“You’re a vegetarian?” I quip back, trying not to scream hypocrite aloud.
“Animals are individuals with souls,” he tells me, and I just … well, I gawp. “Not just food. Come, princess. I won’t judge you if you want the steak or chicken. I’m a reasonable man.”
Erm.
Fuck.
Just … fuck.
I am so far out of my league, I might as well be in space.
So what’s a gamer girl to do with a rich, powerful, serial killer for a father?
She has to play smart. And careful. Oh so very careful.
I need a new plan—and quick.
Time is running out. Not just for Parrish. But for me.
For all of us. Everyone I love is in danger so long as this man lives and breathes.
But am I really willing to give up my humanity to kill him? Maybe. I just need to figure out a way to do it.
Lunch with the Seattle Slayer is oddly more pleasant than it was when I went to the country club with Tess. He’s attentive, and he seems genuinely interested in literally everything about me. He treats the waitstaff—yep, it’s a dad and two daughters who own and run the place—with respect. Tips well. Writes a five-star review on his phone for the restaurant while laughing with the owner.
The food there is like, heaps above the stuff at the country club. That, and the atmosphere is relaxed and friendly and inviting.
Also, every second I’m with Justin, I become more afraid of him.
Nobody is this nice for real. Nobody.
On the way to a place called Emerald City Medical Center and DNA Specialists for, obviously, the paternity test, Justin puts music on. More specifically, he plays Every Little Thing She Does is Magic by The Police. It’s an old song—far before Justin’s time—but he seems to have the lyrics memorized.
I know that because he sings and bounces his foot in time to the music.
When the song ends, and he starts it up again—telling me he loves to listen to songs on repeat, just like me and Tess—I can’t help it. I blurt something stupid out.
“You’re crazy,” I tell him. It comes out matter-of-factly.
Justin pauses and turns the music down slightly.
“Actually, I have complete control of myself.” He reaches inside his jacket pocket and removes a switchblade, flicking the sharp end out with a snap of his wrist. “See, I have a knife on me. I could stab you in the leg if I wanted to. But what good would that do me? I practice restraint.” He puts the knife away while I sit there, wide-eyed and whirling. My mind is working on solutions in the background even as my mammal brain goes into full panic mode.
We’ve spotted a predator, it says. Run.
When the next song comes on—Melancholy by AViVA which Justin says he knows I like—I just sit there and let him sing. I’ve learned my lesson quick. Also, I know now that he keeps weapons on him. I should’ve just assumed. Probably has a gun under that suit jacket, too.
We arrive at the testing center, and I follow him in obediently and let the technician swab my cheek. Been here, done this before. The sterile room with its bright lights brings painful memories back to the forefront of my mind.
Me and Tess. Three tests. One with a cheek swab, one with our hair, one with our blood.
All matches.
She didn’t trust the first one. Or the second.
Because, according to that page she wrote, I wasn’t what she expected or wanted.
It doesn’t take long for the employees to gather our samples, and the results will only take about twenty-four hours. Unfortunately for me, I have no doubt that this man is my biological father.
There’s no way I’d ever be that lucky.
I do notice, however, that Justin seems to know everyone who works at the place by name. They laugh and joke with him. He even pats a guy on the back and whispers an inappropriate joke under his breath that has the whole staff chortling.
Does this fucker know every person in the Seattle metro area or something?
Raúl follows Justin around like a puppy, albeit it one with pink leopard print glasses and a French manicure. He gives me disdainful looks when Justin isn’t watching.
“You’re so lucky,” he tells me, echoing Mr. Volli’s sentiment, “to have such an amazing father.”
I glance over at him. We’re both standing near the doors to the medical center, waiting for Justin to finish chatting with his buddies.
“What is wrong with you people?” I whisper, turning away and shaking my head. I slip my Maxine-phone out of my pocket and then close my eyes as I clench it in a tight fist, struggling not to think about my sister. She pops into my head constantly. I was tempted to ask Justin if I might not be able to talk to her at some point. Knowing that she knows about me and Maxx is an open sore that oozes and bleeds with every breath I take. But I really, really don’t want to draw his attention over to her, so I keep my mouth shut.
