Page 69 of Daughter of a Monster

Barrett and I drove up and down the road countless times, headlights cutting into the darkness, torches scanning the forest. I was filled with such relief when we found her, I held her close to my chest and didn’t let her go. I thought nothing of climbing into the bath and cradling her body against mine. I thought nothing of her letting her listen to the rhythm of my heart. Those actions were as thoughtless as breathing.

Until she reminded me of who I am.

And who she is.

The daughter of my enemy.

I hate that she considers me a monster. I hate that who I am to her is the very same her father is to Hope. Everything was so much easier before she came along. I had a purpose. A single purpose. One I’d poured my fortune into. One I was determined to see through to the end. No matter what that ending was.

But now she has me questioning everything.

She’s made me weak.

“Mr Priest?” Mrs Bellamy calls from outside my room. “Sorry to disturb you but I couldn’t find anyone else.”

“What is it?” I snap as I pull on a dry pair of pants. My tone is unnecessarily harsh but I’m operating on no sleep and the inability to stop thinking about a certain distraction.

“It’s Miss Berkley,” she says, her voice slipping through the open door. “She needs help getting out of the bath and I’m simply not strong enough.”

I give a snort of frustration and storm out the door and down the stairs. When I enter the bathroom, she looks up at me with wide and tear-filled eyes. They scan my face before slipping down to my bare chest. It makes it so much harder to forget about her, ignore her when she looks at me the way she does. Despite her being years younger than me, sometimes there’s nothing but raw hunger in her gaze. It feeds my own cravings making them stronger and harder to ignore. My cock twitches as I take in the wet clothing clinging to her body, remembering what it felt like to have her pressed against my chest. The feel of her safe and secure in my arms. I wanted nothing more than to offer her comfort, protect her. I was filled with rage that she’d put herself in danger like that, but if I’d been honest, I would have recognized that most of it should have been directed at myself for ever putting her in this position.

Hope was the only person I ever thought I’d risk everything for.

Then Ette was left in my care.

And now it’s Berkley who consumes me.

Part of me wants to grab her roughly, pick her up, throw her over my shoulder and place her in one of the cells where I know no harm will come to her. The other part of me wants to let her go, let her live her life free from the monsters that surround her.

I don’t say a word as I lower myself and wrap an arm around her, lifting her gently and ignoring the water that runs down me and soaks into my freshly changed jeans. Mrs Bellamy brings over a chair and I sit Berkley down, turning my back as Mrs Bellamy helps her undress and dry herself.

“Where’s the soup?” I bark when the awkwardness gets too much.

“Alma’s in the kitchen sorting—”

I don’t wait for her to finish and storm out the door and down the stairs to the kitchen. I startle Alma when I burst through the door and she cowers, putting distance between us.

“Is—is there something I can help you with, Mr Priest?”

“I told you to call me Jericho.”

“Sorry.” Her gaze drops to the ground and I sigh, knowing the girl finds it tough when I’m harsh.

“The soup?” I ask when she just stands there, staring at the ground.

She moves quickly and grabs a bowl from the cupboard filling it with the concoction bubbling on the stove. I reach for the bowl, but she pulls away.

“I can take it, Jericho.” She glances up quickly and then back at the ground. “You don’t need to bother yourself.”

Instead of answering, I merely grab the bowl, not caring when some spills on the ground and leave. Alma doesn’t follow. I meet Mrs Bellamy on the stairs.

“She’s tucked up in bed now.” She moves to take the bowl but this time I’m the one to pull it away. Mrs Bellamy places a hand on my arm. “You don’t need to go in there. I will take good care of her.”

For a moment the kindness of the woman gets to me and I find myself wavering. But then I shake my head. “It is my fault.”

“It’s really not—”

“I need to do this,” I say, pushing past her. “I need to prove I’m not a monster.”

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