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King Madden growls as I jump away from his reach, ordering, "Donottouch me!"
He grins. "Always playing hard to get, aren't you?"
My vision blurs. I blurt out, "Riggs was right about you!"
His face falls. Anger lights it up, and he snarls, "Your precious Riggs won't save you now."
Chest pains shoot through me. Dizziness hits me, and I struggle to stay on my feet.
My father booms, "No, he sure won't. You'll be long gone by the time he sees you again."
I cry out, "I'm your flesh and blood!"
He scoffs, announcing, "You never were my daughter."
"Just because I left doesn't mean—"
"You're a bastard! Your mother finally admitted it to me," he shouts, waving his hands in the air.
Shock fills me as I attempt to register what he's claiming. I gape at him, shaking my head, declaring, "You're lying!"
"No. I'm not. Your whore of a mother slept with someone else. Imagine that," he sarcastically states. He turns to Noah. "Where's the scotch?"
"I'll get you one and let you attend to this family matter," he gloats, then strolls over to the bar.
My father points to the couch, repeating, "Sit."
I lift my chin, challenging, "How do you know she wasn't lying? You know how she gets when she's drunk or high."
His lips turn into a tight smile. He assesses me, his hate-filled eyes in slits. "Got.You know how shegot, not how she gets. She's dead, so use the past tense."
I always knew my father was cruel. This is a new low, even for him. I look back at my mother, cringing from how her face looks, void of any life, paling in the drying blood.
King Madden whines again, his heart racing against my chest. I glance at him and coo, "Shh. It's okay, sweetie."
Noah hands my father a tumbler of scotch. He takes a mouthful of his own drink and scowls. "That dog's next on the list."
King Madden growls, baring his teeth.
I turn my upper body away, shielding King Madden, afraid of what he might do to him. I glare at Noah, snapping, "Don't you dare hurt him!"
My father booms, "I'm not telling you again to sit down!"
I jump, startled by his outburst. It gives me a flashback of the last time I was in his house, and I shudder. I quickly move to the couch and sit on the corner cushion, trying to hold King Madden, who's still growling and fighting to get out of my hold. I pet his fur and repeat, "Shh. It's okay."
"Damn dog," my father spits, then takes a swig of scotch. Then he adds, "You're just like her."
I glance at my mother again, trying to comprehend that I'm not his daughter, wondering if it's true. In some ways, I believe it. My mother was promiscuous. And I've always felt like an outsider with him. Yet it wasn't only my father who gave me that feeling.
"You don't know if she's telling the truth," I state.
He steps closer, seething, "Dumb woman. I tested it."
"How?" I ask.
"You left everything when you ran away," he admits.
"Everything?"
