Page 65 of Daughter of a Monster

“And yet only moments ago, you swore you didn’t have feelings for her. She was nothing to you.”

“I was lying.”

Jericho stops his pacing. “And you’re not now?”

“No. No.” He falls to his knees. “I promise I’m not.”

He doesn’t look so much like a monster now. He looks like an old man, wrinkled and scared, on his knees before a monster. Jericho strides back and forth, only taking a few steps before he has to turn and do it all again. There’s something so commanding about him. Something that makes me want to beg for another taste of his lips.

Shame fills me once again.

“So you were lying before, but not now, is that correct?”

My father nods. “Yes, yes, that’s correct.”

“But you can understand my confusion, yes?” Jericho cocks a brow in enraged jest.

“What do you want to know? I’ll tell you anything.”

Jericho strides across and towers over my father. “I want to know where she is!”

“I can’t tell you that but—”

Jericho stalks back to me and fists the back of my hair, dragging me towards the door.

“Wait!” my father calls out. “Where are you taking her? What are you going to—”

The door slams shut. Jericho releases his grip on my hair. His eyes bounce back and forth between mine. I don’t know what he’s searching for in my expression, but it’s as though he’s looking for a sign, some sort of indication of what he should do with me.

His hair is disheveled and messy. There’s blood over his knuckles, a little splattered over the side of his face, and when he lifts his hand to rub across his forehead, he smears it.

“Who’s Hope?” I ask.

But all he does is grab my arm, his nails digging in painfully as he once again drags me behind him.

“Is she the reason you have me here?”

He doesn’t answer and I stumble, trying to keep up with him as he pulls me up the stairs.

“You don’t need to lock me up,” I plead pointlessly.

He opens the door, shoves me inside, and pushes me onto the bed. Pinning me down with one knee, he undoes the knots of the rope and sets me free. Scrambling off the mattress, I turn to face him, ignoring the relief flooding down my arms.

“Jericho, please!” I say to his retreating back.

He stops, eyes fixed on the ground, door handle resting beneath his hand.

“Please, Jericho. You don’t need to do this. You don’t—”

Once again the door shuts and I hear the lock slide into place.

I let myself slump, falling down the side of the bed until my butt hits the floor. I let out an anguished scream, yanking on the roots of my hair, then cover my face with my hands and let the tears fall.

I feel rage, anger, shame and lust all coiled into one tight and twisting knife of pain in my chest. Visions flash across my mind faster than I can process. I fold in on myself, clutching my stomach as I fall to my side.

I’m stretched out on the bed. This bed. Arms tied. Feet tied. I’m open and exposed as he looms over me. “Are you ready, Miss Berkley?” He’s holding something in his hands but I can’t see what it is. He strokes it almost lovingly.

I stare at the crack beneath the door.

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