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He shrugs, holds the small, cloth-wrapped package tighter. “Close enough. I can’t control time, so I guess we’ll go with yes. We’ll take all this shit. Everything in his collection. He’s got photos of everything down here, his personal collection of the most vile pornography imaginable. Every person he’s taken captive, tortured, raped, and sodomized for his own sick pleasure. Every depraved act captured and locked behind shiny glass walls for his own viewing pleasure.”
“He was going to put her here.” My blood boils and my stomach clenches at the thought of what lies behind the open doorway.
“There were empty display cases marked with her name. She was about to become the centerpiece of his collection, along with her art. When you’re done here, do yourself a favor and look up Lavender Steele.”
Jones’s face returns to its usual benevolent beauty, and I get the feeling hiding the ragged, primal violence costs more than he’s willing to admit.
Then he turns and leaves.
My skin starts to prickle as the pressure changes.
“That’s my moniker,” Dakota says from behind me.
I turn and wait until she joins me.
“He’s still alive.” Trent’s one good eye darts up to her. “Good.”
“Go back upstairs.”
“You don’t want me, that’s…” She lets out a breath. “It’s not okay. It’s not because?—”
Then she stops. “Can I have your gun?”
I don’t need to ask what she wants it for. “No.”
But I know what she needs, and fuck everything, I’m giving her that gift. “Daddy says no.”
She doesn’t respond, but I can see the man on the floor. He’s going to die from his wounds, a slow, horrible death. But through the pain and struggles to breathe is fury at me calling myself Daddy.
“But, baby girl, if you come here, kiss Daddy, and ask nicely, he’ll give you his gun.”
Her head shoots up and she comes up to me and rubs a hand on my cock, making me hard.
If I didn’t think it would give him a sick pleasure to watch her give me head, I’d make her do it, but the kiss is the perfect answer. Her add-on? Sublime.
She winds her arms around my neck and kisses me.
My lips part for her, and our tongues meet as heat rocks me, makes me harder. She’s soft and hot and the right amount of wet, and she kisses like she’s going to drop to her knees and hoover my dick down her throat.
She kisses like Daddy’s very bad, very perfect girl.
Reluctantly, I break that kiss. The taste of regret, lost love, and goodbye is bitter on my tongue. It’s something that will haunt me when we go our separate ways. And when we do, when I’m living my life, I’ll know she’s out there.
But I kiss her again because I’m greedy. I don’t want her to find someone and forget me. I want her to hurt like I hurt. And that’s why she should fucking run. I’m not good.
“Don’t,” she whispers against my lips, “don’t end it. You don’t want to.”
“Baby girl…” I kiss a path up her jaw to her ear. Trent’s ragged breathing is music to me. It sings a song of pain. And I want him to hurt as much as I can make him hurt before I kill him.
I bite her lobe, lick along the curve of her ear’s shell.
“What I want has nothing to do with it. What’s right does.”
“Give me your gun.”
She doesn’t know how to use a gun. But I put it in her hand and turn her so her back’s to me. Then I fold around her.
“Daddy, help, please.”
