Page 66 of Daughter of a Monster

“Do you trust me?” His face is close to mine. His breath washes over me. He’s upside down, my head hanging over the edge of the bed.

Footsteps pass as nothing more than darkened shadows.

It’s a blindfold, the thing he’s holding in his hands. He stretches it wide before holding it over my eyes, turning my world black.

What sort of a sick person am I? Did the women held captive by my father go through the same thing? Were they ever attracted to him? Did they feel shame in their forced lust? Did they wait for the slide of the lock with fear and loathing, or were they conditioned to feel some sort of misconstrued love in his presence? Maybe they pretended. Maybe when he walked into their room they leaped to greet him, fake smiles and affection falling from them quickly in order not to arouse his anger.

There is only one thing certain. One thing that matters. They were not given a choice and therefore whatever they felt, whatever they were forced to feel, whether it be love or lust, didn’t matter. It wasn’t their fault.

And that’s why I feel such shame and guilt for the images and desires that exist within me. My darkness scares me. It’s my greatest fear that he did something to me, not something physical, but something passed on through a sickness in his blood. One that craves depravity.

I stay like that on the ground, not even bothering to look up until I hear the slide of the lock and the twist of the door handle again. I expect Jericho, but it’s Mrs Bellamy who walks in. She’s carrying a tray of food.

“Oh, thank god,” the words rush out of me. But after a glance from Mrs Bellamy, I know they are premature. “You’re not here to let me out, are you?”

She walks across the room, purposely not looking at me and places the tray on the bedside cabinet. The door has been left open. From this angle, I can see the carved post of the banister.

I move just a fraction, bracing myself to leap to my feet and make a run for it, when she says, “Don’t bother. Barrett is out there.”

I consider crying, begging, pleading with her to set me free, but I can tell by the set of her shoulders that it would be pointless. Mrs Bellamy is too faithful to Jericho. She’s probably seen far worse during her time with him.

“How’s Ette?” I ask finally.

“Don’t you worry about Ette. She’s none of your concern.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Look, I’m not sure why he has you locked up like this, but I know him. He’s a good man.”

“A good man.” I snort. “He killed his own father!”

Something that you’ve known all along, a little voice inside my head says. I ignored the warning signs because every time I saw him my breath caught in my throat. I was enamored by him. Still am. Men like him shouldn’t be allowed to be so handsome. There should be some sort of warning sign. Or maybe that’s what his good looks are. A warning like in nature. The more beautiful, more colorful something is, the more likely it’s toxic.

“There is more to that story than you know.” I’m startled by the vehemence in her voice. “And his father was a bad, bad, man. I know this is strange—”

I get to my feet. “Strange!” I wave my hands wildly. “I’m a fucking prisoner!”

Mrs Bellamy shakes her head. “Nonsense girl. Look around you. It’s more like an enforced relaxation period.”

“Are you serious?” I’m lost for words. It’s like he’s got her under some sort of spell. I know I never saw the signs that my father was an evil man but I also never found a woman he had locked away.

“Jericho Priest is a good man.” Mrs Bellamy wipes her hands, as though she’s wiping them free of me. “I’ll not hear another bad word said about him. And I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He hasn’t looked at anyone like that ever.”

And with that, she walks out the door and the lock slides shut again.

chapter twenty-two

BERKLEY

Jericho has my father. It takes a while for it to sink in. I’ve been so fixated on the knowledge that I’m trapped, I’d almost forgotten the reason for it. Jericho has my father. I’d assumed he’d organized his own escape, that he was hiding somewhere, ready to make a triumphant underground come back, or take on a new identity, but I never imagined that Jericho Priest was holding him captive.

Part of me is relieved. My father is getting the punishment he deserves. It’s fitting he’s trapped and has no control, no say over his life, as it’s exactly what he’s guilty of. But even though he’d been covered in blood, there is still a part of me that feels he is getting off too easy.

The other part is terrified. If that’s what Jericho can do to my father, a man who has friends in dark but high places, a man who has money and wealth and a team of protection, even inside prison, what will he do to me?

Will he make me pay for the sins of my father?

Am I merely here to get my father to reveal his secrets?

For three days I’ve been locked inside this room with no one coming to see me but Mrs Bellamy. She drops off food like clockwork, clearing the last meal’s plates away when leaving the next. She won’t talk to me, not much anyway. I have no idea if Ette thinks I’ve abandoned her, or if she knows I’m locked away. All Mrs Bellamy will tell me is that she’s fine.

I’m unable to get out, unable to contact anyone, but technically, I’m okay. I’m not hurt, not being subjected to anything against my will other than my captivity, but panic still overwhelms me and my sleep is filled with nightmares.

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