Page 12 of Daughter of a Monster

I’m not that kid anymore, but I still feel like it.

My apartment is small but lavish. There’s little more than a bed, a sofa, a kitchenette and a bathroom. One wall is made of glass, looking out over the lights of the city, a small balcony just beyond the sliding door. It’s not meant for company or comfort. It’s merely a place to stay when I’m required to be in the city.

Rolling over so I can reach the bottle of whiskey on the bedside cabinet, I drain the contents. I never like to drink in public. I’m too afraid of losing control, letting something slip that I shouldn’t. I’m too afraid of becoming my father. Instead, I wait until I’m alone and then I drink until my thoughts are muddled, I can barely walk, and I fall into a fitful sleep.

The whiskey warms me as I pull myself off the bed and walk over to the safe. It beeps and opens once I enter the code. There’s not a lot inside. Some money. A copy of the file. Most stuff I keep back at the Sanctuary.

Flopping myself back onto the bed, I open the file. It has her name, her true name stamped on the front. Berkley is her mother’s maiden name. But her true name, her legal name—the one she was identified by in the papers—is that of her father’s. I don’t blame her for changing it. It can’t be easy being known as the daughter of a monster.

The hand-written scrawl of her therapist is hard to read. It details how she was raised as a spoilt brat used to fluttering her eyelashes and getting everything she wanted. Even though her monster of a father never claimed her as his own until it was forced upon him, he lavished everything upon her as a father would. She went to the best schools, had the prettiest dresses, owned the latest technology. And then, when her life fell apart, she became bitter and angry, withdrawing from everyone and everything.

It explains the visions she has. Or ‘flashes’ as the notes states she calls them. They’re dirty and depraved. Something she feels guilt for. It appears her therapist took great joy in detailing them. Perverted fuck. It was easy enough to get the notes from him, didn’t cost a lot, so I guess it’s no surprise his morals are a little screwed. Then again, I can’t say much.

Berkley was the one who ran away from the clutches of her mother. She chose to be alone and exposed, so one simple word in another dancer’s ear was enough to make her want to abandon her life for a place within my home.

She will sign her own prison sentence. Not that she knows it. And not that she’ll know it until all the other pieces of the puzzle are in place. It’s a waiting game at this stage. But I’m good at waiting.

I toss the empty whiskey bottle to the floor. It’s finished.

Usually when I drink, I don’t dream. But this time I do. And they are filled with visions of her. Of Berkley. My broken doll.

She’s dancing alone in a room with no one but me watching. She’s illuminated by a single spotlight. I watch, hungry as her body spins and turns. She’s dancing for me. No one else. Just me.

She’s damaged and torn, scarred too many times for one so young. But that’s what makes her so beautiful. Her broken parts match mine.

In my sleep, my cock hardens, thinking of all the things I want to do to her, arousing those parts within me I thought long dead. But she isn’t for my pleasure and I shouldn’t be dreaming the thoughts I am.

No. I should be dreaming of ways to exact my revenge. I sought her out for a reason. Ensured she’d accept my proposal.

And it isn’t so I could fuck her.

No matter how badly I want to.

There is only one reason I want Berkley.

Vengeance.

chapter five

BERKLEY

Staring at the miserable selection of clothing hanging on the tiny rack in the middle of my living room, I sigh deeply. I’ve got two days before I leave, and I haven’t even started packing. Not that it will take me long. I don’t own a lot. Pretty much nothing but leotards, tutus, leggings, oversized sweaters and comfy pants. For some reason it makes me feel alone. Grabbing my phone, I flick a text through to Dominic and he arrives moments later.

I’m not sure why he’s taken an interest in me while everyone else seems happy to ignore me. I used to think it was just because he was kind and sweet. But after listening to him talk about some of the other dancers, Monique in particular, there doesn’t seem anything particularly kind or sweet about him. Maybe he just enjoys my company, although I don’t know why. Especially now that he knows. Maybe it’s because there’s something different about him too. Something that tells me he’s no stranger to sadness.

He frowns when he walks in. “I forgot how depressing this place is.”

I shrug. “It’s cheap.”

Dominic merely rolls his eyes then flops down on the sofa. “It would need to be. No wonder you want that job so badly.” He looks up at me cautiously. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen anything other than confidence in his eyes.

I sit down beside him, pulling my knees to my chest. “I can’t stay here. Not now that everyone knows.”

Leaning back, he places his hands behind his head. “It will blow over. Everyone will forget about it and you’ll just be Berkley again. Adequate dancer.” He smirks.

“It won’t. They never forget.”

I speak from experience. People have a sick fascination with the details of my father’s life, the details of his crimes, but I never knew him as that person. I never knew he was my father until everything came out. And by that stage, it was too late. He was a monster. Andonce people find out who I am, that’s all they ever see. His daughter. I stop being myself and just become a scandal.The small town I lived in with my mother never forgot. They never let us forget. For some reason it didn’t affect her like it did me. She almost flourished in the attention whereas I withered.

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