I gasp for air, but none comes. I claw at my throat, drowning under the weight of my father’s words.
I should be glad—maybe now, my torture’s done. Maybe I can finally take control of my own life, my own body. But I know that’s all a fantasy.
My torture may be over, but so is my purpose. My father needed me, needed what only I could offer. And now, no one needs me.
I’m not good enough.Not even to be the whore.
THIRTY-THREE
VALENTINA
November 30th, 2025
“Michael, what’re you doing here?”Panic, familiar and yet more potent than ever, pumps through my veins like sludge. How’d he find me?
Why’d he find me?
Michael sneers at me, and I notice the dark bags under his bloodshot eyes, deep purple and so heavy, they could be weighed down by rocks. He’s thinner than I remember, and his clothes are ratty—far less put together than when he worked for my father as a security guard.
“I’m here to get what I’m owed.” He steps toward me, and the ground tremor beneath his feet.
I shake my head, looking over my shoulder, praying for a miracle.
But like always,I’m alone.
I face him again, offering a placating smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean. It’s been years since I’ve even saw you?—”
“Don’t play stupid.”
“I’m not sure what happened with you and my father, but that was many years ago. And I no longer run the casino, so I’ve nothing to offer you.”
He barks a laugh, his hand swiping through the air as it points to the house and land around it. “Nothing? You’ve always been a spoiled little bitch.” His eyes pin me, face reddening as he barks another evil laugh. “Sorry, baby. Spoiled littlebaby girl. Isn’t that what they called you?”
Bile crawls up my throat. I can’t keep it suppressed, the acidic taste coating my tongue as I gag on the memories. Slamming my eyes shut, I try to repress them, but even with my eyes closed, their faces are as vivid as their voices are loud.
Suddenly, the overwhelming smell of gin permeates my mind, and I’m beneath them.
There’s no escaping, and so like when I was just a girl, I don’t even try.
They swarm around me, drowning me in their scent, their feel and sound. No longer do I know up or down, good or evil, soft or hard—I’m simply me, clinging to an existence where I know in my heart I deserve more.
I deserve more.
I don’t know where the thought comes from, but as it forms, it fills me with such confidence, I snap my eyes open and square up against an advancing Michael.
“Touch me, and you’ll fucking die,” I warn, my voice unwavering.
He rolls his eyes, “is playing hard to get your newest trick?”
“I’m not a helpless little girl anymore.”
His arms cross his chest. “That’s a pity. I would’ve loved getting a piece of that innocent fresh ass instead of the used up slut.”
“I was a girl,” I reiterate, consumed with rage as the confession fills me with a dawning understanding.
I was a girl—an innocent girl whose only goal in life was pleasing my father. Was what happened to me my fault the way I’ve always thought, or was it someone else’s? Was it my father’s? Was I taken advantage of, used and then tossed aside?
“Yes,” he mocks. “A girl. A sweet little girl who had a whole bunch of daddies.”
