Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Only now does he turn his head to look at me. His eyes sweep from head to toe, a look of disgust marking his once handsome face. His already flushed cheeks darken as his anger grows.
“I figured you’d die after being taken, and I’d never have to see your murderous face again. Imagine my surprise when I got the call that you’d survived and were coming back home? I paid five thousand dollars for those filthy bastards to scoop you up. The man I made arrangements with assured me you’d be hurt, fucked, and used until you didn’t even know your own name. He swore you’d be lucky to last a month.”
Tears burn my eyes at the realization of what he’s saying, but somehow, I manage to keep them from falling. He doesn’t deserve my pain. He’s been the cause of my agony for many years. My self-destruction is due to his hatefulness, but I never imagined he was behind my abduction.
“Did Mom know?” Why this morsel of information is so important to me, I don’t know.
He huffs again before taking another long sip of his whiskey. “Your mother hasn’t known her ass from her elbow for many years.”
“Dad?” He cringes at the word. “Why would you do this to me?”
His glass soars across the room, shattering to pieces inside the stone fireplace. I’d be shocked with the outburst, but they’re commonplace where he’s concerned. I’m more in awe that he has such great aim with so much alcohol coursing through his veins.
“You are the fucking spawn of Satan,” he seethes as his blood-shot eyes find mine in the dim light of the house. “Your mother was nothing but a pregnant whore when I made the mistake of getting drunk enough one night to fuck her.”
My skin is on fire, itching uncontrollably with every word he spits at me.
“She’d already manipulated herself into my damn head by the time I did the math and realized she’d been knocked up a month before I even slipped my dick into her.” Without his glass, he now drinks directly from the bottle before struggling to stand from his chair. “The marriage was a farce from day one, a rush job to wed before she was showing, which would increase the chances of ruining my political career before it could really take off.”
Swallowing does nothing to rid my throat of the lump formed there.
“Before you were even born, you were ruining my fucking life.” His steps seem surer than they should as he closes the distance between us. “Do you know how damaging it is to my image for your coward of a mother to kill herself?”
My spine stiffens as I take him in from head to toe. He’s no longer the man that strikes fear in my heart. He’s a menace, a devious piece of shit who rules by scathing words and self-appointed power. He’s the coward, treating me poorly to account for his own failures in life. He’s a fucking bully for lack of a better word.
“You don’t seem too far behind her,” I spit as he gets in my face as a means of intimidation.
“You little bitch,” he hisses as his hands reach up for my neck.
My eyes widen in shock as his grip increases to the point I can’t get in deep breaths of air. Once again, I’ve underestimated him. He’s never used his hands to wield his power, but it seems he’s not above it today.
My fists pound on his chest, but the alcohol must keep him from feeling it because he doesn’t budge. For one long moment, I let his fingers clench as his empty eyes stare back into mine. There’s nothing in his dark blue glare that resembles a good person. He spoke of me being the spawn of Satan, but I think he’s mistaken me for the man who looks back at him in the mirror every day.
With renewed strength, I shove at him. His hands loosen for a second before tightening again. When I shove at him the second time, I lift my knee and slam him in the crotch.
“I won’t be your victim any longer!” I roar as he flies backward.
Drunk and unable to gain his footing, I watch as he falls. As if in slow motion, his eyes widen and his hands reach for me as if I’d keep him from falling on his ass after what he just did to me. He’s wrong, but so am I. Falling on his ass isn’t what happens, I realize, when he hits the coffee table with a sickening crack.
His eyes remain open as he slumps to the ground and his neck twists in an inhuman angle. Mouth gaping with a silent cry for help, the man who has done nothing but treat me horribly my entire life stares at the ceiling, dead.