Page 41 of The Hottest Daddy
“And what will you do to her when she fights you?” Angelina looked hopeful and Scanlan decided to throw her a bone.
“Sunday will learn to do as I want, when I want, how I want, or her life will be ended in the most painful way you can imagine. Slowly. Intimately.”
That got Angelina. She smiled, cat-like, and sidled over to him. “Tell me,” she said huskily, rubbing her groin against him. “Describe how you’ll kill her.”
Brian smiled and for the next few minutes, as he described the death he had planned for Sunday, he fucked Angelina, coldly, clinically. Not that she cared. She was too turned on by his bloodlust.
“Tell me,” she said, afterward, as they tidied themselves up, “why her? When did you see her? When did you decide you wanted her?”
Brian rolled his eyes. “Are you really interested? Why? When did you decide you were going to rape and abuse River Giotto?”
“On my wedding day,” she smiled nastily. “He was—he is—so beautiful. Who wouldn’t want him? Those eyes, those dark lashes, that body. His mouth. Christ, the first time I made him go down on me …”
“Made.” Brian looked disgusted and Angelina laughed.
“You have the nerve to judge me when you’ve just finished describing what you’re going to do to Sunday?”
He didn’t answer her but waited and Angelina sighed. “So, come on. Why Mar—Sunday? Why her?”
For a moment, he hesitated. Did he really want to share that first sighting of Sunday, Marley, as she was then? That time in the university library?
He’d gone there to find someone to kill. Another girl to kill. That was his thing and his father had known it—and encouraged it. “Just make sure you’re never found out.”
That was the real reason his father would not give him his name. But Brian was never caught. He never raped his victims; that wasn’t what he wanted from them. He just wanted to see them bleed.
But when he had seen Sunday, he knew he wanted more. He wanted her skin next to his, to see her mouth open in an ecstatic gasp as he made love to her; he wanted her to bend to his will in everything. He wanted to own her.
The fact was she had graduated only a few days after he’d first seen her and then she had disappeared. At that time, he hadn’t had the resources to find her and had not wanted to ask his father for help. His father, even more twisted than he was, would have wanted to know why he hadn’t simply killed the girl. He wouldn’t have understood Brian’s need to possess her.
So he had returned to his old ways until that one day when she had appeared as a reporter on his television. Then it had begun. She had been quickly promoted to anchor and then his campaign had begun. Flowers to the studio. Following her home. Interfering with her life in small, but subtle ways. The day he had seen her with that idiot Cory … God, his rage had been all consuming. He had gone home to his apartment, not even bothering to switch on the light. The neighbors had made a complaint about the noise coming from his place. Fuck them. It had taken all his control to stop from killing her then.
Later, when he’d come into his money, he’d used it to keep track of her entire life. He had people break into her apartment, setting up cameras everywhere. There was nowhere she was safe from him. He’d hired someone to apply for a job as a runner at the news station so he would know her every movement. The runner had been the one to tell him when and where she would be that night that he’d sent his man to kill Cory.
When the man had called him to tell him that he had shot Sunday too, Brian had howled down the phone. He’d snuck into the hospital, knowing that if she died, that was it. He would have no reason to live.
He still remembered the night he’d managed to get into her room, telling the night nurse that he was her cousin. The first time he had touched her hand, stroked her face as she slept. She had nearly died, they’d told him, but she was hanging in there. He’d had a half hour with her before he’d heard voices in the hallway and had made his escape, but it had been enough to know she was going to live.
Over the next year, he had bided his time, watching her recovery. He had not been surprised that, during her time at home, she had become suspicious, paranoid, even, and when she’d found his cameras, he’d mourned the loss of the uninhibited view of her life. She’d returned to work nine months after the shooting and he’d, again, thought he had all the time in the world.
Until Marley Locke had disappeared forever. It still haunted him that the only reason he had found her was some random hookup with Angelina Marshall. To Brian, it was just another sign that he and Sunday would be together. Should be together.
And soon, they would be, living together as man and wife on his island in the Caribbean. She would bear his children and love him and them like no other woman could. She would be his entirely, giving him her body, her soul, her heart. She would never mention River Giotto or his daughter again, or any other man. She would belong solely to him and he would decide whether she woke up every day, whether she breathed in and out, and for how long.
And if she disagreed, he would make her suffer the torments of the damned before he killed her.
Chapter Twenty
For a few weeks, Sunday could almost forget that her stalker had found her. Nothing seemed out of place or threatening and instead, her happiness increased every day as she, River, and Berry became closer as a family.
She and River were also excited that they had made the decision to have a child, but as yet, she hadn’t fallen pregnant. She wasn’t concerned; they had all the time in the world and their lovemaking got better every time as they learned about what the other liked to do and have done to them.
She was also becoming closer to Daisy and to Luke as they invited their friends to dine with them. Daisy’s relationship with Tony had turned to friendship, she told them, but that was okay. Sunday noticed Daisy’s red eyes on one occasion and asked her about it but Daisy told her that it wasn’t Tony who had upset her, but Aria.
“We’re drifting apart,” Daisy told her, “and I don’t know why. It isn’t anything to do with you and I being friends, I’m sure, but she won’t talk to me, not about anything that matters.”
“I’m so sorry, Daisy.” Sunday hugged her friend, wishing she could talk to Aria for her, but not wanting to interfere.
By chance, she got the opportunity later the same week. She and Carmen had driven to a grocery store in Telluride, and as Sunday approached the bakery aisle, she saw Aria staring sightlessly at the bread on sale. She touched her arm gently. “Aria?”
