Page 105 of One Filthy Kiss

A sob catches in my throat, and I smother my mouth with my hand.

“Amber.” The voice chills the temperature inside the carton, and I can’t stop the shivers taking over me. “Amber, it’s Daddy. Why don’t you come out and say hello?”

My lips work silently.

Please don’t move, Amber. Don’t listen to him. Please, baby, stay right where you are like I told you.

“I know you’re here, Amber.”

The lilting voice is making me gag. It’s the same voice I remember from when he lived with us, when my mom convinced herself that she was in love with him, but different. It’s slimy like a serpent, slithering around the basement and sniffing out its target. Filled with venom. It belongs to someone who would do unspeakable things to get what they want.

What kind of monster is he? How could he do this to his own daughter, knowing how terrified she is? How did he ever fool my mom into believing that he was a decent human being?

“Okay, you want to play, Amber? I can play.”

Something rustles. A faint sound as though he’s kicking the discarded clothes around the floor. A crash. Splintering wood.

I try to track his movements, but it’s impossible from my hiding place.

A bang on the side of the box makes me jump. He’s throwing stuff around now, using it to flush us out, baiting the trap ready to pounce the instant one of us moves.

Amber must still be hiding. She is doing exactly what I asked her to do, but now that he’s here, I realize that I have no way of knowing if he finds her or not. He could clamp a hand over her mouth to stop her from crying out and kidnap her while I’m sitting here oblivious to what’s going on.

Was this a mistake?

Should I have climbed into the box with her despite the risk of him finding us?

He’s going to find us anyway.

The realization settles inside my gut like a slug making itself at home. He knows that we’re here. He came for us, and he won’t leave until he has finished whatever it is that he started when he tracked us to LA. But worse than this, I’ve left Amber in a box inside a dark, dank basement to face the scary monster alone.

I’m out of options. I thought that Gio and Ric and even the guy upstairs with the bald patch on the top of his skull would keep us safe, but they haven’t.

So, now it’s down to me.

I close my eyes briefly. I wish I’d gotten the chance to tell Gio how I feel about him. I wish I could explain to Amber that what I’m about to do, I’m doing because I love her; I pray that she will understand someday, when she’s older.

Deep breath.

I stand up and face our mom’s killer.

He’s lurking in the middle of the dark basement like a pervert, a sinister grin on his face when his eyes meet mine.

He isn’t how I remember him. He’s shorter, stockier, as though his body has spread over the last five years like butter left out of the fridge. He produces a flashlight from somewhere and shines it in my face, forcing me to shield my eyes with the flat of my hand.

When the glare starts to fade, he is closer. Like the weeping stone angels in the episode ofDoctor Whothat move every time you blink. My heart is freaking out, but I refuse to let him see that I’m afraid.

I force myself to study his face. His features are heavier, more pronounced, with deep gouges across his forehead and either side of his mouth. There are no laughter lines; these are marks borne from something altogether more sinister, and I’m glad. He doesn’t deserve to laugh or smile or love. It reinforces my belief that karma will come for him one day.

“Megan, you’ve grown.” He reaches out to touch my hair, and I bat his hand away with my fist.

“Don’t touch me.”

His lips curve upwards, and another shudder rips through me. “You always were the feisty one.”

That’s bullshit. He didn’t spend enough time in my company to learn the slightest thing about me. “What do you want?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” He peers around the basement, blinking, in an exaggerated posture of proving his point. “I want what’s mine.”