The idea of my husband coming home to this makes the decision simple. My father might not have any love for me, but he picks up on my weaknesses easily enough. And he uses them.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll go with you.”
He grins down at me, pupils dilated. “Good girl.”
Bill steps back, keeping the gun trained on me. “Where are the keys to your car?”
I wave toward a hook beside the refrigerator.
“Escort her out, Nicky,” my father commands with a jerk of his head.
I glare at the lackey, who approaches me without meeting my eyes. My whole body tenses when he circles behind me. I hate having his menacing presence at my back.
“This is a bad idea,” I warn them.
“Getting rich is never a bad idea.” My father steps close, his greed creeping along my skin, clinging like a sticky film.
Then he nods his head, and a second later, a sharp pain cracks through my skull, and blackness leaks over my eyes.
CHAPTER 50
LUNA
Inever thought I’d step foot in this room again. Much less be locked up in it. But when I regain consciousness, I know my exact location the moment I open my eyes.
My childhood bedroom.
The place has changed a lot since I laid claim to it. My parents are far from the sentimental type. Not ones to keep mementos of their children once they’ve left the house. At least not mine. Mom might have built herself a Dash or Leo shrine for all I know. She does care about them in some twisted version of affection I never warranted.
As seen by the complete stripping of any sign of me from this space.
The walls are painted, the bed is gone, and racks of clothing fill the room. Seems this is now a walk-in closet for Vivian Lamont’s ever-expanding wardrobe.
All this I absorb from a prone position in the middle of the floor, trying to distract myself from the worry that I was out for the entire trip from Nashville to New Orleans. Either that guy Nicky hit me harder than I’d ever gotten knocked aroundbefore or Bill dosed me with something while I was already unconscious. I’m guessing the latter. Now, I lie on the ground, hands and feet cocooned in duct tape.
My father, ladies and gentlemen.
Always taking up hip new hobbies. Like kidnapping.
He’s obviously new at it because he made some beginner errors. Like the duct tape. And leaving me alone. Seems Bill Lamont hasn’t gotten any smarter over the last decade. He always underestimated me to his detriment. Why mess with tradition?
Just then, I hear heavy footsteps coming down the hall.
When I was younger, that sound always set my nerves on edge. My body has the reaction ingrained into its DNA, and no matter if I’m stronger, smarter, and tougher now, my heart rate picks up.
But when my father opens the door, I keep all trace of fear off my face.
I don’t let him see anything at all as I play unconscious.
“Fuck this,” he mutters.
And that’s all the warning I get before he grabs the front of my shirt, hauls me up, and slaps me.
Hard.
I may know how to take a hit, but a gasp still escapes at the surprise of the sting.
“You awake now?”
