Chapter 2
TABITHA
Spinning around, I take off for the stairs.
Or at least, I try to, but my foot tangles in the bedsheet and instead I go flying forward, landing hard on my hands, pain radiating up my arms. Tears blur my vision as I try to scramble up to my feet, but again I trip over the sheet and fall, this time landing hard on my knee.
“Oh, baby.” To my shock, the man who calls himself Daddy doesn’t sound angry. He sounds almost… worried as he scoops me up into his arms, cradling me against his chest. “Here, let Daddy see. Did you hurt your hands?”
“No! Let me go!”
“Shh, babygirl. Let Daddy look at your hands.”
My hands really do hurt, as does my knee, but I don’t want to tell him that. Don’t want to feel this warmth spreading through my body at the slightest hint of concern from a man who seems intent on holding me captive. “No.”
With me still cradled in his arms, he carries me into the largest bathroom I’ve ever seen.
Every inch appears to be covered in marble and the tub looks like it could easily hold five of me.
“Daddy” sits on the edge of the tub and levels a stern look in my direction that has my stomach doing funny little flips.
“Tabitha Grace. Show Daddy your hands right now, or you’re going to have a sore bottom to go with your other ouchies.”
There’s an edge to his voice that taps into the core of who I am.
The good girl who never does anything wrong.
Never breaks the rules, never talks back, never does anything that could possibly upset anyone.
I shouldn’t care what he thinks or feels, but that need to please everyone around me is ingrained so deeply I can’t fight it even now.
Sniffling back tears, I hold out my hands for him to inspect. When he moves my wrist, I wince, and his frown deepens.
“It doesn’t look like you scraped your hands, but I’m going to call your Uncle Ford and ask him what to do about these wrists.”
Uncle who? I don’t have an uncle.
I don’t have anyone.
But I don’t tell Daddy that. It was one thing to feel brave enough to defy him when there was some hope of escape. Now, though, trapped in his arms the way I am, my internal programming takes over and I immediately default to my obedient, nonconfrontational nature.
Shifting me on his lap, Daddy reaches into his pocket and pulls out a phone. A moment later, a face fills the screen. Not quite identical to Daddy’s but close enough for me to guess they must be brothers.
“You better have a damn good reason for calling me at this ungodly hour,” the other man grouses.
“I do.” Daddy shifts the phone so I can see myself in the smaller picture at the top right of the screen. “Ford, meet Tabby. My wife.”
On the screen, the other man’s eyes widen as he lets out a low whistle. “The others are going to be pissed you got married without them.”
Others? How many of them are there?
“There’s still plenty of time for our traditions. But I need your medical opinion on something.”
Traditions? What traditions? What are they talking about?
Before I can gather the courage to ask any questions, the man on the screen sits up straighter, his expression turning serious. “What’s wrong?”
“She had a fall. A pretty hard one, on the tile floor. And when I try to move her hand, she says it hurts.”
“Can she move it on her own?”
“I don’t know. Tabby, baby, can you show Uncle Ford your hands and move your wrist for him?”
Obediently, I raise my right hand and flex my wrist, though I can’t help but wince as pain flashes through my arm. My left hand isn’t as bad, though it’s still somewhat sore.
“It doesn’t look swollen and she has full range of motion, so it’s likely just a minor sprain. If it continues bothering her, call me back and we can discuss what to do next.”
“Got it. Thanks, Ford.”
“Welcome.” Uncle Ford leans back and looks from side to side, as if checking to make sure he’s alone. “Do you want me to give everyone a heads-up, or…?”
Daddy hesitates. “Yeah, might as well. Give Gray time to lose her mind before we get home.”
My stomach twists at the mention of this Gray person. Is she going to be upset with me? Why would she need time to “lose her mind” as Daddy said?
“And when might that be?” Uncle Ford asks.
“This afternoon. Flight is scheduled for noon local time.”
“Got it. I’ll let the rest of the family know.”
“Thanks, Ford.”
“No problem.” A smile curves Uncle Ford’s lips. “See you soon, little one. Welcome to the family.”
With that, the call ends, and Daddy tucks his phone back in his pocket. “All right, babygirl. Let’s get you into the tub.”
Still holding me in his arms, he leans forward to turn the water on and tests the temperature before plugging the drain.
As the gigantic tub fills, Daddy stands me on my feet and tugs at the sheet wrapped around my body.
But I cling to it as tightly as I’m able with my injured hands, fighting the urge to wince as fresh pain stabs at my wrist.
The corners of Daddy’s mouth dip down into a frown. “Tabitha. Let go of the sheet.”
Where I’ve heard most people have a fight-or-flight response to fear, I seem to default mostly to freeze. Which is exactly what I do, standing still as a statue as I stare into his dark, unyielding eyes. “C-can I have some privacy?”
“No. Little girls don’t need privacy from their Daddies.”
My vision blurs, tears stinging my eyes. “Please, Daddy? I won’t be naughty, I promise.” It feels odd to call him Daddy, but he’s given me no other name to use, so I work with what I have.
“I am very glad to hear that, baby, but Little girls cannot take baths by themselves. What if you slip and fall and hurt yourself again?”
“I won’t!”
Apparently unmoved by my pleas and promises, he raises a dark brow. “Tabitha. Do you want to take a bath with a sore bottom? Because you are about thirty seconds from getting bent over the side of this tub so Daddy can spank the defiance out of you.”
I’ve never in my life been spanked. Hell, my menagerie of foster parents barely ever even raised their voices at me. They never needed to, because I learned quickly that nobody keeps naughty children around, so I always did my best to follow the rules and not make any trouble.
And since I’m not keen to break my no-spanking streak now, I slowly release my death grip on the sheet.
“Good girl,” he praises softly, his words washing over me as he pulls the sheet from my body. Rising to his feet, he lifts me again, so effortlessly it knocks the air from my lungs, and lowers me into the steaming water.
It’s too hot, but I don’t want to upset him by whining about it, so I swallow the pained hiss that rises to my lips and blink back a fresh wave of tears.
“Tabby, baby, what’s wrong? Why are you making that face?”
Clearly I wasn’t quick enough to hide my reaction. “Nothing.”
“All right, little girl. We might as well get this out of the way since you seem intent on defying me every step of the way.”
Before I can even blink, he’s seated on the edge of the tub again and I’m up out of the water, draped over his wide lap. I have a split second to worry about the fact that I’m getting water all over his expensive-looking suit before his voice, low and deadly, distracts me.
“When Daddy asks you a question, he expects an answer, little girl. And ‘nothing’ is not an appropriate answer.”
Pain explodes on my right buttcheek and it takes a moment for my brain to make sense of what’s happened. He actually did it. He-he spanked me.
More pain comes as he spanks my other cheek, and tears spring to my eyes. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to be bad!”
“You weren’t bad, babygirl, but you need to understand that your Daddy will not tolerate defiance.”
Defiance. I’ve never been defiant a day in my life. Not when I was bounced from home to home no matter how good I was, not when my job kept adding more and more responsibility with no extra pay.
Not even when I came home to find all my things packed up in boxes on the front porch and my boyfriend of three years with his arm around my supposed best friend as he calmly told me I needed to find a new place to live.
Did I fight? Did I so much as utter a single sentence in my own defense in any of those situations?
No. I just took it, and tried my best to make everyone happy.
And yet, here I am, facedown over a stranger’s lap while he spanks me so hard I don’t know how I’ll ever sit comfortably again because he thinks I’m defiant. All because I was trying, once again, to make someone happy at my own expense.
The injustice of it all wells up inside me and I want to scream. To curse, to rail against him.
Instead, I just burst into tears.
“There we go.” Lifting me up to settle on my lap, my tormentor cuddles me close, pressing a kiss to my hair. “Are you ready to be Daddy’s good girl and do as you’re told now, little Tabby?”
Of course I am, because that’s all I know how to be, isn’t it? Misery threatens to choke me as I nod against his chest. “Y-yes, Daddy.”
“Good girl. Now, tell Daddy what was wrong a moment ago.”
It seems silly now, but I don’t want another spanking so I don’t dare refuse him. “The water is too hot.”
“Oh, baby.” Just like that, his voice changes from stern and demanding to worried and frantic. “Are you hurt? Did it burn you?”
Shifting me in his arms, he runs his hands over my legs, and as much as I don’t want it to, the gesture fills my chest with warmth. “No, it was just hotter than I like it.”
“I’m sorry, baby.” Sighing, he pulls away a bit, a wry smile twisting his lips. “My nieces both seem to enjoy being boiled alive in the bath, so I assumed you would, as well. But I should have asked, and for that I’m sorry. Can you forgive me, little one?”
The switch-up from strict disciplinarian to apologetic Daddy nearly gives me whiplash. “Oh, um, it’s okay. You don’t have to apologize.”
He pins me with that hard glare again, and I shrink back from his anger. “When someone does something that hurts you, you have every right to expect an apology.”
Chewing on my bottom lip, I consider his words.
And maybe I’m feeling bold because he’s been so sweet about this whole thing, or maybe I’ve just lost my freaking mind, but whatever the reason, I say the first thing that comes to my mind.
“Does that mean you’re going to apologize for spanking me? ‘Cuz that really hurt.”
To my surprise, he doesn’t glower at me again. Instead, he throws his head back and laughs, long and loud. “There’s my little firecracker. I was wondering where she was hiding.”
I can only blink up at him. “Firecracker? Me?”
Of all the words people have ever used to describe me, I can guarantee that “firecracker” has never crossed anyone’s mind.
“Mmhmm. Just be careful. Being sassy will get you spanked, especially by your Uncle Eli. And if you cross the line from playful sass to disrespectful, Daddy will not hesitate to wash your mouth out with soap.”
“I don’t think I even know how to be disrespectful,” I mumble as he leans over to add some cold water to the tub.
“Well that’s good news for your mouth and your bottom, babygirl.” Sticking his hand in the water, he swishes it around. “Okay, I think that’s better. Let me know if it’s still too hot.”
He helps me back into the giant tub, and I let out a quiet sigh. “That’s perfect. Thank you, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome, baby. Daddy’s going to let you soak for a bit but then we have to get you washed up so we can get packed up and checked out. Would you like to go anywhere special for breakfast? We have a little bit of time before we have to be at the airport.”
Feeling a bit bolder since he hasn’t punished me for speaking my mind yet, I peek up at him through my lashes. “Yes.”
He smiles brightly, as if he wants nothing more in the world than to grant my every desire. “Where do you want to go, little one?”
“Home. I wanna go home for breakfast.”
Again to my surprise, he doesn’t spank me or even scold me for being so daring.
Instead, he almost looks sympathetic. “I’m sorry, baby, but no.
If there’s anything truly sentimental you want from your old life, I’ll send someone to pick it up for you.
But you won’t ever be going back there yourself. ”
“You can’t just keep me prisoner,” I manage to whisper, despite the panic wrapped tightly around my throat. “It’s not right.”
“I suppose you’d prefer we live together for two years before I kick you out with no notice so I can fuck someone else, then?”
His words land like a physical blow in my chest. “How do you…”
A smirk tugs at his lips as he leans over to grab a clean washcloth. “You got very chatty after the alcohol kicked in.”
Eff my life. “Okay, well, that still doesn’t mean—”
“Let me stop you right there, little girl.” Leaning in, he grips my chin, forcing my head back so I have to look straight up into those dark, glittering eyes.
“You can argue all you want. You can try to be as logical and rational about this as you want. But at the end of the day, you are mine and you will be coming home to Colorado with me one way or another.”