Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Her words are a cold blade cutting through me. I sit up and stare at her with as much hate as I can muster, enjoying the way she flinches.
“Your fuck buddy Putnam was friends with your father. Am I right?”
She nods, her eyes sad with realization.
“I broke into your father’s network. I found everything. He paid Putnam to kill me and my family. To eliminate the competition. All so he could send his pretty little princess to every pageant she could ever want to compete in.” I crack my neck and glare at her. “How does it feel knowing you Genworths won? Was it worth all the fancy shit your daddy gave you?”
“Koyn,” she chokes out. “You’re not being fair. I knew nothing about this or my dad’s business affairs.”
“Business affairs?” I roar, heaving the bottle at the fireplace. It lands in the fire, sending a little burst of flame billowing out. “It was an ambush and cold, blooded murder all for the name of greed.”
She sniffles and sits up, her entire body shaking. “The ‘X’ on your face?”
“‘X’ is where the treasure is located on the map. They branded me. I stare into the mirror every day and am reminded that the shit inside my head is what got my family killed.” I scrub my palm down my face and bark out a sinister laugh. “But they didn’t kill me. I was supposed to die. It was too late for me to save my girls, but I broke free. I killed Putnam’s friend and have been hunting him down ever since.”
She sits up on her knees, her chin quivering. “So now you’re going to hurt me? To make my father pay?”
“It’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“It’s no better than what they did to Blaire!” she accuses. “You’re doing the same thing!”
I shrug. “Casualties of war.”
She shakes her head, her eyes wild. “N-No. You can’t do that. I’m like her. Like Blaire.”
“You’re nothing like her,” I snarl.
Shakily, she crawls toward me. “I am. I’m still a teenager. Before all this, I watched Netflix and obsessed over my hair and loved to shop.”
“Stop.”
“I took more selfies than was humanly possible. I spent a lot of time thinking about my dead mother. Missing her. I was just a lonely girl who was sad.”
“Stop.”
“Did Blaire like school? I hated it. I always wanted to be free because at my house, it felt like a prison.”
“Stop saying her name!”
“I bet we would’ve been great friends. Someone like her would have spent the night with someone like me.” She crawls closer, sobbing. “We’d stay up late talking about boys and watching movies. We’d eat M&Ms and drink too much soda. What was her favorite candy?”
I close my eyes.
M&Ms.
Not peanut. Plain.
“Please stop,” I beg, my voice hoarse.
Her palms cover my knees. “Was it M&Ms?”
I nod, refusing to open my eyes.
“Can we get some, Daddy?”
Blaire. Blaire. Blaire.
I remember looking over at her in the passenger seat as she happily ate her candy and rambled on about her school day. Blaire wanted to be an artist. Drew all over everything with pencils and sharpies. Hearts and flowers and doodles. She’d pour a bunch of M&Ms on the table and absently eat them while she would sketch.
“I’m scared, Daddy.”
Oh, fuck.
“Please help me, Daddy.”
Deep in the recesses of my mind, I know it’s not Blaire begging for help, but try telling my heart that. I pull my girl into my arms and cradle her to me. Her hair is greasy and dirty. Another man’s cum—fucking Putnam—remains on her thighs. She stinks of body odor and vomit. Fuck, she’s so skinny. And cold.
“Daddy,” she sobs. “I’m cold and scared and hungry.”
“Shhh,” I whisper, stroking her hair. “I’ve got you now. I’m going to take care of you.”
Not Blaire. Not Blaire. Not Blaire.
Everything is murky and confusing. Maybe it’s due to the Jack or maybe it’s the huge crack splintering right down the center of my mind. All I know is the girl in my arms needs to be taken care of. She needs me.
“I’m going to make everything okay,” I vow, kissing her dirty strands of hair. “I promise, baby girl.”
“I know, Daddy.”
Everything spins when I stand with her in my arms. Her legs go around my waist and her arms hook around my neck. She clings to me like a toddler would. It makes my heart fucking bleed. I yank up the blanket from the mattress and wrap it around her. As we walk out of the slaughterhouse, I hug her tight and try my damnedest to keep her warm. The trek back to the house is cold and windy.
The moment I fling open the back door, voices hush to silence. My hackles are raised and I’m ready to fight any motherfucker who stands in my way.
“Bermuda,” I bark out. “Make my girl some food and bring it to my room.”