Pulling out Mo’s desk chair, I stand on it and peer into the vent. My hair blows into my eyes, making it hard to see.
With a hot coal sinking into my stomach, I retrieve a butter knife from the kitchen. I pull the vent cover off. The scalding nugget burns through to my gut, sparking a fire there. I grab the small electronic device and yank it from the bracket securing it to the air duct.
A hidden camera?
What the fuck?
*
I storm into the house. The backdoor bangs the wall as I go. With two handfuls of cameras, wires, and a bizarre Mexican doll held out in front of me, I burst through the dickhead’s office doors. I throw one handful of the shit at him.
He yanks his hands up to protect his face.
Standing, he lets the wires, lenses, and other pieces fall to his desk and onto the floor. “What are you doing?”
Using my empty arm, I swipe it across his fucking desk. A pile of his shit clatters onto the carpet. My chest heaves with my anger.
I drop the second half of the camera equipment into the empty space. “I’m returning your shit to you. I’ll be staying with Mo from now on; she won’t need your protection.”
He holds his hands out as though to calm me. “Danny, just wait a minute.”
My rage funnels into my fists as I scramble over the desk, knocking his laptop and the rest of his papers to the floor.
I grab his throat and slam him into the wall. “No. You wait a minute, you fucking perv. You want to protect this family? Your ministry? I suggest you back the fuck off me and stay away from Mo. You don’t even fucking look at her, or speak to her. And whatever video you have, give it to me—now. Or I’ll take this to the press. They’ll have a feeding frenzy with this shit.”
Dad claws at my wrists, his voice raspy. “Let me explain.”
“Hidden cameras pretty much tell it all. I always knew you were fucked in the head. Now I have proof. If it weren’t for Mom being so fragile, I’d expose your perverted, old ass right now.”
He drops his hands, his expression falling. “Yes. Your mom would be devastated.”
I pull him to me, yelling into his face. “You bet your ass she would. As would Rachel, and I can’t even imagine what this would do to Mo.”
I shove him again. The back of his head smacks the wall.
I grit my teeth. “You better not touch our trusts either, because if I think even a dollar is missing, I’ll bust this thing wide ass open.”
“No. No need to do that. Your money’s safe. Just, let’s keep this between us. It could ruin me.”
I let go of him and back up. My hands shake with all the unused anger still flowing through my body. “I’m not keeping this to myself for you. You I couldn’t give a shit less about, but I won’t see Mom have another break down because of some stupid crap like this. Or have Mo feel violated. Not unless I have to. But don’t push me; I’ve got no patience for you, old man.”
He nods, rubbing the red marks over his Adam’s apple. “All right. Calm down.”
“Not until I’ve got every bit of footage you have of Mo. Every single frame.”
*
My fists tighten as the monitor flickers with images that date back to when Mo moved into the guest house. Fucker’s been watching her all this time. Keeping tabs. Seeing every change of clothes, shower, and study session.
She thinks she lives in privacy, but she’s had none.
My stomach sours even more as I race to Rachel’s room. If that perv’s done this to his own fucking daughter, I swear, I’ll—shit, I’ll go to jail.
Leaping onto Rach’s bed, I check behind the vent. The breath I’ve been holding whooshes out. No cameras. Just as a precaution, I check all the other potential hiding spots in her room. The eyes of all her stuffed animals for starters.
Thank God, he hasn’t gone there, because I’d have to kill him.
Hell, I want to rip his fucking head off now. But, for the love of Mom and Rachel, I won’t. Besides, if Mo finds out what a dirt bag my father is, there’s no telling what she’ll do. She might separate herself from my family completely.
From me.
I can’t lose her just because my dad’s a perverted asshole.
I brush the sweat from my brow as I push open the door to the guest house with my hip. The cool air is welcome after the heat of the afternoon. Even with the AC blowing right on my face in the car, I wasn’t cooling off. I got so warm it made my stomach turn. Something must be wrong with the AC. Or maybe I’m dehydrated.
Dropping my bag on the coffee table I head into the bedroom.
What the hell?
There’s a giant pile of clothes on the bed. Not my clothes.
I pick up a pair of black boxer briefs. What does he think he’s doing?