Page 62 of Daughter of a Monster

He will pay. Even if I have to use her to do it. I’m stronger than my lust, stronger than the temptation of this girl. For that’s all she is. A girl. His daughter. The daughter of a monster. I need to remember that. I need to focus on the only thing that’s got me through the last few years. The thought of vengeance.

Switching off the screens, I make my way down to the basement, nodding at the guards as I pass. I walk down the passage, not looking in any of the windows until I reach his. The fact that she didn’t see him on the cameras is a miracle, but I doubt I will need to keep his presence a secret from her for much longer. After keying in the code, I push open the door.

He’s sitting in the corner of the room, huddled against the wall as though it will give him warmth. The temperature is low. He has no clothing. He trembles as he looks up and starts shaking his head before I even speak.

“I told you I know nothing about her! You’ve got the wrong man.” He presses himself further against the wall as if it will protect him. There’s nothing in the room. No bed, no chair, no furnishings. There’s a bucket in one corner. The only place to relieve himself.

“I’m telling you,” he begs as I approach. “You’ve got the wrong man. I’m innocent. I never touched the girl. I don’t even know who she is!”

There’s an image of Hope projected onto the wall. It plays continuously. A loop of Hope and Ette at the beach, Hope lifting the toddler into the air and twirling her around. Their laughter is pure and free. Happy. It was the last time Ette ever saw her.

I squat down in front of him. There is no longer a line of lawyers or guards to get through. It’s just him and me. Alone.

“They call you a monster. I don’t think that innocent is a word you can use.”

“Please,” he begs, rising to his knees. His cock is limp and pathetic, sitting flaccid, nestled between his balls. It hardly seems like a threat here now, but I know it’s all he’s used it for. He notices my line of vision and covers it. “You’re not going to hurt me, are you? I’ve told you everything I know.”

I look up to meet his eye. “You’re not doing yourself any favors by lying like that. I hate it when people lie.”

“But I’m not!” He shuffles toward me. “I swear I’m not. I have no idea who the girl is. I know she must be special to you, but I swear I have no idea who she is or where she is. You’ve got to believe me.”

I get to my feet, holding my hands behind my back and start pacing the small strip of floor. He’s been saying the same thing for days. But I know it’s all lies.

“You see, I’d love to believe you.” I glance over at him. “Honestly. But we have a witness and she’s been, shall we say, a ‘guest’ of yours before and she swears, and I mean swears, that you had Hope.”

“She’s lying.”

I just lift my brows and keep talking. “But that’s the thing. If she’s lying then lots of other people are too. Ones who were willing to talk even if it was going to get their old employer in trouble. It’s amazing what a jailed man will do to become free.” I laugh and shoot him a glance. “But I guess you wouldn’t know about that, would you?” I squat down before him again. “Tell me. Did you ever set anyone free?”

There’s a crack in his façade, the faintest glimmer of arrogance, or annoyance. “You will pay for this,” he growls.

I grin. “Ah, see? Now we’re getting somewhere, aren’t we?” I reach out to stroke his face, and he shies away from me. It’s so easy to scare him. He’s pathetic without anyone to hide behind. “Tell me more. Tell me how you will make me pay.”

He does nothing but narrows his eyes.

I nod. “Just as I thought. I knew you couldn’t be so stupid as to not realize that you are the one who’s being held captive now. It’s up to me what happens to you. Not the other way around.”

“I know who you are. When I get out of here, I will make you pay.”

“Hmm,” I hold a finger to my chin as I rise back to my feet. “In your line of work, if the person who kept you captive showed you their face, what would that usually mean for them?”

He pales. But he tries not to show his fear. He turns away, choosing to ignore me instead. Without him looking, I take the opportunity to lift my fist and slam it against his jaw. His head rocks back. A dribble of blood appears in the corner of his mouth.

But he merely grins through blood-stained teeth. “You’re never going to get me to talk. It takes a lot to break me. A lot more than merely losing hope.” He starts laughing then, bubbles of blood popping when they reach the corners of his mouth. “Losing hope,” he repeats.

“You don’t think I can make you talk?”

“Go ahead. Try.”

I promised myself I wouldn’t lose my temper, that I would remain calm and controlled, but there’s something about his smirk, the way he challenges me that causes me to snap.

I let my fists fall with reckless abandon, not caring where they hit, or how effective the blows are. He’s cowering on the ground, holding his hands over his head, but he’s still laughing. No matter how hard I hit him he laughs and laughs. I’m not sure if it’s his time in prison that makes him this deranged or if he’s always been like this.

How this man is Berkley’s father is beyond me. She is everything he is not. She’s kind and thoughtful, strong and beautiful. Seeing the way Ette has come out of her shell since she’s been around is nothing short of a miracle.

Ette.

It’s only the thought of her that makes me stop. I made her a promise and this man has the answer. I know it. He knows it. He just won’t admit it.

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