His mouth is cold and demanding at the same time as being warm and pleading. Even though the kiss is aggressive, even though it’s for the benefit of the monster watching, the fact that I’m at his mercy does something inside that has my legs twisting together.

My mouth responds to his, deepening the entanglement. I want to push my hands through his hair. I want to drown in him.

“Stop!” the monster roars.

His toughened façade didn’t last long.

Jericho pulls away from me slowly. His eyes scan mine but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. It’s strange that I’m not scared of him in this moment. Dropping his grip on my chin, Jericho walks away, leaving me bound with my hands behind my back, resting against the cold wall.

“Start speaking,” he orders.

“I didn’t know her as Hope,” my father says. His voice is strange. Not exactly contrite. Not exactly defiant. Almost a mixture of both. “I called her Iris.” He stops talking, his eyes moving to mine pleadingly, so Jericho kicks him. “She lived with me for years but I sold her and I don’t know where she is.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jericho’s voice rumbles.

“Why would I lie? You’ve got my daughter. I don’t want any harm to come to her. I’m telling you the truth.”

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