Page 34 of Where's Molly

Layla huddles into my neck, upset by the obvious tension between Dad and me. I bounce her in my arms, hoping to keep her calm, yet knowing it’s likely useless.

“You was useless around here anyway! Tryna steal mine and your mom's baby. That's all you cared about. Layla, Layla, Layla. That's where all your money went instead of paying us rent. Just spendin' our money and living here for free!”

An argument forms on my tongue, building to a monument as tall as fucking Giza, but it's not worth it.

I need to get me and Layla out of here as soon as possible before my father makes good on his promise and calls Rocco here. Or someone worse.

“The only person you have to worry about is yourself,” I hiss. “Layla and I will be gone.”

Another step, and his face morphs from barely human to demonic.

“As far as I see it, she’s still in my custody. Which means she goes whereIwant her to go. You were a pretty penny in my pocket the first time, but you two together? I'll get a fuck of a lot more, no?”

My upper lip curls in disgust, and a hatred unlike anything I've feltbefore consumes me. It's so potent that the only way for my body to process it is to shake violently.

It's not just wrath.

It's pure fucking murderous rage.

To sell me is one thing.

But to sell ababy?

I have no words for how fucking evil that is. No words to describe how decrepit a soul must be to condemn a child so willingly in such a horrific way.

My vision grows spotty with fury, and I set Layla down in the crib as calmly as possible. She lets out a cry of protest, raising her arms and squeezing her tiny hands for me to pick her up again.

“I'll be right here, baby. It's okay,” I assure her gently, even though my words tremble.

That doesn't soothe her. But more than anything, I need to get this vile man away from her.

She doesn't deserve to witness what I plan on doing to him. No child should ever see that.

“Let's go downstairs and discuss this. Otherwise, I’ll call Rocco myself and tell him you kidnapped me back.”

He scoffs out a laugh. “You think they'll believe that?”

“You're right,” I agree mockingly. “You're too stupid. I'll tell them I escaped, and you tried selling me off to another fucking pedophile ring. They'll still take us, then they'll kill you, too.”

Suddenly, his mouth twists into a scathing snarl. He glances up and down my form, his muddy brown eyes filled with loathing. Silently, he jerks his head toward the hallway, then stalks off toward the staircase.

“I'll be rightback, pretty girl,” I murmur absently, white noise flooding my brain.

There is no clear thought in my head, just a loud ringing. Woodenly, I follow him, gently shutting Layla's door behind me. I'm not sure if she can climb out of her crib or not, but she's still too little to reach the doorknob. She won't be able to get out.

I reach the top of the steps and stare down them blankly, understanding that he's waiting for me and what this discussion is going to come down to, yet unable to find a conscience to stop myself.

I exhale and make my way down the stairs, finding my dad waiting in the kitchen. He's leaning against the counter, sipping out of the same mug he's always drank out of. Coffee and a shot of Jack Daniels.

“Your mom used to make me lunch for work. Gotta admit, I miss 'er for that, at least,” he comments casually, finishing with a chuckle.

He's pretending that we will be engaging in a civil conversation, but he's as tense as I am. He thinks he's going to win, and for the second time in my life, I'll wake up in the back of a stranger's van.

This time, with my baby sister beside me.

“What is it you think you're goin' to do, hm?” he questions, amusement glimmering in his dead eyes. “You think you can hurt me?”

He laughs while I edge toward a tiny round table in the corner of the room, where Mom used to sit every morning, smoking a cigarette and drinking her own coffee and whiskey.

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