demon-man who just assaulted my father—but really, the opposite is true.
Life would be unbearable if Damien took Dad from me.
“Please, Dad. For me. For Kaylee. Let’s just go inside. See what he wants. What he has to say.”
Dad glances at me, but it seems to be Kaylee’s sobs that move him to sanity. She’s shuddering now, trying to breathe, but her large, gulping breaths succeed only in sucking copious amounts of black fear into her mouth and down her throat.
She gags, and Dad grunts his begrudging assent.
Damien stands at the door now, smiling, gesturing us inside like we’re his dinner guests. The thought itself is disturbing and I don’t linger on it. Instead, I focus on the good example thing and stomp up the stairs, my bare feet making dull nothings on the steps.
I pull Kaylee up as I go, and Dad follows us inside, cursing. Always cursing. Damien shoves Dad as he passes, sending him into the island. His face is a furry tomato now, but before Dad can turn his ham-sized fist into a ball, before he can swing again at Damien, I grab his hand and twist my fingers into it.
“Dad,” I say, clearing my throat. I need to be clear. Dad must hear me. “This is Damien. He kidnaps children and sells them to pedophiles. Ali found out, and one of his men killed her. He was the mastermind behind the scenario at the warehouse this winter.”
The blood drains from Dad’s face—a tomato no more. “But you said—”
“Regardless of what you thought—”
“Of what I was told—”
“Regardless,” I say firmly, “this guy is—”
“Capable of anything,” Damien finishes, pulling a gun from his waistband. He points it at Dad’s head. “Now sit.”
It’s a gun. I know it is, but all I see is a dagger. Sharp and bloody. And I know this guy will not hesitate to deal out death today.
Dad steps forward—stupid, stupid—his forehead bumping the barrel.
“Daddy, please.” The words pour like tears from my lips.
“Yes, Daddy,” Damien growls. “Please.”
Dad doesn’t move, doesn’t back down, so I grab his hand and pull him away. I know he’s letting me pull him, and I’m grateful for this small concession.
Kaylee walks in front of us. Her sobs are silent now—it seems she’s gained some semblance of control. She curls onto the sofa, and I sit next to her, Dad on my other side.
“Where’s your boyfriend?” Damien asks.
Dad’s grip on my hand becomes vise-like, and I have to struggle out of it.
“I should have known this had something to do with him,” Dad says, moving to stand again.
Damien stops Dad with the barrel of his gun. He presses it into Dad’s shoulder, his lips curling back to reveal two rows of impossibly white teeth. “Mr. Matthews, I am out of patience now, and since your own life seems to matter little to you, let me make this clear: I’ve killed your daughter once. I will not hesitate to do it again.”
Dad looks to me, his beard a prickly creature standing out from puffed, angry cheeks.
“He’s not lying, Dad.” I nod, trying to convey every bit of my own terror. He could use a little fear right now. After a second he sinks against the cushion, silent.
“Brielle,” Damien says. “I asked you a question. Where is Jake?”
I pray an angel falls through the roof, a thousand of them maybe. But after a moment, I know the answer to my prayer won’t be that simple. Kaylee’s hand is suddenly on my knee. She squeezes, but I answer before Damien notices her movement.
“He’s not here,” I say.
“I’m aware of that.” His head tips down, and his eyes constrict like a croc peering at me over still waters. “New eyes, see. Where has he gone?”
I shake my head.
I can’t tell him.
I won’t.
Damien points the gun at me. He yells, “Where is Jake?”
Dad throws his arm across my chest. I feel it tremble against my rib cage. “If you want the kid, find him yourself. She has no idea where to find him. She told you as much.”
Damien’s gun hand falls to the side, and he takes a knee before me. Dad’s arm tightens across my waist, and I pull my feet off the floor—anything to get away from Damien. But he doesn’t touch me. He just stares. And then I hear his voice in my head.
It’s cold. So very cold. My eyes glaze over at the assault, and the room crystallizes before me—everything chilled, everything locked in ice.
“There are things even white eyes can’t