It’s not because he looks particularly evil, it’s all in the way his dead stare bores into you. It feels as if he’s sucking out my soul, feeding off my life force.
“Oh, daughter,” the sentiment is cold, it’s not said with any fondness at all, “I’ve kept you away for too long.”
My nostrils flare and I fight against the restraints holding me in place despite the pain wracking my body. The nurse flees the room, I can’t even blame her. My fight or flight has kicked in and I’ve always been a fighter but right now I want to run, as far and as fast as I can away from this man.
My father.
Marcus Valentine.
He comes closer slowly, casually, with his hands buried into the pockets of his suit trousers, his watch glimmering in the light of the room. He stops at my bedside and picks up the chart, looking over it.
He whistles through his teeth, “It looks like you took quite the beating.”
“He’s going to kill you,” I hiss through my teeth.
His low chuckle bounces off the walls.
“He has to find me first, but don’t you worry, daughter,” he reaches forward and even though I snatch my face away, his hand still touches my hair, pulling the strands away from my face and coiling them around his finger, the ringlets dull and limp. “I’ve made sure he understands what’s at risk here.”
“What did you do?”
“I’ve made him an offer he can’t refuse, of course.”
I meet his soulless eyes, trying to figure out what he means, what he’s saying but there is nothing there. His face may as well be made of stone.
“What offer?” I breathe.
He tsks loudly, shaking his head, “Nothing to concern you, it doesn’t even really matter now.”
“Then why not tell me!?”
He cocks his head, his finger trailing down the side of my face that’s sore and bruised, the skin of his finger snagging on the raised and dry skin on my cheek.
“You really are a beauty, Wren,” he says absentmindedly before gripping my chin and forcing my head to the side, his fingers biting into my flesh hard enough that my cheeks cut against my teeth. The taste of blood coats my tongue. “You chose the wrong side, do you know that?”
“Any side is better than yours,” I manage to grit out, despite the unrelenting grip on my face.
His fingers bite in harder and before I can even think, even react, he removes his hand and strikes it across my face, the pain flaring in my cheek bone.
Motherfucker.
“You’re lucky,” I bury it, the agony, the shock, I give him nothing even though the deep rotted fear shakes me to the core, holding my heart captive and the pain in my body makes me want to scream, “I’d kill you if I could.”
He gets in my face, his nose pressing hard against mine, so close his face blurs and I can’t make out a single feature. His breath reeks of whiskey and smoke, a stench so heady it makes me gag.
“You’re all going to fall. You’ve made a mistake, daughter of mine and it’s time you remember you’re a fucking Valentine.”
He snatches away from me, storming from the room.
“Get her ready,” I hear him say.
“She’s too weak,” a feminine voice replies shakily, “She needs to recover.”
“Do I look like I give a fuck!?” Marcus bellows, “Get her ready.”
It’s minutes before someone reenters the room. Minutes of deafening silence and then the nurse from before scurries in, her head hanging low, a defeated sag to her shoulders.
She begins to unhook the machines, slowly, one by one before she heads round to the other side, placing latex gloves over her fingers.