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“Aw, no hard feelings. At least they let your slutty ass get dressed before they brought you to the plane. Tell me, were you having sex with all those Russian bastards? Was it willingly? Or did they force you?”
The smile on his face turns my stomach. Either way, I could tell the sick fuck would enjoy the answer.
“When did you become like this? I always thought you were a good man.” I don’t add decent father. I’m not going to be that nice. I no longer have it in me.
Clicking his tongue, he shakes his head. “My little Abby. Always so naïve. I can see my sheltering you has paid off. Or not. You have no idea how the world works. And now, I dare say, you never will.”
I hope the hate in my eyes matches what he’s throwing my way. It may be my only true weapon.
“How did you get me back in the country with no passport? No customs?” I ask. I’d been wondering how this would be handled the entire journey, and even more so when the private jet that had flown me landed and I was whisked into a waiting car.
How is that even possible?
“Abby, you know that with enough money, you can make anything happen. Anything. Which is why I need yours.”
I wondered if he was going to bring that up. He’s never been one to beat around the bush.
“I’m guessing you need it for something having to do with the Russians. But tell me, why didn’t you just kill me? Why drag me all the way back here? So I can die in front of your eyes? In the home I grew up in? Is that what you want?”
I’m getting pissed now and am nearly leaning over his desk. “Is that what will make you happy? Satisfied with your life?”
He leans back in his chair, the poster child for smugness.
But this is nothing new. He’s always been like this. I guess I’d ignored it. Chalked it up to ‘oh, that’s just Dad.’
And now that my eyes are finally open, all I see before me is ugliness. Hate. Arrogance. Entitlement.
And loneliness. How alone this man must be.
“I figure it’s the least I can do to face you one more time. After all, it’s what I did with Nanette, your mother,” he scoffs like her name is a dirty word.
“But you didn’t kill her. You just sent her away.”
He scoffs. “Sounds like you’ve been in touch with her, my ex-wife and mother of my daughter.”
“I have, as a matter of fact. The guys found her.” I tip my chin up defiantly.
Unbothered, he waves his hand dismissively. “No matter. All that’s important is that the stupid woman put the money in a trust for you, and hired someone idiotic enough to let me know about it. I wasn’t going to do anything about it. I didn’t care if you got her money or not. Until I realized I needed it. So, lucky me that some administrative mistake revealed your mother’s intentions. Not to mention whereabouts.”
“Yeah, well, don’t get any ideas. She’s with the guys on the island.”
He laughs. Again. “Yeah, right. She’s about as safe there as you were. I could have her here tomorrow if I wanted. But I don’t. That woman can rot in hell for all I care.”
How does a person become so hateful, and right under my nose? All the years of raising me, I had no idea my father was capable of anything like this. That he was this sort of person.
It’s devastating, really. I mean, how does one recover from something as soul-destroying as this?
“So, Abby,” he says, glancing at his watch, “I have a dinner engagement and need to get going. I’d invite you but… I can’t. Before I leave, I want to give you some options. You can give the money to me—just sign it over—or I can kill you, in which case I’ll get it anyway. Which do you want?”
Before saying anything, I slowly take the chair opposite my father’s desk. I am tired. So tired. I drop my face into my hands and rub my eyes. ““You know,” I say without looking at him, “if you’d told me you needed the money, I would have given it to you, no questions asked. So take it. Take it all. I don’t want it. It’s dirty money. I don’t want anything from a low-life like you. I’m ashamed you’re my father.”
He stands and walks around to my side of the desk. I should be scared, but I’m not. I just don’t care anymore. I’ve spent too much time afraid. I’m done.
He chuckles and I finally look up at him. “Now, now. No need to get nasty.” Taking one of my hands like he’s going to hold it, he squeezes. Hard. My bones crunch and grind.
I scream.
“Let go!” I gasp, the pain intensifying. I desperately try to pull free, but he grips tighter.
