The nickname isn’t a sweet epithet. It’s his way of mocking me. Of calling attention to the fact that biologically I’m his daughter, but I’m all but useless to him. I close the door if only to give me a moment to think. The last time we were in the same room together, he was about to leave for a business trip to New York. He left me with Sal all that time, knowing what kind of man he was and what he might do without my father’s supervision.
I lock the door and face him, keeping my back against the cold metal of the exit just in case I need to make a break for it. “I’ll ask you again, what are you doing here?”
He takes a quick walk around my room, which is all anyone needs since it’s not very big. Then he sits on the bed, testing the squeaky springs. “Charming? How can you live in this hovel?”
“It’s none of your concern. Why are you here? How did you find me?”
Once upon a time, I might have been too chickenshit to talk to him this way. To speak to him like he’s in the wrong when he so often is. Even as he belittles me, he looks so old, so fragile. While studying him, I realize I no longer care what he thinks of me. I couldn’t care less, in fact. It’s an almost dizzying realization.
I’ve hated him for years because of what I endured from both his hand and then Sal’s. How could he let that happen to his own child? It’s so clear to me now, he let it happen because he doesn’t see me as his child at all. In his eyes, not one single part of me is his blood. That’s how he rationalizes my treatment. And he never bothered with Rose because she really wasn’t his blood.
I stare him down, letting him see my loathing, my hate of him, in my eyes. The obedient daughter who only wanted his approval is gone. She died that night, tied to her own bed. This woman is Adrian’s wife. This woman is a Doubeck, and Doubecks cower to no one. “You can leave now, Father. I’ll spare you the indignity of being thrown out if you leave soon.”
“So, you’re pregnant with that bastard’s child, aren’t you? Did you run because you feared he’d kill you like he did his own pop? I wouldn’t put it past him. He’ll stand for nothing challenging his position of power, especially a woman.”
I know I shouldn’t rise to his bait, but I can’t help it. “You don’t know anything about him or our relationship. So don’t sit there thinking you know me and why I decided to leave him.”
He growls low and angry in his old senile way of his. “Girl, don’t speak to me that way, or I’ll make you regret it.”
I narrow my eyes and stare him down. “You had to sit on the bed since you can’t stand for very long without shaking…I seriously doubt you have the strength to inflict much damage on me. Save your threats for someone who might actually believe you. I’ll speak to you however I want since you came here to my motel room to mock me. Now leave before I force you out of here.”
He settles back on the bed like I’ve issued him a challenge. “I’ll cut that baby from your womb before I see him have an heir. You don’t understand what you’re bringing into this world. His family line needs to die with him.”
I lean in, unable to help it, not when he’s being such an asshole. “Just like yours will, old man. I took his name, and so will his son. You have nothing and no one left to carry on your legacy. I hope you die alone and afraid. It’ll be what you deserve.”
“I do know one thing,” he spits at me. “You have no protection. What do you think will happen when the rest of society finds out you’re running around out here in the world, carrying his baby with no protection? They will be lining up to see it ripped from you before you even start to show.”
The thought hasn’t occurred to me that anyone would find out, but this bastard will make sure everyone knows unless I give him what he wants. I skirt the bed and pace at the end, not caring if he has to crane his neck to look at me now. After a moment, I round on him. “What the hell do you want? You haven’t taken enough from me, so you have to take my child, my life from me too?”
“It’s what you deserve,” he says, his tone so full of venom it stings going down even though I don’t care about what he thinks. He advances, moving closer to me. “Your mother died, and you didn’t. In my mind, all these years, I was getting justice for her death.”