“What does what mean?” Marty echoed, panic in her voice.
Dex had a really bad feeling. A really bad feeling. “It must have to do with the money her father left her, but why would she leave it to us?”
Nina shoved him hard in the shoulder, almost knocking him over. “What the fuck happened with you two? You don’t think she’d fucking…? I swear to God, I’ll chew your damn face off if you messed with her head, Dex! I’ll kill you, and I don’t give a shit that you’re a friggin’ angel. You hear me, motherfucker!”
“Nina!” Wanda yelped, grabbing the vampire with a sharp yank to her arm. “Let him go now or you’ll deal with me.”
She gave Dex one last angry shove into a holly bush, and he let her, before he said, “I don’t think she’s going to hurt herself, Nina. She’s so much stronger now.”
Shit, please don’t let that be what this is about. If he’d driven her to…
Nina’s brows smashed together. “You’d fucking better be right.”
“Nina, stop!” Wanda ordered, pushing her purse up along her elbow. “He’s right. She’s much stronger. We had a chat before she talked to Effie and she was feeling better about everything. Stick to the task at hand and let’s find her!”
Darnell ran up to the group, sniffing the air before he looked at Nina and gave her a curt nod. “Demon,” they both said.
Shit. Dex’s stomach plunged. “So now what?”
“We smell her out, that’s what,” Nina groused, already on her way back to Marty’s SUV.
He ran behind the women, his feet almost numb with fear for George’s safety, and he sent a message up to his friend and mentor.
Titus, if you can hear me. I need you. George needs you. Get here—fast!
“Well, well, look who’s awake. My little princess,” said a voice, raspy and otherworldly.
George fought to sit up, her head throbbing when she did, but a large hand forced her back against what she thought was a wall with a hard shove.
She groaned, trying to pry her eyes open, but a throb bashed against the inside of her head like that of sticks on a drum.
She heard the crinkle of material and then hot, almost tangible breath on her face. “Still as pretty as ever. The question is, are you still a nasty little bitch?”
Her eyes popped open. There was only one person who’d called her a nasty little bitch in all of her life.
“Dad?”
He ran a hot finger down the side of her face, dragging it with a painstakingly slow swipe before he smiled a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Not that it ever had. “In the flesh,” he rasped with a self-indulgent chuckle. “Well, mostly.”
Houston Maverick looked mostly the same. Though, there were some tweaks in death. His eyes, boring into hers, were glowing orange and fiery and his skin was leathery brown with a tinge of red.
And he stunk.
Dear God, he smelled of rotting flesh and a porta potty in the sweltering August sun.
“You smell. You’re disgusting,” she spat with a wrinkle of her nose.
With the speed of light, his beefy-thick hand was around her neck, squeezing with such force she was almost pulled to her feet. “Shut up.”
Twisting her neck, George lifted her chin in order to breathe, refusing to cower the way she had for so many years. “What do you want from me?”
He loosened his fingers a little and leered in her face, his teeth, now rotting, were hanging black and yellow in his mouth. “What do I want? Is that any way to greet your daddy after all this time?”
She wasn’t much of a swearer, but she’d learned a thing or two from Nina. “Fuck. You,” she seethed.
Maverick gripped her neck and slammed the back of her head against the wall where he held her captive. Then he dragged her up along the wall until her toes just barely touched the ground of the dark space.
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you ladies don’t speak that way?”
“Didn’t anyone ever tell you men don’t hit ladies? Or stab them to death?” she said from clenched teeth.
His face went bright red beneath his weathered skin, his cheeks blotching and patchy. “Shut your dirty mouth or I’ll rip your head right off your shoulders!”
“That must mean it’s Tuesday,” she jabbed, straining against his hand, her heart beating so hard, she heard it in her ears.
“I’ll kill you!” he raged, spittle flying everywhere.
As he screamed in her face, his breath almost unbearable, George tried to get her bearings and figure out where she was and how she was going to get away from him.
But first, she had to process seeing him after all this time, knowing he’d died while trying to kill her, after stabbing her mother.
Twenty-two times.
As she stared at him, stared into his depthless orange eyes, George found she felt nothing but disgust for him, a disgust that ran so deep, she tasted it on her tongue.
This soulless monster had terrorized her all her life, kept her a prisoner in silent agony, made her afraid to close her eyes as a child, and as an adult, she’d allowed him to make her afraid to stand her ground. Afraid to demand she be treated with respect and kindness.
And she despised him. Despised him for turning her into a spineless coward. Despised him for taking her mother from her. Despised him for denying her the chance to be a mother.
The hell she’d let him win this round. If she died in the process, she was taking this monster with her.
Instead of fighting Houston, George decided to go limp, forcing her father to allow her body to slink back to a sitting position. She’d read somewhere that it would catch your captor off guard. Boneless, she slumped, deciding she was in some kind of basement. It was dank and smelled of mold.
Whoever had written the article was right—he was caught off guard, giving her a chance to raise
