Page 10 of Bound in Sacrifice

I try giving him a minute to pull himself together and tell me what it is he needs to say, but he can’t do it. He hangs his head in shame.

“This is ridiculous. I’ll fucking say what this good-for-nothing, piss-poor excuse of a man can’t,” the monster interrupts. “Your father has been stealing from me. Over the course of two years, he’s racked up a bill of over $275,000.”

I gasp at the total in utter disbelief. It’s almost laughable!

“There’s no way--that’s not possible. There’s been some kind of mistake!” I look from the monster, and back to my father. His head is still hung in shame and he doesn’t even try to offer an excuse. Not even a lie to get him, to getusout of this situation. “Tell him, Father! Tell him that this is all a mistake!”

I bang on his chest at his lack of explanation. Even that doesn’t emit a response from him. I feel my body go slack and let gravity pull me down to the ground beneath me. As I sit there in shock, the monster begins speaking again.

“Not one membership fee has been paid. He hasn't paid for any of the 10 events that he’s attended, nor has he paid for one drop of the alcohol that he seems to drink as though it’s water.”

Still struck with panic at what is unfolding around me, I try to think clearly. Am I really shocked that Father has gotten himself into a situation like this? Well, alittle. I suppose I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen, but I never expected it to bethissubstantial.

I thought maybe I’d have to bail him out of jail, a few hundred dollars, for being drunk and disorderly. I’ve been saving money from each paycheck, knowing I would need to use it for him. But $275-- I can’t even think the number without feeling dizzy and sick again.

Taking several deep breaths, I try to clear my mind and steady my heart rate. I think about the money that I have in my account in addition to the little that I have stashed in my closet at--oh fuck.

“Your men, did they find--” a lone tear runs down my face at the idea of strangers in my personal space. The idea thathewas the one who sent them there.

“Your money?” the monster answers. “Yes, they found that and they took anything else that they thought might be of value, which wasn’t much.”

He looks down at me with disgust and I can feel the rage blossoming within me.

“Idetestyou,” I hiss at him. I’ve never been so angry at anyone in my entire life, except maybe my father. I want to punch him. I want to make him hurt as much as he’s hurt me.

He crouches down in front of me, invading my space, and brings his face too close to mine. His smell assaults my senses. The delicious combination of citrus and spice is actually helping to soothe my anxiety and I hate the effect he’s having on me. It fuels my rage and tears begin to pour down my face once more, making me angrier that he gets to witness me breaking.

He reaches out and grabs my chin firmly, but not hard enough to bruise. “The feeling is mutual,little lamb.”

His eyes narrow as he rises back up to his full beastly height. “So, let’s discuss payment options. Between the money and items from your house, you have about $5000 already. I think it’s safe to assume that you don’t have much in your bank account.”

It wasn’t a question and I am furious that he is correct. I notice he’s only talking to me. Does he know that Father doesn’t have anything to his name? Does he know that I am the only one with an active bank account?

“How muchdoyou have?”

I stand and hold my head high, reminding myself that I am Rosabelle de Villeneuve. I am smart, strong, and independent, and I will never let anyone try to tell me otherwise.

“I’m sure that we can work this out between the two of us. A proper business deal? One that doesn’t involve handcuffs, creepy dungeons, or violence. One that doesn’t need to be discussed in front of a group of people whom it doesn’t concern.”

“I’m afraid that’s not how this is going to work. This isn’t a small, inconsequential business deal, as I’m sure you can understand. This is theft and, frankly, I should have alreadydealtwith the issue. I don’t need to give you an opportunity to make it right, yet here I am. Now, you’re going to tell me how much money you currently have available to you, or I am going to show you exactly what I do to people who steal from me.”

He pulls a handgun from his waistband and aims it at my father. I scream in terror, myhands flying to my mouth in fear.

I study his face, frantically searching for any sign that he might be exaggerating, but there is none. I don’t think he would actually kill my father, but I can’t chance it.

“No! Please! Please don’t! I have approximately $30,000 in my savings account,” I hold my hands out to him, begging him to put down the gun, and providing him with the answer that he wants.

“And what kind of job do you have?”

“I am an assistant at a marketing firm.”

“So, no more than say, 40k a year, right? And that’s being generous.”

My eyes shift between the monster and his gun, which is still pointed at my father. I try with all my might not to be embarrassed that I make so little. I have nothing to feel ashamed for. I take care of my family and we have everything that we need to survive.

“Well?” he asks, waiting for my confirmation.

“Right.”

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