My skin starts to crawl, a shudder wracking my body, causing more pain. Why am I in so much pain?
Don’t go there, Poppy. You’re still dressed, and everything feels…
Metal crashes and bright lights fill the room, making my eyes hurt. Two figures walk in and make their way toward me. I recognize the greasy asshole from earlier, but it’s the man with him that makes me lose my breath. “Dad?”
“Hey, sweetheart. How’s my tiny dancer been all these years? You look good.”
My mouth drops. I knew the two assholes who had Phoebe—who brought me here—kept referring to him, but I figured he was being held at gunpoint or something. My imagination ran wild, but it didn’t fathom he’d walk in here, chatting me up with a smile.
A hazy, impaired smile.
And my anger skyrockets.
“Are you joking? I look good? I’m lying on fucking concrete in the dark.” I try to lunge but get nowhere. Chains rattle with a growl, holding me in place. I look behind me and see the heavy metal bound to a piece of machinery, while the other end is latched to a makeshift cuff around my ankle. “Why do you owe them money, Dad?”
“They’re bad people, Poppy. I’m trying to watch out for myself.”
“By using your daughters? What didhedo to Phoebe?”
He scratches the back of his neck, his eyes downcast, almost in remorse, but when he looks at me, I see none. I think he might be trying, but he’s too far gone on whatever he’s on. “Phoebe was trying to help her old man. We didn’t do anything to her. She did it to herself.”
My heart aches because this is not the man I remember growing up. He was a great dad. Loving, kind, and supportive always. Though I lost all respect for him years ago for abandoning us, I’ve tried everything to cling to the memories of the man of my childhood. The man who tucked us in at night. That told the worst jokes.
I hate that man doesn’t seem to exist anymore.
“Is that why she looked terrified?” I demand.
“She always was dramatic.” He rolls his eyes so hard, I almost expect him to start seizing. “We needed the deed to the apartment, that’s all. When she went to the bank to get it, they told her no. So she got what money she could. Naïve girl. She should’ve known it wasn’t enough. Not when that apartment is worth millions now. Maybe Brett here scared her a little, but he didn’t hurt her. He’s been taking good care of her.”
“Again, why do you owe them money?” I demand.
He looks at the man standing next to him and shrugs. “I don’t owe them money. I promised them a cut if they got me that deed. The person I owe money to is getting impatient. He’s tired of waiting for me to come up with what I owe him. So I figured I’d give him the deed to the apartment, pay off my debt, and he’d give me the difference. He threatened to kill me, sweetheart. What was I supposed to do?”
Undiluted rage floods my veins. It’s potent and palpable. If I weren’t bound, I’d rip his fucking heart out. “How about not hurting Phoebe? Me?” I lunge again, stopping so violently it feels as if my ankle nearly ripped from my body. “We’re your fucking daughters. You’re supposed to protect us. Not sacrifice us. I’ve been killing myself to pay the debt Nana had because ofyou, and all you can think of is yourself.”
“No one is getting sacrificed, Poppy. I just need the deed to the apartment.”
“We’re waiting for her little boyfriend to go looking for her. Phoebe is still there with instructions for him to call.”
“Boyfriend.” He raises a brow, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not sure I like the idea of you having a boyfriend.”
“Those drugs must be phenomenal if you think I give a single fuck what you like. You are nothing to me.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way, sweetheart. It was never my intention to hurt you.”
“Oh, my God! Stop saying that. Of course you hurt me, you jackass. You dumped Phoebe and me at our grandparents’ and barely showed your face again. You left us! Mom died, then you left us! And now this? You’ve actually lost your mind if you believe anything you’re saying.” A sad, resigned sigh passes from my lips as I exhale my frustration. The vacant look in his eye tells me everything. He doesn’t understand what I’m talking about. He’s simply too far gone, lost in delusions and substance. “Can you at least unchain me? I don’t understand why I’m like this in the first place when I came voluntarily.”
My father’s eyes narrow, his brow dipping as he examines me. “Of course,” he mutters, as if only now realizing I’m chained to something. He looks at the other man and jerks his head.
Before the guy can move, a shrill ring cuts through the air. He digs into his pocket and pulls out an old flip phone like the one he gave Phoebe and answers it.
“Hello, Loverboy. You’re gonna wanna listen real close to what I have to say.”
As he gives Jagger the instructions, all the color drains from my face. My stomach flips. Nausea swells in my throat, bile rising with it.
There’s no way Jagger would do that.
Hecan’t.
