He looks sad suddenly. And incredibly old. I can see in him the pain in his joints and his back from chasing me. I can see the toll these months have taken on him, searching for me—missing me? “I never told you the truth. I thought I was protecting you. But maybe I was only protecting myself.”
I swallow hard to hear him admit it. “Then you did kill her.”
Pain flashes through his eyes. “I didn’t kill her. No one did.”
“Liar,” I say, shaking with fury.
There’s no way she’s alive. That was just a childish dream.
And I think, I won’t need a Taser to bring a man down. A swift, hard kick to the nuts can do that. And God, my legs are strong. My thighs are fucking weapons after dancing onstage every night. I left my father on the ground. I am practically a black widow, leaving men broken and in pain wherever I go. In those seconds I feel powerful.
And then he says something that is my downfall. “I won’t let Byron touch you again,” my father says. “I shouldn’t have let him touch you at all.”
It was what I always wanted from him. Protection. Caring. I guess a little girl never stops wanting her daddy. But mine is just an illusion. I know, because a second later Byron appears behind him.
I would have expected him to grow scarier in my mind, as if my fears could morph him into a monster. But he seems almost more sinister in that suit and that smile, cat got the cream. “You found her.”
My father’s hand tightens on me. He turns halfway, caught between us. “Byron. I need a moment with my daughter. Then we’ll talk.”
He advances on us, and both my father and I shrink back. There is a new confidence to the man. I’m assuming it has something to do with the gang of muscle-bound men behind Byron, armed and cold. Mercenaries.
“The time for talking is over,” Byron says. “And so is your usefulness. I’m sorry your daughter shot you, though. That’s a rough way to go.”
I scream and yank my father down, but Byron is fast. His aim is perfect. He blows a hole in my father’s head, and the blood spatters on my hands.
Chapter Sixteen
You have to look on the bright side. I learned that early. There’s always a bright side. In this case, the bright side is that Clara definitely got away safe. If I wasn’t sure before, now I know she’s definitely gone. Her books are missing, and the Madonna is gone too.
And I know Byron doesn’t have her. Because he’s torturing me trying to find her.
It’s such a relief that I have no fucking clue where she is.
Thwack.
I can’t be sure I wouldn’t give her up. I love her more than anything. More than my life, not that it’s worth much. I would gladly die for her, but the thing about death is, it’s not easy. Not when I’m tied up in a motel room. I can’t exactly swallow some pills I don’t have or slit my wrists when they’re tied down with rope. I can only endure every strike of Byron’s belt. I can only survive.
Thwack. Thwack. Thwack.
Two of the men sit at the table where Clara and I ate meals together. I have the unsettling feeling they are waiting for Byron to be finished with me. That they are waiting for their turns.
“Where is she?” Byron says. I almost think he knows I don’t have the answer. I think he doesn’t care.
I shake my head.
Thwack.
My body jerks in the bonds. I’m tied at both wrists and ankles, face up. The whole bed shakes with the impact. And the pain…God, the pain is unbearable. It’s blinding. It’s all the lights onstage and all the hands touching me. It’s a snake bite, the lash of the tail and the sting of the teeth biting into my flesh.
But I have to bear it. Death isn’t easy. I can only survive.
Thwack.
I have more empathy for Candy than I could have before. If she’s felt even a fraction of this pain, no wonder she shoots up. I’d do anything to feel numb.
“Please,” I whimper.
I didn’t mean to say it. Didn’t mean to beg. He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction.
He does pause. He sets the belt on the bed. The mattress groans as he leans down toward me. “What was that?” he says, his voice deceptively gentle.
There are more men waiting outside, standing watch. I wonder if they’ve bothered to clear out the whole motel. It might be safer, just to make sure there are no witnesses. On the other hand, why bother? No one will have seen anything by the time the police come through. And if they did, Byron’s friends’ connections would cover it up.
“I don’t know where she is,” I whisper.
He leans closer, his mouth just inches from my ear. “Why should I believe you?”