The one containing the USB stick.
I shut my eyes, dread filling every crevice in my body.
“You lied to me,” he states matter-of-factly like he’s talking about what he had for breakfast.
I tighten my jaw to keep my mouth shut. My instinct would be to scream at him, to tell him what a piece of human garbage he is, but I know it’s wiser to keep my opinion to myself right now.
All I can do is remain quiet and wait. I guess one good thing about having an emotionally distant father is that I have learned over the years to hold my own. To have my own back no matter what.
I keep my chin high, unwilling to let myself crumble in his presence. “And?”
He lifts a graying eyebrow, surprised by my response. “So you admit it?”
I square my jaw. “You left me no choice.”
This brings a smile to his lips. “Is that so?”
“You lied to me, too.”
His face looks amused. All I want to do is wipe that smirk off his face. This is so very screwed up. How is it that my own father, someone who’s supposed to love me, protect me, has put me in this position? The thought makes me want to cry, but I’m not going to give him the pleasure of seeing my tears.
He takes the USB out of my purse, twiddling it between his fingers. “Did you really think you could keep this from me?”
“You don’t have the right to—”
“Yes, I do,” he sneers and fixes his gaze on me. When it fades, he tilts his head and presents me with another question. “Do you think I enjoy doing this? You really think I enjoy doing this to my own daughter?” He sharpens his gaze, the USB poised. “This is your fault. You put me in this position.”
“I doubt that.”
“Do you?” He shuffles in his chair, placing his hands on the armrests as if to mock me. “Me and you aren’t all that different, you know.”
“I’m nothing like you!” I snap.
“You’re a lot like me, daughter. When it comes down to it, we both choose ourselves.”
I scoff. “So?”
“I chose myself in this instance, just like I did with your mother.”
The words feel like ice against my skin. How dare he mention my mother like that, using her as a device to get under my skin. My tears are threatening to fall, but I force them back. I hate him. This isn’t my father anymore. Maybe he never was.
This is Charles Watson, a heartless criminal. He’s no better than those Bratva guys he was meeting with at his office the other day.
“Murderer,” I whisper underneath my breath.
“What did you say?”
“Murderer!” I shout it this time, my hands pulling against the zip ties. “You’re a murderer and a liar!”
My voice echoes around the room, repeating the words back to me.
Father laughs. “You still think I killed your mother?”
I such in a breath and lock my jaw, waiting for the punchline.
“I didn’t.”
I shake my head. “I don’t believe you.”
