Page 12 of Monster's Edge

That’s a fact.

Why is Ian reciting facts to me?

I stare up at him. He hasn’t told me to get up on my feet, so I don’t. I don’t move at all. I just stay here. I sit perfectly still, and I stare at the man who has captured me. What is he getting at?

“Yes,” I finally say.

“He owns a laundromat.”

“Yes.”

“A soup kitchen, which is a bit ironic,” Ian rolls his eyes.

Yeah, I’ve never really understood that one, either. It doesn’t make money or process money, but something goes on there that gives my dad leverage, so he pays for it.

“There are at least two dozen shell corporations he runs.”

Again, this is all true.

“A dance studio,” he continues.

Wait, what?

“What?”

Ian looks at me, surprised.

“You said he owns a dance studio?” I ask him. Oh, I hope that Ian tells me more about this because I don’t want this one to be true. Is he trying to tell me that my father owns the studio I go dancing at? Is that why I go?

And how did I not know about this?

Embarrassment washes over me again. How could I not have known? I always thought that dance class days were moments when I could be myself. I thought that those classes were my own: my place where I could just enjoy being me.

Has my father been watching me this whole time?

Ian nods slightly, almost imperceivably. The gesture is so small that if I wasn’t watching, I would have missed it, but I was watching.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

I swallow hard and nod. Okay, so my dad is even more of a freak than I thought. What does it matter? It’s not like I’m going to see him again, right? After all of this, Ian is definitely going to slit my throat and dump my body somewhere that nobody will ever find it. Either that, or he’ll place it somewhere someone willdefinitelyfind it and that will be some sort of message for my dad. Maybe Ian will even tell my dad he was the one who did it.

I don’t know.

“Why does this surprise you?” Ian asks. He’s still watching me. It’s hard to focus with his dick still hard. He’s stroking it now and I can’t look away. All I want is for him to fuck me. All I want is for him to make me forget.

I want to forget about who my dad is.

I want to forget about all of the shit he’s done.

I want to forget about all of this.

“Because my dad isn’t a nice person,” I whisper. I lick my lips. How can I phrase this so I don’t sound like a total freak or a whiny princess? No matter what I say next, it’ll be the wrong thing. “I thought he was letting me take dance lessons because I enjoy them.”

There.

I said it.

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