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His head tips back and a full bellied laugh sounds from his throat. The sound irks me, but I force the tension to leave my body. If I snap at him in anger, it’ll just make it worse. And I need to get out of this basement.
“Can I watch?” he asks, a smarmy smile on his face.
With all the control I can muster, I force my face to stay relaxed, shrug my shoulders and say, “Sure.”
Sure, dad, you can watch me shower. That’s not fucking repulsive or anything.
His blue eyes glide over me, calculating and shining with mirth. This is another game to him, and it seems like I’ve been lucky enough to catch him in a good mood. When Billy’s in a good mood, he loves to play games.
He nods his head once, the small grin still on his face. “Let’s go then. Daughter.”
BILLY TURNS THE SHOWER water on for me, adjusting it until he’s satisfied with the temperature. I’m not sure if it makes him feel as if he’s taking care of me, I don’t really care either way. Him taking me to the shower was my only excuse for getting out of the basement. He gave me a bucket and a roll of paper-thin toilet paper to take care of business and threw my food at me.
What else could a girl ask for other than a nice hot shower?
My eyes tracked over every inch of the house as he led me to the bathroom. I’m in some type of trap house. In the tiny living room, there were beer bottles and needles scattered across the coffee table, boarded up windows, stained brown carpet and rotted curtains that reeked of mothballs. The kitchen looked almost identical to Barbie’s, purely based off of the gunk caked into the cheap, cracking linoleum floors, moldy fridge and more needles on the table. Down a short hallway, and into the bathroom is where my fancy shower awaits.
It’s just as dirty as the rest of the house.
I don’t actually plan on getting in that disease-infested thing. Billy can hand over all the soap he wants, I’d still come out the other side smelling like must. He shoos me further into the bathroom, closes the door behind me and locks it. Sidling past me, he holds the plastic curtain open for me, silently prompting me to undress and get in. A nervous sweat breaks out across my skin as his face darkens. Shadows are pressing in around him, and the cold detached look he gives me has the temperature dropping in the room by several degrees.
“Get in the fucking shower, River.”
Twenty Seven
Mako
WHERE THE FUCK IS SHE?
The same mantra has been running through my mind from the moment Amelia told me River is missing. Even now, only an hour after watching River’s kidnapping, I’m banging my fist on Barbie’s door, I’m still chanting the same words. I dropped Amelia off her at house, despite her incredibly angry protests. Like hell am I allowing a pregnant woman to step foot inside this house—this town—where Billy could easily show up. I don’t need to meet her husband to know that he’d murder me. And I’d let him.
“What, what, what, I’m fucking coming!” Barbie shouts from the other side of the door, her attitude increasing by the word. River’s mother flings open the door, hellfire that she is, with no regard to who could be banging on her door late in the evening.
I’ll give it to her, this woman has balls of fucking steel. Too bad I’m going to crush them in my fist if she doesn’t tell me what the fuck I need to know.
Both brows shoot to her hairline when she sees me. One slow perusal consisting of her dead eyes sweeping my body from head to toe and a salacious grin later, and I’m ready to knock her the fuck out. Same shit she did the first time I met her, and it still gives me the creeps.
“Well how can I help you, suga?” she says with what’s supposed to be a charming grin. She leans against the door, getting comfortable.
“Billy kidnapped your daughter. Let me in now,” I say, getting straight to the point. Her spine snaps straight and what looks like concern flashes across her eyes for a brief second before a blank mask takes over once more.
She opens the door without another word, woodenly turning around and leading me to the kitchen. The smell of mold, mothballs and something fishy hits first, poking at my gag reflux dangerously. I have to clench my teeth to keep the disgust from showing on my face. I don’t bother taking close inventory of her living space—I’d rather not see something I can’t unsee like I did last time. Big mistake. Last time I was here, I took note of the exit points. Now, I take great care to listen out for sounds of anyone else in the house.
“So, when was she taken?” Barbie asks, like she’s striking up a conversation about the fucking weather.
“Last night,” I answer. She sits at the table, cluttered with paraphernalia of all sorts. I could easily arrest this woman, but it’d only be a waste of time. It already feels like the walls are closing in around me as each second ticks by and she’s still in the hands of that psychopath.
Is he hurting her? Did he already kill her?
I shake my head. I can’t think like that. Not now, or I’ll completely lose it.
“Do you know where he could’ve taken her?” I ask. I took a single step into the kitchen, crowding the entranceway.
Barbie lights a cigarette, inhales deeply, her cheeks hollowing out as she does. A low growl reverberates from chest up and up my throat. More seconds go by.
“I don’t,” she says finally before taking another drag. I cross my arms across my chest, needing to do something with them or else my hands will end up wrapped around Barbie’s neck before I can stop myself.
“You’ve been Billy’s bitch for half your life, and you don’t know where he could be?” I push. It’s a guess how long Barbie has known Billy, but from the haggardness in her decrepit body, it’s not hard to see that a soul-sucking demon like Billy has been in her life for too many years.
