Page 73 of Daughter of a Monster

Why do I have the flashes of depravity?

Is there something inside me, something as bad as the man I despise?

Mrs Bellamy sighs. “He’s not proud of what he’s doing,” she says.

“Then why is he doing it?” I know the answer. I would do the same, but it still doesn’t stop the words coming from my mouth.

“He’s doing it for Hope. It’s always for Hope.”

“And in the process, it doesn’t matter what he does to people? That somehow my father’s evil outweighs the evil he’s doing himself?”

Mrs Bellamy shakes her head. “He’s been searching for her a long time, and I know it doesn’t seem like it to you, but he’s done a lot of good in the process.”

I snort. “Sure.”

“He has.” She insists. “He helped Alma. Saved her from a life of abuse.”

I roll my eyes. “I suppose you’re going to tell me he saved her from a life of captivity. Rich, considering where I am right now.”

“No, no. Not captivity, per se. The cage wasn’t physical but the bars were still there. The man she was with didn’t lock her away, but that doesn’t mean she was treated right. When Alma first came she couldn’t even look anyone in the eye. She sat in her room for weeks on end, doing nothing but staring at the floor. She has a family she could return to, but she wasn’t ready to face them, still isn’t, so Jericho gave her a home, a job, a purpose. He didn’t need to do that. Especially considering the mon—” She shakes her head, dismissing whatever it was she was about to say. “Jericho provides for her. He rescued her.”

“And how did he do that, exactly? Did he stage some daring plan? Go in with guns blazing?” The words that come out of my mouth are filled with such venom they surprise me.

I’m so conflicted. My thoughts are jumbled. My reactions unpredictable and swinging violently.

“He bought her. Sort of. He won Alma in a card game.” She says the words so quietly I have to lean forward to hear them. And when I do, I laugh.

“So he owns her. I suppose she’s working off her debt, is she? You’re not making a great case for his goodness.”

“He provided her with a safe place to stay, a family. A strange family, admittedly, but a family, nonetheless. He hasn’t asked for a thing in return. She does not owe the debt of her price. Not to him. Not to anyone.”

chapter twenty-five

JERICHO

I’ve ruined everything. At the beginning I thought it was Berkley’s fault. She was a distraction. But I cannot blame her for being too tempting. It’s my weakness that is sin. I am too weak to resist her. She made me show my hand early. But I was given no choice. And now everything is ruined.

My plan was to use her, hurt her in order to make her father talk, but now that I’ve succumbed to her, I know I could never harm her. It was stupid of me to ever think I could. Her father will see through my threats. Her fear won’t be real. But I can’t resist her. I am not a monster.

I need to think. Too much is happening beyond my control. Stalking down to the basement, I throw open the door to his cell. It stinks. The bucket has been used, but he’s tipped it over so the contents are spread across the floor. Disgusting pig.

I lean against the wall and cross my arms, allowing a smirk to cover my face. “She tastes like vanilla,” I say.

He lunges at me, but I stay still, knowing the chain around his foot will catch him before he can reach me. And sure enough it does. He’s jerked to a stop, his eyes holding fury. I laugh.

“You do anything to hurt her and I swear I’ll never tell you where your precious Hope is,” he hisses.

“But I thought you didn’t know?”

I pace the floor. The blood inside my vein tingles, almost as though it’s itching for escape. It wants to be spilled and it wants to spill. It wants to feel the crush of his bones beneath my knuckles.

He’s on his knees again now, staring up at me defiantly. I’ve seen that look before. I’ve seen it on Berkley. I shake my head, trying to dislodge the thought. She is nothing like him. But the image sticks.

I lash out, punching him in the face. His head ricochets and when he faces me again, there’s blood on his lip. He licks it away, and then stares, challenging me.

“I called her Iris because she was my little petal.” He knows what his words do to me but he keeps going, encouraging my rage. “She kept trying to harm herself. Even when she didn’t have anything to do it with, she’d drag her nails down her arms, drawing blood.” He runs his own fingers over his skin as though to demonstrate but he doesn’t have the guts to draw blood. “She gave herself scars. She never accepted her place in life. Shame, really.” He gives me a twisted smile.

My own fingernails dig into my fisted palms. I try to resist the urge to hurt him but it overpowers me and I grab him by the throat, forcing him to the ground and leaning over him.

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