Page 16 of Captive Vows
“What in the hell?” I demanded. Propping one hand to my hip, I looked him up and down. It even smelled like he’d peed his pants. “Dammit, Dad.” I shook my head. Just seeing him renewed my fury. Seeing him likethis, a pathetic and hungover mess, enraged me. He was good for nothing, too stuck on associating with deadbeats and getting high without a regard for anyone else.
“Where the fuck have you been?” I shouted.
He winced. Or maybe he didn’t. It was hard to tell with how his face looked.
He must have gotten so high and messed up that he’d fallen somewhere. I didn’t care. I was running out of patience, let alone compassion. He never gave any to me, and I was too burned to want to be “sweet” to him.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Dad. You were out all night?—”
“Gabby, that’s not true.” His voice was slurred, as if something was wrong with his tongue.
“That’s not true?” I parroted with every bit of seething anger I could muster. “That’s not true? The hell it isn’t. You weren’t here last night when I got home. But Tony was. He knew you were out all night doing whatever the hell you wanted while he let himself into our home.”
“What?” He stopped walking into the room, staring at me seriously. “Tony was here?”
“Yes! And he tried to rape me. Your buddy tried to take advantage of me the second I got home.” I crossed my arms, too livid to stand straight without hugging myself. “He tried torapeme.” Saying it out loud made it all the more real. It wasn’t just a thought or a figment of a possibility. Speaking about it cemented it as a fact. As something that had happened. It was every woman’s faraway fear, but it had almosthappened. I struggled to accept it, wishing I could just be mad and yelling at him like this to avoid thinking about what if Tony had succeeded.
“He—” Dad took another step but had to put his hand on the table to support himself.
I furrowed my brow at the bruises and cuts there. It looked like he’d tried to fight with a clawed animal or something.
“Did he touch you?” he asked.
Like you care.“He tried to.”
“But did he?” He lowered his head before staring me down. “Gabby, did he do anything to you?”
Not for one second did I think he was asking because he cared. Because he was worried. It seemed more like he needed a factual retelling, nothing more.
“No. I got away. He came on to me and was ready to take advantage. But I fought him off and ran away.”
“Good.” He exhaled a wheezy breath. I couldn’t convince myself he was relievedforme, though. “You’re still…” He cleared his throat, as if it was hoarse from screaming. “You’re still a virgin, aren’t you?”
I narrowed my eyes, ready to add to the bruises on his face. How dare he ask me that? How dare he prioritize my “purity” like that? Anger spiked in me all over again, and I wondered if it was possible for a person to combust from being so mad.
“Fuck off,” I told him, sick of this. Sick of him. And sick of this life. This was his reaction? Just to make sure I remained a virgin?
“You can be as mad as you want, Gabby,” he said, almost mockingly, “but it won’t change anything.”
I didn’t need him to tell me that I was stuck in this life with no hope. I didn’t understand what he was trying to say, though. I could be mad, but too bad, so sad?
“What?” I watched him lower his head again. As he stood there without a reply for me, I realized he hadn’t closed the door behind him.
In the void of the doorway, another man appeared behind him. Dressed in a suit and wearing a somber, serious expression that warned the world not to mess with him, he strode right into the apartment.
“Dad?” I lifted my hand to point at the intruder. He moved too fast, though, and the urgency of him entering my home triggered that fight-or-flight response in me.
I backed up, smacking my hip on the counter. I couldn’t fight this guy. He was too big. Too sinister. Just one look at him had me worried he was with the Mob.
“No. Get back! Dad?” I shot him a panicked look.
He didn’t stop the man as he rushed toward me. He didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch.
“Dad?” I backed up into a corner where the counter met the fridge. “No. No!”
I had nowhere to run. My heart raced as the man pulled out a syringe from his pocket. Darting toward me and capturing my wrist, he moved too efficiently, jabbing the point of the needle into my upper arm.
“Dad!”
