Oh, shit.
I’m in what looks to be some kind of construction van—you know, the big white panel vans they warn little kids not to take candy from—and across from me is none other than the asshole who threw a chair through my window this morning. As the light fades again, I turn and look out through the windshield. The road we’re on isn’t too busy, so that means we may be a way from the city, but it’s still well-lit by city-maintained streetlights, so we can’t be too far from civilization either. Although I have absolutely no idea how long I’ve been out, so really, we could be anywhere.
“Do you know who I am?”
I turn back to look at the asshole. He watches me patiently from a steel bench lining one side of the van. His elbows are braced on his knees, and he’s leaning forward, studying me as he waits for my answer.
“I was going to go with a psychopath, but I only did one semester of psychology in college, so take my diagnosis with a grain of salt.”
He grins, and the unhinged nature of it makes me shiver. “Now, that’s not what I asked, sweetheart. I said, do you know who I am, not what I am.”
“My answer still stands,” I shoot back, using every ounce of false bravado I have because while I’ve never been in a situation like this before in my life, I think appearing weak will make things worse for me. Although maybe I want him to underestimate me. He laughs.
“All right, Hermoine, we’ll go with that for now . . .”
How in the hell does he know my name?
“But if I’m a psychopath, then, as my daughter, what does that make you?”
I blink at him as we pass under another streetlight, and his eyes glow with a predatory nature that raises every single alarm I’ve got.
“Are you saying you’re my father?”
He nods, his grin growing. “That I am.”
“No, you’re not,” I fire back without thinking. I don’t know who the hell this guy is or what he wants from me, but he is most certainly not my father. My dad has been in my life since the moment I was born. He proudly wears the ugliest loafers I’ve ever seen and went to every single dance recital or school play I was ever in. I mean, the man’s an accountant, for Christ’s sake, not this asshole biker in front of me. “I know my dad, and it sure as hell isn’t you.”
“See, here’s where you’re wrong,” he growls, leaning back in his seat. We pass by a streetlight again, and as it illuminates his face, the rage staring back at me makes me shrink away from him. Unfortunately, there’s nowhere to go. “Your cunt of a mother left me when she found out she was pregnant with you, never even told me. Can you fucking believe that?”
Yes.
Yes, I can.
“Then, as luck would have it, I was in town two weeks ago and saw her at the grocery store, so I decided to follow her home.”
“Why?” The man can’t possibly be holding out hope that my mom would come back to him after all these years, and he doesn’t seem like the sentimental type, so why bother with following her?
“All those years ago . . . she made a fucking fool of me, and she needed to be taught a lesson. She needed to know that leaving me was the biggest fucking mistake of her entire life.”
He grins again as he slowly rubs his hands together in front of him.
“So, I watched, and I waited until your mother and that bastard, Bert, left one night before breaking in.”
My mother had mentioned to me that someone had broken into their house while they had been out at the movies, and we all chalked it up to a run-of-the-mill robbery. Never would I have thought it could be something this sinister.
“Why?” I ask again. It doesn’t make sense to me. Sure, he wanted to make my mother pay, but why break in when he could just exact his revenge?
“I like to get to know my target. It’s been a long time since I knew your mom, and I needed to know exactly where to hit for maximum pain, which is how I found you. Your mom and Bert had this safe hidden in the floor of his office, and in it was everything I needed to know about you. See, I didn’t even know you existed until I found those papers, and once I did, everything else fell into place.”
I arch a brow. “That still doesn’t prove anything.”
“Doesn’t it? Your mother and Bert didn’t even meet until you were already two years old, so how could he be your father?”
I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. “My parents have been together for thirty-four years, and I just turned thirty-one, so tell me again how you managed to procreate with my mother.”
“Is that what they told you?” he asks with a laugh, leaning back against the side of the van and crossing his arms over his chest. “Sweetheart, they lied.”
Right.
Like, I’m going to believe some random asshole who not only threw a chair through my shop window but also waited around in the alley outside my place to bash me over the head and abduct me over my own parents.
Besides, why would they lie?
While it’s not the most savory story, if my mom had gotten pregnant by someone else and then met my dad, it wouldn’t have mattered. Unless . . .
Unless there is some truth to the man’s story and my parents kept the truth of my conception a secret to protect me. Have they really been lying to me for my entire life, though? I wouldn’t have thought them capable of that level of deception, but I don’t like how well all the pieces are falling into place.
“You’re starting to understand,” he states, staring at me intently, and I meet his eyes, the exact same color as mine, and try my best to appear unbothered as I shrug.
“So, what if you are? I have an amazing dad, and whether I share your genes or not isn’t going to change that. At most, you’re a sperm donor.”
The smile melts off his face, and he leans forward again as he arches a brow. “You sure that’s how you want to play this?”
“That’s the way it is,” I answer, lifting my chin in defiance. I refuse to look weak in front of this man, no matter who the hell he is. He watches me for a moment before the smile returns to his face, and he nods.
“Have it your way, then.”
I want to ask him what that means, but before I can force the words out, the van begins to slow, and I look out of the windshield as we pull into a roadside motel. The vacancy sign flashes above us as whoever is driving the van maneuvers us past the front office, almost like they’re begging folks to come stay here. My stomach drops, and there is a heavy weight on my chest as the van pulls to a stop next to at least six bikes.
Okay, Hermoine.
You need a game plan.
I glance out of the back of the van, noticing the office again, and while I could easily reach it to try and get help, I can’t guarantee whoever is inside will be sympathetic to me. Especially since the asshole who claims to be my father seems so at ease here. He doesn’t have a care in the world about carrying a screaming, flailing woman into one of the hotel rooms, so whoever works here is probably happy to turn a blind eye to anything these men do as long as they get paid.
Chewing on my bottom lip, I desperately try to come up with another option, but all I can come up with is nailing Geno here in the balls and hoping it buys me enough time to run and find somewhere to hide. It’s not great, but maybe it could work. Whatever happens, I have to try because I’m not about to go down without a fight.