Daddy's Here(16)

“But why are you doing this?”

I didn’t answer her. I didn’t know. All of a sudden an image of her on her knees entered my head. Looking up at me with those innocent eyes of hers as I made her beg me to take her. I couldn’t shake the image either. Her with her clothes torn half off, her hair a mess, her hands clasped behind her back. I could feel my cock twitch at the thought of it and I had to look away from her to make the image fade.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” I replied, my voice more strained than I liked to hear it. I coughed then growled, my voice back to normal as I repeated, “I’m fine.”





TWELVE



ISABEL





I was glad when the bus pulled in. He’d been silent for ten minutes, staring into the distance without saying a word. He seemed furious with me though I wasn’t sure why. I didn’t say anything though. I worried that if I did, he might go back on his deal and try and force me home.

I didn’t really know what I was doing. Was going to see Ben a good idea? What if his feelings for me had changed? He hadn’t written for years, just texted to admonish me each time I told him I loved him, told me to sober up and get on with my life.

My life was at a crossroads. I knew that. Either go home, go see Ben, or try and run. None of the options were great. I needed someone to tell me what to do but there was no one. So when he’d agreed to take me to Ben, it was like getting permission combined with being given a command. I latched onto it like a grateful toddler.

I had spent most of my life not really knowing what I was doing. It was a strange feeling. I had a father but I didn’t feel like I had a family. I had friends but I didn’t feel as if anyone really knew me. I’d been so angry at the hired goon for telling me I couldn’t cope in the real world, not because he was wrong, but because he was right.

It was like he’d seen straight through to the heart of me and I didn’t like that feeling. No one was supposed to see that deeply into me, that was the whole point of keeping my true feelings hidden.

I had felt for years like I was treading water, that if I didn’t keep focussed on the things I thought were important, I might start to sink. I’d see the real me, the vulnerable little girl who just wanted to be loved and protected. Was that why I was still so obsessed with him? Was that why I was travelling to him? To try and get that feeling back, that feeling of being safe. It had been a very long time since I’d felt safe. Knowing I was supposed to marry the son of a gangster didn’t exactly help with that.

I could sneak away, of course. I could wait for the opportune moment as Jack Sparrow once said. Or I could try to persuade him not to take me back. But there was still that voice in the back of my mind that told me I could trust this man. For all his coldness, the bitterness that radiated off him as he stood with his arms folded, staring into the distance.

That trust didn’t extend to making me want to sit with him though. It was a long way to Gladwell and I had no intention of spending the journey next to a man who so obviously hated me. I took a seat next to a guy who had a friendly smile, nodding at him as I settled in, leaving the goon to sit across the aisle from me, continuing to scowl into the distance.

The bus rumbled into life a few minutes later and we set off, heading off to make our way towards the motorway and then onwards. The last few houses faded from view, replaced by rolling fields that made me sad to think about the last time I’d seen them.

Me and the girls had taken a taxi from home to here, I recognised that campsite too. We hadn’t cared about the bill for glamping as we weren’t paying it. That was the one good thing about having a rich father, no matter how cold and distant he was, he always picked up the tab.

We’d spent a week on that campsite, slumming it without a care in the world, watching the stars at night from around the dwindling campfire, the days spent doing not very much at all, a bit of shopping, a bit of flirting with the local boys, something I was not very good at unless I’d had a few too many. At least drinking meant I didn’t have to deal with myself, how I really felt about things, better to block it out with booze.

What a difference a few years made. I’d moved out since then, I had my own place, my own life, away from the ostentatious house of my father. Even after leaving, he managed to spoil it like he’d spoiled so many other things. My hands turned into fists as I thought about the audacity of it. To think that he could have me married off like some medieval chattel, not even caring about my opinion.

“You look like you’re going to miss this place,” the man next to me said. I turned to find his hand thrusting towards me. “Michael Dooney, salesman at large.”