Page 4 of Black Hearts
He really did hate me. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him like this, or heard such acidity in his tone before, not even when I’d tried to run away when I was younger. This kind of hatred was something new; fitting, since I was also looking at this whole thing in a new light.
I stabbed a piece of meat and brought it to my mouth, well aware he stared at me with daggers in his eyes. I took my time chewing it. “I’m not a whore, Daddy.” The old me never would’ve made such a claim; she would’ve meekly bowed her head and accepted whatever harsh words were thrown her way.
“Are you sure? Because you looked very eager to let that man use you however he wanted.” Daddy’s jaw ground, his eyes narrowed at me. “Did you like the taste of his cock, Juliet? It must’ve been godly, for you to forget everything I taught you.”
I didn’t want this talk to be all about me. He acted like I was the only one who had explaining to do. But, you know what? He was wrong. I didn’t need to explain anything to him; I wasn’t the one who went around killing girls and having sex with them—before or after they were already dead.
Yeah. That was on a whole different level.
But his callous, superior attitude made me mad, twisted everything I felt inside until there was only fury. “You said the world would hurt me. You said everyone out there would use me and throw me away like trash. Guess what? Markus might’ve hurt me, he might’ve used me—but I liked it. I felt things I never thought I’d feel with him, Daddy, and I wouldn’t take one second of it back—” I flinched when Daddy did what he did next, any other words I might’ve said dying in the back of my throat.So much for playing his game and holding back.
Daddy took his plate, still full of food, and threw it against the wall, shattering the porcelain dish into over a dozen pieces. “That’s enough,” he cut in, standing up with a jerk of his body. He came over to me, fuming. He grabbed me by the hair and dragged me out of my chair.
This time I struggled. This time I fought him.
“No,” I cried out, struggling, squirming, trying to get him to let me go as he dragged me out of the kitchen by the hair. “You don’t get to say those things to me! You don’t get to call me a whore and—” He brought us to the stairs, and I tripped on the first step, my body bent at such a weird angle since he still held onto my hair, dragging me along. I couldn’t really see where we were going.
I knew, though. Up the stairs, back to my room, where he’d throw me away while he calmed himself down.
He held onto my hair so hard it felt like he pulled some of it out. I couldn’t get a good grip on him, too busy trying not to trip over every step on the way up. As tired as he looked, he was still stronger than me.
I was thrown back into my room, and this time, I couldn’t catch myself. I tripped and tumbled, the carpet meeting with my face and giving me an instant rug burn. By the time I scrambled back to my feet, Daddy had already locked the door.
I pounded on the door. I could see the shadow of his feet with the hall light coming in through the bottom crack of the door, so I knew he was still here. “They’ll come for me!” I cried, hoping I was right, desperately wanting to put my faith in a group of men who were no better than Daddy, objectively. “They’ll come, and when they do, they’ll fucking kill you like you killed all those girls!”
That last part came from me before I thought better of it, and my eyes widened when I realized I’d let it slip. I took a few steps away from the door, my heart frantically pounding away in my chest.
The bedroom door unlocked and it swung open, my father’s figure standing there, a shadow amongst the bright hall light. If he was angry before, he was ten times more furious now. “What the fuck did you just say?”
I swallowed. “I said they’ll come for me.”
“Not that. What the fuck did you say after that?”
There was no getting out of this. He’d heard me, so there was no point in trying to pretend I hadn’t said it when we both knew I did. “I said they’ll kill you like you killed all those girls.” My words felt foreign on my tongue, and yet, after all the time I’d spent losing myself over it, trying to accept it, no truer words had ever been spoken in this house.
And still Daddy tried to play it off. “What girls are you talking about?”
“I saw the file Markus has on you,” I told him. “I saw you in the woods, burying a body. You’re the Hillside Stalker.” He said nothing to that, only continued to stare at me, which caused me to hurriedly add, “I saw their pictures! I know their faces. Young, pretty, blond—they look a lot like me. Tell me, Daddy, are you going to kill me next? Because, if you are, the least you can do is say it to my face.”
Where did that come from? Who was this girl, standing up to her father? I sure as heck didn’t recognize myself, and it was clear neither did Daddy. He simply stood there, staring at me, his mouth agape.
How I wished I could peer into his head, see what he was thinking. How I wished I could make a mad dash out of this house and get back to my men, my Scotts, my new life—because this? This wasn’t my life. Not anymore.
The shock over me knowing what he’d done wore off, and Daddy was once again no more than a stone. His features hardened, and he slammed my door shut once again, locking me in the dark. He flicked the hall light off and walked away, leaving me to calm myself down.
He didn’t admit it to me. He only pretended not to know what I was talking about until I explained to him what I’d seen. There was no lying about this, no more games of pretend. He had to know Markus kept an eye on him, that Markus knew all about what he did with his free time, so hearing me say it out loud shouldn’t be a shock.
But Daddy had obviously wanted to keep me in the dark. He never wanted me to know that side of him. Self-righteous as he was, he was nothing more than a fake, a liar, the worst kind of human being out there.
I went to sit on my bed, shoulders slumping. I wouldn’t go into my closet and imagine everything I wanted in life; I’d already gotten a taste of my freedom, and now that I knew what it was like, being locked up in this room was akin to torture.
Daddy might not be happy about everything I’d done at the Scott house, but me? I wasn’t content knowing everything he’d done in the past. I hadn’t even brought up the fact that he’d killed my mom. He’d hurt so many girls over the years… how could I ever look at him the same? Just knowing what he’d done made me sick, and what love I used to feel for him had begun to be replaced by something else, something darker.
Hate. Loathing. Everything that should not go with love.
I didn’t know how long I sat there before I gave up and lay down, but it was a while, and when I finally laid back on my pillow, I knew I’d be lucky to get an ounce of sleep tonight. Today had been crazy, and I knew things would not slow down, not until I found myself back in the arms of the men I loved.
One day. It hadn’t even been a full twenty-four hours, but it felt like a lifetime.
