Page 38 of Unorthodox
“Let me speak to her.”
I think about her yesterday, over twenty-four hours after I first chained her up. I carried her back to her room after she spent an entire night and day shackled to a wall. She hated me, and I could feel her hatred rolling off of her in waves, even though she didn’t say a word. Even though she let herself go limp in my arms as Dante followed us back to her bed.
I set her down, and she had glared up at me, circles beneath her eyes, red veins visible in the whites of them.
She’d been screaming a lot, apparently.
She didn’t sleep well that night.
Makes two of us.
All she’d said to me after I set her on the bed, in a hoarse, angry whisper, was, “I have to pee.”
The thought makes me almost laugh out loud.
“No,” I say to her father in answer to his demand.
Christopher swears on the other end of the line, and I smile to myself. Good. He’s getting angry. Maybe he’ll end this between us now, and I won’t have to put a bullet in his brain when he realizes he’snevergetting his daughter back, no matter how much money he offers me.
“How do I know she’s even alive, Max? How the fuck do I know you haven’t already taken her down to Mexico and let every fucking thug of yours rape her to death?”
I shrug, unseen by Christopher. “There’s an idea.”
“You aresick, Max. You’re fucking sick. If you don’t give the phone to her, I willnotbe paying foranything, and everyone will know just how fucking disturbed—”
“How many times did you hit her, Christopher?” I ask him, interrupting his illogical tirade. If hedoestell “everyone” about what I’ve done to her, that works in my favor. Not his. He couldn’t protect his own daughter, and I fed her to the sharks? In our world, ruthlessness is a badge of honor.
He’d be stripped of his while I gained another.
Interestingly, with my question, he goes quiet on the line.
I smile to myself, drum my fingers against the arm of the chair. I know he’s hurt her, the way she holds her ground but flinches when my hand comes to her face. She did that before Ben even laid a hand on her. “Did you ever touch her?” I press. “Where fathers shouldn’t touch their daughters?”
More silence.Interesting.
“So, no? You just wanted her to get those implants for your friends to enjoy? Not so she’d look more like a whore to you, and less like someone you should take care of?”
He sputters on the line, and I smile to myself, eyes still on the ceiling, waiting for him to end the call. I can wait all day. He’s getting panicked because we both know he can’t pay the price I asked. We both know how this waiting game will go, and I’m content waiting for him to end it, right now. Swallow his pride, give up the girl he never wanted anyway, and I won’t have to kill him in the end when he puts up a fight. Instead, he can hang his head, take his losses, and try to make sure he doesn’t fuck up again, so his son doesn’t end up my prisoner too.
“I hope you had her looked over,” he says, surprising me. His voice is wicked, and I don’t move, listening to him. He’s got my attention, although I know how men like Christopher work. When he’s backed into a corner, he’ll lie to get out of it. I’m listening when he speaks, but I don’t believe a fucking word he’s saying. “Her mother died when she was a child, you know?”
I did know that. I know a lot about Christopher, and in turn, Addison. You don’t kidnap someone without doing your research. Addison’s mother had an aneurysm. The night after she tried to run away from the London compound and was stopped by a cop in Christopher’s pocket.
I say nothing, let him continue. He’s blending whatever bullshit he’s about to spew at me with facts. Smart man.
“You know how it is, Max. Men like us, we’re busy.”True.“She was raised by nannies, her schooling was done by tutors. She went to church every weekend, but otherwise, she spent most of her time in my house.”
I wait for him to get to the point, think of her down on her knees praying and try not to roll my eyes. God doesn’t exist, no more than the Tooth Fairy or Father Christmas. God is a crutch. A way to prop people up when all of their hope is gone.
Addison hasn’t had hope for a long, long time.
It’s how she’s adjusted so well to her time here in my house, despite her stubbornness. Any other girl, I’d probably have to string up in the soundproof room for the length of her stay.
“Danik was with her a lot,” Christopher continues, an edge to his voice for some reason I don’t yet grasp. “And so was her uncle.”
I dip my chin, sitting up straighter.
I didn’t know she had an uncle. Granted, I didn’t look too much into extended families. The mother came from New York, the daughter of a physician. Christopher is the son of a chemist-turned-drug runner, but from my research, I assumed they were both only children.
