Cruel Shame (Knights of Templar Academy #3) - Sofia Daniel Page 0,83

at the crotch. The fabric draped behind his bare legs exposing an erection the size of my thumb hanging loose from a hairless crotch. Revulsion seized my insides. Of course the perverted rapist would have an erection. Look at how he’d stripped me and trussed my body like something out of a snuff movie.

“Slut,” he hissed. “A whore just like your mother.”

I tried shaking my head, but the grip he had on my hair was too tight.

“I’m going to prove to you right now that you’re not my daughter.”

My heart skipped and I made a muffled sound from my nose.

“What?” he hissed.

I drew my brows together, flicked my eyes down to the gag, hoping he wasn’t too far gone in his insanity to notice I couldn’t speak.

Father Neapolitan released my hair, letting my head flop down to the blank. He stood over my shoulders and unbuckled the straps securing the gag around my head. As soon as the rubber fell loose, I retched onto the planks.

With a yelp, he skittered back. “Filthy beast.”

My stomach spasmed, and a groan reverberated from deep in my throat. I prayed to every deity I knew to keep me making those sounds. The sour contents of my stomach spilled from my lips, and acid burned the back of my throat.

“What did you want to say?” he snapped.

“You’re not…” I said between retching. “My father.”

“Of course, I’m not.”

Father Neapolitan stood against the wall for several moments, peering at me as though I was an interesting slug.

“Why would you say I’m not your father?” His voice was tight with suspicion.

“There was a DNA test,” I rasped. “You’re just an uncle.”

“What are you talking about?”

I didn’t dare mention my phone. The recording I made the night before was in its memory, backed up on the cloud, and sent to a bunch of emails in case someone decided to hack into my handset and delete it. Instead, I told him about how the archbishop drugged and raped her when she turned to him for help.

“Lies!” Father Neapolitan stomped across the attic and turned me onto my side.

“Why else was the archbishop so keen for you to take responsibility? It was to hide what he did.”

His nostrils flared. “Impossible.”

“Someone told me you had to sign away your right to the title and fortune of Lord Liddell.”

“How do you know that?” He leaned close, bringing that awful penis a foot away from my mouth.

Ignoring my lurching stomach, I stuttered, “Did you sign it in exchange for the archbishop covering up what happened between you and Abigail?”

His eyes flashed. “She wanted it.”

I didn’t comment. The man was so insane, he probably thought that I’d somehow asked for all this, too. Emotions warred across Father Neapolitan’s face. Loathing, lust, and a reluctance to believe my words. Beneath that was a narrowing of the eyes, a cold calculation that couldn’t deny what I was saying might be true.

“How do I know what you’re telling me is the truth?” he said.

“I’m not your daughter,” I replied.

“True.”

I gulped. “Then who else could have been my father?”

“Mr. Burgh.”

A hot rush of anger seared my veins. Right now, I wanted to hurl him out of the window. “He isn’t.”

Father Neapolitan threw his head back and laughed with a cawing sound that made my flesh crawl. He stared down at me with his teeth bared and then backhanded me across the face.

My head snapped back at the impact, and pain radiated across my cheek. No amount of reasoning would turn this man against the Liddells, he hated Mother and me too much to care that they stole his birthright. As Mother lived under the protection of Billy Hancock, I would be a suitable replacement to slake his anger.

“Do you know what we do to lying whores?” he snarled.

“What’s wrong with you?” I snarled back. “Can’t get a girl unless she’s drugged and tied up.”

He pulled back his fist, making me flinch. “A girl like you should be used to accommodating a man.”

This was my opportunity. Playing up to the hand-cock rumors might be my way to freedom. I raised my chin and dropped my gaze to the wretched organ protruding from between his legs. A tight, pale foreskin strained against a lumpy erection leaving an opening barely large enough for his slit.

Suppressing a shudder, I tilted my head to the side. “Untie me, and let’s see how long you last.”

Father Neapolitan inhaled a deep breath through flared nostrils, his lips curving downward with revulsion. “You’re worse than your mother.