10. Chapter 10
REESE
The warehouse smells like rust and old blood. I don’t know whose blood. I don’t want to know. The Sinclairs have been using this place for years, according to Tate, and I’m guessing not many people who end up here leave breathing.
My father is going to be one of them.
He’s tied to a chair in the center of the concrete floor, his wrists bound behind him, his ankles strapped to the chair legs.
The expensive golf shirt he was wearing this morning is stained with sweat and dirt.
His silver hair is matted to his forehead.
The broken finger Tate gave him earlier has swollen to twice its normal size.
He looks pathetic and small. Nothing like the monster who has controlled every moment of my existence for the past decade.
Tate stands beside me, close enough that his arm brushes mine. Fox and Ivy are near the back wall, Fox’s hand resting on his wife’s hip. Thorne is positioned near the doors. Dane Sinclair stands apart from all of us, watching with a hint of boredom in his expression.
Fox catches my eye and gives me a small nod. “We’ve all agreed that this is yours, Reese. However you want it to go.”
“But we’re staying.” Ivy’s voice is steady. “I was almost sold to that man. Fox promised me I’d get to watch him die.”
I look at her—really look at her. She doesn’t have the haunted expression I see in my own mirror. She wasn’t broken the way I was. But there’s fire in her eyes that I understand. She’s here to witness the death of the man who would have forced her into a very different life.
“I’m glad you’re here.” I mean it. “Both of you.”
Fox’s jaw tightens, and I can see what this is costing him. He wanted this kill. He’d been planning it since Jenson tried to buy Ivy. But he’s stepping back, letting me have control, because he understands that my claim runs deeper.
“Make him suffer,” Fox says. “That’s all I ask.”
Dane Sinclair steps forward with a folder in his hand.
“Jenson.” His voice echoes off the concrete walls. “We have some paperwork for you to sign.”
My father’s head lifts. His eyes are bloodshot, his face pale, but there’s still defiance in his expression. He hasn’t accepted what’s happening yet. He still thinks he can talk his way out of this.
“Dane.” He tries for his usual smooth tone, but it comes out cracked and weak. “Whatever this is about, I’m sure we can work something out. There’s been a misunderstanding. My daughter—”
“Your daughter is standing right here.” Dane’s voice cuts through the bullshit. “And there’s no misunderstanding. We know exactly what you are.”
My father’s eyes find mine, and I watch his expression shift. The mask of the concerned parent slides away, replaced by something cold and cruel.
“Reese.” He says my name like it’s a curse. “I should have known you’d run to the first man who showed you attention. Just like your mother.”
“Don’t talk about her.” The words come out sharper than I intended.
“Why not? She was weak too. Couldn’t handle what was required of her.” His lip curls. “At least she had the decency to kill herself before she could embarrass me further.”
Tate’s hand finds the small of my back. His touch grounds me for what is about to happen.
“The paperwork.” Dane drops the folder on a small table that’s been set up near my father’s chair. “A betrothal contract. You’re going to sign your daughter over to my son, Tate.”
My father laughs. The sound is harsh and ugly. “You want to marry her? You actually want to marry the little whore?”
Tate moves so fast I barely see it. One second he’s beside me, the next his fist connects with my father’s jaw. The crack of bone makes me flinch.
“Watch your fucking mouth.” Tate’s voice is low, deadly. “Or I’ll remove your tongue before we get to the signing.”
My father spits blood onto the concrete. When he looks up, his eyes are wild with a fury I recognize. I’ve seen that look before, right before the punishments came.
“You think you’re saving her?” He’s talking to Tate now, ignoring me completely. “You think she’s some innocent victim you can rescue? She begged for it. All those men, all those years. She spread her legs and she begged for more.”
I don’t flinch. I’ve heard these words before, in different forms. They used to break me. It’s the bullshit narrative he used to make me believe I deserved everything that happened.
Not anymore.
“Sign the contract.” Dane’s voice is ice. “Or my future daughter-in-law will start removing pieces of you until you do.”
Tate’s hand tightens on my back. “Baby girl, are you sure—”
“I want to.” I meet his eyes, and I see the war happening behind them. He wants to protect me. He wants to keep me away from the blood and the violence. But he also always gives me what I need. “Please.”
He holds my gaze for a long moment. Then he nods and presses the handle of a knife into my palm.
The weight of it feels right and makes me feel powerful.
I walk toward my father. I’m not the scared little girl who used to cower when he raised his voice. I’m not the broken teenager who learned to go somewhere else in her head while men used her body.
I’m the woman who survived all of it. And now I’m the one holding the knife.
“You’re going to sign that contract.” I stop in front of him, close enough to see the fear starting to creep into his eyes. “And then you’re going to tell them the truth.”
“The truth about what?” He’s trying to sound bored. It’s not going to work. “I’ve never lied to you, Reese. Everything I did was for this family. For your future.”
“My future?” I press the tip of the knife against his shoulder, just above the collarbone. “For a decade you sold me to men who raped me, and you want to talk about my future?”
“I provided for you. I gave you everything. The clothes, the education, the lifestyle.” His voice rises. “Do you know how much it cost to raise you? To keep you in designer clothes and private schools? You owed me, Reese. You still owe me.”
I push the knife in. Not deep—just enough to break skin. Blood wells around the blade, staining his white shirt red.
He screams.
“Sign the contract.”
“Fuck you.” He’s panting now, sweat dripping down his face. “You ungrateful little bitch. After everything I did for you—”
“What did I tell you about watching your goddamn mouth?” Tate snarls behind me.
I twist the knife. His scream goes higher, thinner.
“Sign it.”
“Alright! Alright, I’ll sign it.” He’s sobbing now, actual tears streaming down his cheeks. “Just stop. Please.”
I pull the knife out and step back. The blood is warm on my fingers, and I feel nothing. No guilt, no horror, and not even satisfaction. There is just calm.
Dane unties one of my father’s hands and places a pen in his grip. My father’s hand is shaking so badly he can barely hold it.
“Sign.” Dane’s voice leaves no room for argument.
My father signs. His signature is shaky, barely legible, but it’s there. Dane checks the document, nods once, and steps back.
“It’s done.” He looks at me. “You’re officially betrothed to my son. One of my Talons outside is a notary, so just keep one of his thumbs intact for me, sweetheart.”
I want to focus on the joy of knowing that I’m going to marry the man I love. But this isn’t finished, and I need this to be done first.
“Now.” I turn back to my father. “The truth.”
“What truth? I signed your goddamn contract.” He’s trying to muster some of his old arrogance, but it comes out pathetic. “What more do you want from me?”
“I want you to admit what you did.” I press the knife against his other shoulder. “All of it. Every disgusting thing you’ve ever done to me.”
“You don’t know what you are talking about. You aren’t remembering right.”
I cut him. A shallow slice across his chest, just deep enough to hurt.
“Try again.”
“Jesus Christ!” He’s thrashing against the restraints now. “What do you want me to say? That I’m sorry? Fine. I’m sorry. Is that what you need to hear?”
“I don’t need your goddamn apology.” I make another cut, parallel to the first. “I need your confession.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
I make another cut. This one is deeper, across his stomach. He screams again, and the sound fills the warehouse.
“Admit it.” My voice breaks. “Admit what you did to me. All of it.”
“I don’t know what you want!”
“Yes, you do.” I press the knife against his throat, just below his jaw. “You know exactly what I want you to say. The thing you’ve never admitted to anyone. The thing you’ve been hiding for all these fucking years because you know it makes you sick and disgusting.”
His eyes go wide. He knows what I’m asking.
“Reese.” His voice drops to a whisper. “Please. That was—”
“Say it.” Tears are streaming down my face now, but I don’t wipe them away. “Tell everyone in this room what you did to me before you ever sold me to anyone else.”
The silence stretches. I can feel Tate behind me and the tension radiating off him. He doesn’t know. None of them know. This is the secret I’ve been carrying since I was fourteen years old, the one I’ve never spoken out loud.
I shouldn’t have to say the words. He should and live the shame of his admission.
My father’s face crumples. All the arrogance, all the defiance, all the cruelty—it all falls away, leaving nothing but a pathetic old man who knows he’s about to die.
“I was drunk.” His voice is barely audible. “Your mother had just died. I was grieving. I didn’t mean to—”
“You didn’t mean to rape your own daughter?” The words tear out of me as I fight a sob. “You didn’t mean to come into my room when I was fourteen years old and take everything from me?”
Tate grips my hips behind me and just having him near makes me calmer. I hear Ivy’s sharp intake of breath. I can’t look at any of them. All I can do is stare at the monster in front of me and wait for him to finally tell the truth.
“You were so much like her.” My father’s voice is hollow now, defeated. “Your mother. You looked just like her, and I was lonely, and I’d been drinking, and I—”
“Say. It.”