The Punk and the Plaything (When Rivals Play #3) - B.B. Reid Page 0,135

After logging off, I rifled through his desk drawers, hoping to find more evidence. In the very last drawer, I found something better.

A loaded Smith & Wesson.

Grabbing the emails, the gun, and a couple of the first editions—I was a fool but not a damn fool—I headed upstairs.

There was no tinge of regret as I stepped inside my bedroom and looked around. The luxurious room with it’s white, pink, and gold décor had been designed for someone of value, but for years, my parents had made me feel anything but precious to them.

If I had one wish, it would be never to see this room again.

Grabbing the designer tote I’d used for school, I dumped my findings inside and shoved aside my nightstand. Lifting the plank, I smiled when I saw my journal, the gold bangle with its cheeky inscription Jamie didn’t think I’d notice, and the harmonica resting safely inside. There was nothing else here that I gave a damn about.

My finger had just wrapped around the items when a familiar voice sent an eerie chill down my spine.

“I knew you’d come home.”

Scrambling to my feet, I found my father standing behind me.

Blocking the door.

His expensive cuff links gleamed in the light as he reached behind him to close my bedroom door. “I hope this means you’re ready to do what must be done.”

Fear stabbed my skin, wanting to creep inside my veins, but without a second thought, I shoved it aside. It took a long time for me to find my voice, but when I did, I was proud to hear how strong it had gotten.

“That will never happen.”

“Oh, yes, it will. Do you really think I’ll let you leave?” Whatever his intentions, he was certainly doing a great job of upping the creep factor. To the world, my father was a stunningly handsome man, but to me, he’d always been the ugliest monster.

“Let me pass.”

“Or what?” he challenged as he pressed in closer. “You’re all alone. That tattooed punk isn’t here to save you. What are you going to do? It’s just you and me, Barbette.”

My breaths came harder and faster with each step he took. My father was stronger than me and probably faster. What could I do if he grabbed me? I wouldn’t be able to fight him off or outrun him.

“I’ve got a buyer lined up. He wasn’t my first choice or even my third, but he’s willing to pay. You’re even friends with his son, so I suppose you should be thanking me.” He actually smiled as if he’d done something kind.

“You suppose wrong. I’m not marrying Jason.”

He paused, his eyes flashing with surprise. “Who said anything about Jason?”

It was my turn to be confused, though I didn’t let it show. If not Jason, then who? Just as quickly, I decided it didn’t matter. Perhaps my father was just surprised that I knew more than I should. “Well, then whoever,” I snapped. “I don’t care because I’m done taking orders.”

“Ah, but think of your mother and the consequences if you don’t do what I say.”

“You can’t hurt my mother if you’re behind bars. Can’t spend all that money, either.”

It occurred to me that this was the longest conversation I’d had with my father in years. Probably since the day he told me that he’d be marrying me off.

“And what makes you think I’m going to prison?” There was no anger or worry in his tone as he continued to toy with me. Well, he wouldn’t be having his fun with me much longer.

“Because I found the emails between you and your CFO. I also took the liberty of sharing them with the board and the investors you robbed.”

This time, when he paused, rage filled those blue eyes that I’d inherited. “I don’t believe you.”

I shrugged. “So what if you don’t? I’m sure the SEC and the Feds will when I tell them about all the money you stole.” I smirked, making his face turn reddish-purple.

“Oh, I assure you that won’t happen. Even if I have to keep you bound and gagged until it’s time to say ‘I do.’” He charged toward me, and I knew that this was it, the last stand I’d ever have against my father.

I dove for my bag.

My hand was still blindly searching inside when I felt my father’s harsh grip in my hair. Ripping the bag from my hand, he tossed me to the floor, and I scrambled away when he charged for me.

“The first thing I’ll do,”

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