Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Jesus fucking Christ. He's making it sound noble. Like he's come to rescue this city from… from fucking what? We provide law and order where he won't. We live our lives free from his oppression and he hates it. And now he's coming for us.
Emily sobs next to me, then turns away.
Fuck, if this shit makes me mad, I can hardly imagine how that waste of air makes her feel. “We're not going to hurt you.”
She turns back, and my heart fucking breaks. Her eyes are turning red and her lower lip quivers. For a moment, I get a flash of Allison, all of nine years old, looking up at me like her big brother could fix anything. That's a bit like the look Emily's giving me now. I did a piss poor job of it back then, but fuck if I know how to do a better one now.
“I know you're not going to hurt me, but Dad doesn't give a fuck one way or another.”
God, I need her to swear more often. But right now, she's hurt and she's angry, and I don't fucking blame her.
“Maybe he knows we won't. He's putting on a front to—”
“Why are you, of all people, trying to defend him?” she snarls, cutting me off. She's angry crying. “You wouldn't if you knew what he was really like. He's my Dad. He's supposed to protect me, to love me, and instead, he… he…” She snaps her mouth shut, cutting off whatever she was going to say.
“You're right,” says Wild Child. “Fuck him.”
Hero stands, looking like he wants to comfort her, but the angry glare she fires his way stops him. He sits back down, but his brow's creased in concern.
“But you know what?” she suddenly starts again. “I really thought it was in there. Somewhere deep, hidden really well. That he'd actually miss his daughter. Hell, maybe he sees me as a possession, but you'd think he'd want that back at least. Anything, other than leaving me to whatever fate you guys have in mind for me, just because it'll advance his stupid political career. I thought I was worth something to him.”
“Mr. Mayor, what is your plan going forward then?” My attention is drawn back to the screen. I doubt I missed anything important.
He smiles cleverly at the camera, and it's like the fake tears never were. “I'm sure you understand I can't delve too deeply into details at this time, but just know that I have matters well in hand. Thank you for your time.”
Emily slams the laptop shut before I can stop her. “Well in hand,” she sneers. “I just bet he has. His favorite expression. Every time I screwed up, his solution was well in hand. Every time something annoyed him. Every time…” She trails off and glares at us before she stomps back to her cot and drops onto it and puts her face in her hands.
Wait a fucking moment.
Because Dad would use the same fucking expression.
Not that it's any of my fucking business, but in my mind's eye, Allison's ghost is right fucking there and looking at me accusingly. Jesus Christ. It's not my job to be our captive's savior.
Allison frowns.
Fine. Fucking hell. Wild Child and Hero are both standing up, and maybe they've got the same fucking thought, but at my glance, they sit back down. So it's me who walks over to sit on the side of her bed.
“And when your dad has things well in hand, what does he do?”
Her sob stops halfway, like I've caught her off guard. Then she shakes her head, still covering her face. “None of your stupid business.”
“Does he hit you?”
This time her head snaps up and she looks at me through bloodshot eyes. “Why would you even care?”
“Because it determines, when the time comes and we deliver you back with a smile and a pat on your back, whether I leave with or without giving him a sucking gut wound first.”
She blinks at me like I've said something that she really has no idea how to deal with. She wets her lips, and her eyes flit over to Wild Child and Hero as if she's really not sure whether I'm serious or not.
I'm serious as death itself. “So does he?”
“What?” She frowns in confusion.
“Put his hands on you.” I have a lot to hate Hawthorne for, so maybe me imagining Allison's ghost is baiting me into it just plays into that. Or not. I'm not much for psychobabble. But I know what a parent who's entirely too fucking excited to dish out the hurt is like.
She rolls over on the bed, putting her back to me. No answer, but it doesn't fucking matter.
I know now.
In the back of my mind, Allison is wagging a finger at me and mouthing something about two wrongs not making right, but for once I'm not going to listen to her.