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I knew my father would never get his hands dirty.

It wasn’t his way.

He preferred to watch.

He got off on it.

Sick fucking bastard.

But when I refused to say a damn word, I saw his anger rising to the surface, and when he hauled off and slapped me across the face, I knew I had him right where I wanted him.

“You fucking bitch!” he shouted, slapping me again. “I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

Spitting blood on the floor, I slowly raised my head back up, laughed, and then said, “Now, is that any way to talk to your daughter, daddy?”

His fist connected with my stomach. Air I didn’t even know I was holding escaped as if all the air was sucked out of the room. Gasping, I tried desperately to fill my lungs.

Fuck, that son of a bitch packed a punch.

Finally able to gather some air into my lungs, I looked up just in time to see another man walk into the room. I didn’t know who he was, but the Golden Skulls cut he was wearing did give him away, along with the long scar that went down the side of his face. I still didn’t know who the man was, but the hardened look he was sporting let me know that he wasn’t part of the club in the traditional sense.

“Just kill the cunt so we can leave,” the stranger said to Diablo.

“No. She has information, and I want it.”

“Has she said anything yet?”

“No, but she will. I know how to make her talk.”

“Look, Diablo, I am all for beating the shit out of her, and if we had time, I wouldn’t say shit, but they know you took her. All of them will come, and we don’t want to be here when they do.”

“I’m not scared of Valentinetti and the Skulls. They are pussies and will be dealt with when I give the order. This bitch, on the other hand, belongs to me, and I say what happens to her and when.”

“I’m not talking about those assholes. I’m talking about Fedorov’s men. They are on the docks.”

“So?”

“Let me give them the woman. They are looking for her.”

What woman?

Who else did my dipshit of a father have onboard this tanker? And that’s when I remembered hearing Illyria scream. Shaking my head, I laughed, stopping their conversations. Both men just stared at me as if I’d lost my mind. Of course, that was the farthest thing from the truth because I had full possession of my mental faculties.

They, however, did not.

Diablo slapped me again, shouting, “What is so funny?”

“You dick cheese,” I taunted as I spit on the floor again. “You took Illyria. How stupid can you be?”

Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have said those exact words because when they left my mouth, Diablo punched my face so hard, I actually saw stars. The next thing I knew, he was ripping my shirt from my body as someone walked over with a hot branding iron.

Fuck.

This was going to hurt.

When the man handed the iron to Diablo, the man with the scar shouted at him to stop as he walked over to me. He forcefully pushed me forward, yanking my hair out of the way.

“Fuck!” the stranger shouted. “She’s been claimed and by Reaper no less.”


Tags: Rebecca Joyce Crime