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He needed his woman back. He needed her there to soften his sharp edges. To give him what comfort he could get. To let him have one piece of good in the shitstorm that was his life.
“Don't think it's working, bro,” I said, moving across the floor.
He stopped punching, shaking his head, his breath coming out hard. “They fucking have her again,” he said, looking up at me with haunted eyes.
“I know man... we'll...”
I was interrupted by the sound of boots on the steps, hard, heavy.
Wolf was back.
He walked across the floor, his body tense, his eyes hot.
Then he looked at Reign and strung together more words than I had ever heard him speak at one time before.
Nine words.
Nine words that changed everything.
“There's something you need to know about Richard Lyon.”Twenty-threeSummerTwo days. Two days.
I scratched the marks into the wall like I had done at V's house. But not with a bloody fingernail. No. I ripped one of the lamps off the nightstand and used the square edge to etch huge, three foot tally marks on the wall beside my bed. Mostly because it would piss off my father. He had always been a freak about the house being in good order.
There wasn't much I had control of anymore, but at least I could tick him off a little bit.
Fact of the matter was, Richard Lyon, the man in the house with me, the man who had taken me from the Henchmen, the man who had locked me in my room... he wasn't the man I knew.
He was a whole different monster and I felt sick that I had spent my entire life not seeing who he really was. It wasn't like there hadn't been warning signs. There had been fucking warning signs. I had just... ignored them. Brushed them aside. Pretended to not see them.
There were more times than I could count in my life where he had let the Dad mask slip. Where I had seen pieces of the man underneath the persona. When I caught sight of the coldness, the deadness in his eyes.
God, how had I been so freaking clueless?
All my life.
I had been living some kind of elaborate lie.
And, sitting alone in my childhood bedroom twenty-some odd hours a day, I had nothing to do but beat myself up for being so stupid.
There was a soft knock and I sat up on my bed, glaring at the door when it slowly opened.
“Hey darling girl,” he said, giving me a kind smile. His eyes drifted, looking over at the ruined wall. I got a head shake and pursed lips. It wasn't much, but it was something. “I'm afraid I can't do dinner with you tonight. I have some business to attend to. But don't worry,” he went on, his words slick, “Lee and the other men will be here to protect you.”
Right.
Protect me.
From escaping.
But still. It was a small victory. Not having to sit across a table from him, trying to figure out what I could haul at him while he tried to keep casual conversation with me like he hadn't kidnapped and held me hostage. Like I hadn't been held for three months at some psycho's house. Like I hadn't found salvation in Reign's arms.
“Works for me,” I said, my tone cold.
At that, he sighed. “One day, baby girl, you're going to see that I did this all for your own good. I mean... a biker? Summer, I raised you better than that,” he told me, shaking his head, moving back into the hallway. “I'll see you in the morning,” he told me, shutting and locking the door.
I laid back on the bed, my feet hanging over the edge because I still had my boots on. I never took them off. Not even to sleep.
I had considered grabbing for the gun, using it.
Two things stopped me.
One- the mini military he had walking the grounds. Even if I managed to get a shot off, there was not much chance I would escape. And then... who the hell knew what kind of punishment I would get if he lived through the bullet?
Two- okay. He wasn't the man I thought he was. But he was still the man who came and checked under my bed for monsters as a kid. He was the man who bought me a pony of my sixth birthday. A pony. He was the man who encouraged me with my school work. He was the only person in my life who had given a damn about me. He was the only parent I had. And I just... couldn't bring myself to shoot him.
But I kept the boots at the ready just in case.
I wasn't taking any chances.
The thing about being held captive they don't tell you, is that it's boring. Sure, it's nerve-wracking and scary for a while. But mostly, just fucking dull as hell. No television. No books. No one to talk to to keep yourself from going crazy. I spent a lot of time showering. And staring at the walls.
The night got late, darkness coming through the windows.
I laid back, falling into a purely boredom-induced sleep.Again, I didn't get a chance to scream. I woke up with a hand over my mouth.
My eyes flew open, arms swinging to fight when I felt a body come over mine, knees pinning my forearms, a man's full weight settling on my chest.
Then I saw him.
Martin.
Fucking fucking Martin. With his dead eyes.
And he was smiling at me.
He reached behind him, pulling out duct tape.
Again.
In what universe did boring, good girl Summer Lyon end up kidnapped three fucking times in four fucking months?
That was all I could think as I felt the duct tape slide over my cheek, his hand moving little by little so he could cover my lips without me being able to open my mouth and scream.
Which I would have. I would have screamed bloody fucking murder. Because no matter how frustrating and ick-inducing being held captive by your own fucking father was, it was nothing compared to being dragged back to V's. To being tied to that bed. To being beat and starved and carved up. To, very likely, being raped.
