Page 54 of Retribution

I grimace at the need to brush my teeth after the devastating amount of sugar that has passed them, but I must admit, the waffles tasted better with ice cream than whipped cream.

I reverse onto the driveway, switching off the engine and sitting in silence for a few minutes, allowing myself to look over at Willow snoring quietly in the back passenger seat.

The innocence that washes over her porcelain skin tugs at my heart and I find it hard to swallow. My throat constricts and my eyes sting, I don’t want to lose her.

I would rather die than have to live a life without her in it, the torture would be unbearable. How anyone can let their child slip through their fingers makes me sick to my stomach. There is absolutely nothing or no one that will stop me from ensuring she stays with me, where she belongs.

Bridal carrying Willow into the house, her arm dangles free and she is barely disturbed from the movement. I rest her down in the center of her bed, tucking her into the plush sheets. After kissing her head, I close the door softly behind me and walk over to the most familiar cupboard in the kitchen.

I’ve been making my way through the selection, and I’ve already had to restock it twice, switching to bourbon or vodka only. The gin wasn’t really to my taste.

Bridget gets here within the hour so that I can finally begin to de-stress and sink away my hidden sorrows.

Swirling the musky liquid around in the glass, I analyze the way the liquid is entirely powerless in its singular form, yet it still manages to have its hold over me. Something that is so inconsequential but so predominant to me. They the dominatrix, I the willing submissive.

I tsk and drink it anyways, admitting my defeat.

I’ve learned to pick and choose my battles, and tonight is not a war I will be participating in.

In front of me, my computer displays the file that I’ve been provided by my private investigator. They had got straight to work on the Dawsons, alongside Harrison. The P.I is inevitably faster due to the lack of legality in their methods whereas, Harry must play it by the book.

There are several documents within each of the four files, individually named after them.

Bill Dawson

Rachel Dawson

Allie Dawson

Britney Dawson

Double-clicking on Bill’s file first, I discover very little, most of his being a bunch of boring information about his education, outstanding loans, and his portfolio of homes he owns around the world.

Opening Rachel’s next, my eyes zone in immediately on the suspicious bank transfers overseas. Now this, has got my attention. Who knew little miss perfect had been transferring money into offshore accounts, no doubt to evade taxes. This could potentially be leverage.

Pouring another drink, the buzz from the alcohol increases my body temperature. Either that or the excitement from finding something, even if it’s minimal.

I lift the glass to my lips and sip slowly, hovering over Allie’s file. It seems as if there is no point, especially since the P.I tried to convince me out of soliciting information on her. He obliged to my request but, he wasn’t pleased about it.

Skipping over onto Britney’s file, I see a significant number of files more than her parents. Frowning my brows, I begin to read through.

It appears that the P.I has hacked into Britney’s devices, listing each of her chat conversations, emails, and a folder of images. I ignore the images, sensing there may be some explicit photos that I don’t want to see in it.

Filtering through the messages I come across her conversations with Indie. My interest peaks and with another drink in hand, I read.

(Indie): You don’t understand! He like literally is entirely gorgeous. Like beautiful. Like imagine Captain America, but x1000

(Britney): Yeah yeah, you say that about everyone. I don’t trust your judgment anymore. Not after you said you would pass on Liam Hemsworth

(Indie): That was one time and because he’d just split up with Miley! Team Miley all the way girly

(Britney): Anyway, does this mystery man have a name?

So, she thinks I’m gorgeous, beautiful? Hm.

So much for trying to resist me when all she can do is gossip about my insanely good looks.

Indie is the type of girl that plays hard to get when in reality, she wants me in the same way I devoured my pancakes earlier. She is my guilty pleasure, as I am hers. There is no denying the connection between us, the ignition within our touch, the acceleration of my pulse. She is the lightening to my thunder, the drug to my addiction, the flames to my hell.

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