Unfortunately, my admission only seems to have the opposite effect. The man pauses, thinks for a moment, and then has the audacity to look pleased.
“I understand that, but it won’t last forever. Hate is such a useless emotion, such a waste of valuable energy.” He taps his foot against the stone floor as I study the scene, committing it to memory as best I can. Also, what he doesn’t know can’t hurt him: I’ve installed an app on my phone to record the video call. It’s a smoking gun if I hand it over to the authorities. “Here’s the deal: you find Parrish Vanguard and you can keep him. You do what I say, and I keep him alive—provided you don’t break any of my rules.”
“So no lying?” I query back with a dry humor that I don’t really feel. On the inside, I’ve gone completely numb. Out of control emotions won’t serve me here. I almost let them get the better of me yesterday; I can’t make the same mistake again.
“You will not tell the authorities about our conversations. In fact, you will not tell anyone that will pass that information along. If Kwang-seon talks, Parrish dies. It’s that simple. Consider your pawns carefully.” The man continues to watch me, but there’s not even a shred of emotion to latch onto. He’s as cold as Tess is. Shit, maybe this really is Justin Prior? Seems like they’d be a match made in heaven. “I appreciate your ingenuity in recording this conversation, but I suggest you delete it. If Tess finds that phone—or anyone else for that matter—and passes the information to the police, then Parrish dies.”
“Look at you. Fucking tough guy. Who do you think you are: the Seattle Slayer?” I know I’m pushing the envelope, but I can’t just sit here and smile prettily. I’m going to fight back.
Once again, the man pauses, like he’s considering his words very, very carefully.
“I’ve always hated that name. It’s incredibly gauche, don’t you think? I’d prefer it if you simply called me ‘dad’.” He waits patiently as I blink through his words, doing my best to process them.
“Wait, what?” I query back, shaking my head and pinching the bridge of my nose with my left hand. “You’re not the Slayer.”
“Call me whatever you want. It doesn’t matter. Here are my conditions: play the dutiful daughter, follow the rules, and do what you’re told. Find the right clues. Follow the right trail. Or someone you love gets hurt. Good girls get rewarded; bad girls are punished. Am I making myself clear?”
I sit there in stunned silence because I don’t know how to respond to that. He thinks this is a game? This is a game to him?!
When I don’t answer right away, the man stands up and pushes his chair out of the way. He moves out of view of the camera, leaving Parrish front and center. I just sit there and stare at him, at those beautiful brown eyes with their gold flecks. Memories of his hands on my body, of his body inside mine, of his hot mouth pressed to my lips, come flooding in, and I clamp a hand over my stomach to hold back the nausea.
His captor returns, but this time: he has a knife with him.
“Wait, wait, wait,” I cry out, lunging to my feet, as if I can somehow leap through the screen and save the prince of sloths, like a princess on a white steed, brandishing her sword. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do it; I’ll play. I love games.”
He ignores me, cutting Parrish’s t-shirt with the knife and dropping the bloodied fabric to the floor. When he moves aside, I can see it, a long slice along the right side of Parrish’s chest. It doesn’t escape my notice that just a few days ago, my mouth was in that spot, kissing and tasting his sweet skin.
“For every day that you take, I make a mark. Just one mark. But eventually, it’ll be too much for him. Your time limit is entirely dependent on this boy’s strength.” As I watch in wide-eyed horror, he puts the blade of the knife to Parrish’s chest and presses down, drawing blood.
Parrish barely acknowledges it, his eyes on mine, his face stoic even as he sweats, even as he bleeds.
“You don’t have to do this, Dakota,” Parrish finally says, and I can hear in his voice just how much pain he’s in—even if he doesn’t show it. “Just … forget about me. Go tell Tess. Tell the cops. I don’t want you involved in this shit.”
The man—my father? the Seattle Slayer? one in the same?—just stands there, tapping the bloodied knife against his gloved palm.
“Your decisions are yours to make, Mia. But there are repercussions. Every choice you make has a ripple effect on the world around you. This is an important lesson for you to learn at your age, one that I wish I’d been able to instill in you sooner.”
