Fran was in his grasp. Nature's elements were against me, and I couldn’t afford to let my emotions get in the way. She was too precious, and while I was a good shot, even the best marksman couldn’t guarantee a kill, especially if this fucker decided to move or throw Fran forward to distract me.
“I paid a lot of money for her, and she’s mine,” he said.
I saw stars. Fuck emotions and the law.
I pocketed my flashlight. I needed my hands to rip his eyeballs from their sockets, but I had a better idea. With a predatory gait, I pulled out my gun and aimed it at the bastard’s head. “Say that line again. Go ahead. Say it.”
The whites of his eyes were shining through the darkness, the irises dots in a sea of terror.
“You’re not with the hunting party.” He released my daughter.
“Daddy,” she cried as she dashed in my direction.
That word was music to my ears.
“Get behind me, sweetie.”
“Daddy?” the man asked.
I was a foot away from him as he plastered his back against the tree, raising his hands.
“That’s right. I’m her father, you fucking asshole. In what universe do you think it’s normal to purchase young girls for your deranged sex games?”
His thinning hair was glued to his head, but that was the only part of him that was soaked, given the high-end rain gear he was wearing.
I tucked the gun away. A bullet would be too kind. He needed to feel pain, torture, agony—the same feelings he inflicted on innocent girls who had no way to defend themselves from a man of his size.
“I won’t do it again. I promise.” I believed he was pissing his pants. He was large in width but not in height.
“Of course you will do it again. That, I have no doubt. It’s an addiction with men like you.”
He was shaking like a leaf. “Please don’t kill me. I have a family too.”
I lost it. “You fucker.” That criminal side of me came out to play, and before I could stop my actions, my first punch landed on his stomach.
He howled.
“That was for touching my daughter. This”—I shot an elbow to his throat—“was for thinking you could buy her.”
His hands flew to his throat as he shook his head.
I grabbed the collar of his jacket and shoved him in Fran’s direction. “Apologize to my daughter and make it real.”
He stumbled forward, clutching his neck, and his foot caught on something that caused him to fall forward.
My daughter’s face showed a complex mix of emotions—fear, yes, but also something else. Understanding, maybe. Or acceptance. She’d just watched her father become someone else entirely, who moved with a precision that came only from years of violence.
Right now wasn’t the time to process my daughter’s emotions.
I pulled the gun out and pressed it to the back of the man’s skull. “Get up!”
He sat on his haunches, pleading and praying.
“Apologize.”
“I… I’m sorry,” he said to her.
Anger like I’d never seen before washed over Fran. “That was weak.”
