Crystal's POV

Branson tossed my phone away after he'd hung up on Jackson. His gun still pressed firmly into my chest.

"What are you going to do now?" He asked me, taunting me.

Well, I had already thought about that.

And I'd come up with a solution.

I screamed.

Long and loud. A scream of pure terror. Which really wasn't that hard to fake, considering I really was terrified. Of course, I didn't really put that much thought into what the scream sounded like. I just made sure it was loud.

Branson swore and swung the butt of the gun into my head so hard my vision blurred and went black for a second. Not that I cared. I'd accomplished what I'd set out to do.

Branson seemed to notice too because he swore a blue streak and rolled off of me just as the door to my room was thrown open once more. My father stood in the doorway.

My father took in the sight in front of him. Branson stood as far away from me as he could possibly get in my room, practically leaning into the wall. Meanwhile, I was lying in the middle of the floor, holding my head in pain.

"What is going on in here?" My father looked at me on the floor. "Crystal, are you alright?"

"She fell," Branson said. "Hit her head." The look he gave dared me to say otherwise.

I pushed myself to a sitting position as my father came walking over to me. I could feel a trickle of blood running down the side of my head from where he'd struck me with the gun.

I locked eyes with him for a moment, before letting my expression turn fearful. I let tears form in my eyes and I began shaking as if I was truly terrified. Branson appeared to get angrier with every little thing I did.

"He attacked me," I said as I gazed at him with wide, fearful eyes.

Branson's hands clenched into fists. But there was nothing he could do. He didn't have any evidence. Of course, I doubt that would matter now. Right now I'd backed him into a corner, so I knew what he would say. What he would try to tell my father.

Now, it was just a matter of who would my father believe.

Branson-with no evidence and my blood on the end of his gun.

Or me-his little princess. Currently bleeding on the floor.

My father, after checking my head, stood to his full height and put himself between me and Branson.

I had the ridiculous urge to stick my tongue out at Branson behind my father's back.

I did not do that, however, since I did value my life and I was pretty sure Branson would straight up shoot me for it.

"Sir," Branson said as he faced my father. "Your daughter is the one working to bring you down."

My father glanced over his shoulder at me still on the floor, still letting tears fall down my face. I made a bigger show of holding my head and then letting out more tears.

My father looked back at Branson. "Do you have any evidence of this?"

Branson knelt down and picked up my discarded phone. "I have her phone."

I nearly let out an audible scoff. Like I was stupid enough to put anything on my phone.

My father took my phone from him and scrolled through. Long, tense minutes passed before he shook his head.

I smirked at Branson since my father couldn't see. Nothing there, dumbass.

"Crystal," My father suddenly spoke and I pushed myself to my feet as he turned to speak to me. "What are these two numbers you called recently? You don't have them saved."

Branson shot me a smug look like he'd caught me.

Joke's on you buddy. I've been putting on a show for years now.

I made a show of letting out a shaky breath. I tugged at the ends of my hair. Like I was nervous. Like what I had to say was embarrassing.

"I just," I muttered as I wrapped my arms around myself. "I was calling around . . . trying to find a good therapist." I let more tears fall down my cheeks. "I haven't been sleeping well. Not since . . . not since that . . . man." I made a show of bursting into tears and burying my face in my hands.

My father's arms wrapped around me tightly, pulling me into him. He let out a long sigh. "Why don't you tell me these things, Princess?" He asked me.

I sniffled. "I didn't want to worry you. I thought I could figure it out on my own." His hand brushed down the back of my head, down my hair.

Meanwhile, I peered over his shoulder, and since my arms were wrapped around him at his back, I flipped off Branson.

There was a clapping that came from the hallway. "Bravo," Her familiar voice said.

I shuddered as my father pulled away and we both turned to see her leaning in the doorway. She was watching me in that intent way of hers.

My father, I noticed, didn't even bat an eye at her being here. Didn't question who she was. Which meant he knew damn well and had likely invited her in.

"Round two, Crystal Carver?" She asked me.

I looked back at Branson's not-wife. I made sure my face was blank. "I'm sorry, have we met before?" I asked her.

She raised an eyebrow at me and then smiled widely. "So you want to play it that way, do you?"

I didn't like the look that crossed over her face. Didn't like the tone of her voice.

"I suppose you're right," She said as she took a step into the room. "You and I never actually had a proper introduction."

She held out her hand, covered in a black glove. "The name's Sarah Smith."

I shook my head, unconsciously taking a step away from her when she took another in my direction. "Never heard of you."

She smiled again. "You really want to do this?" She asked me.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

She shrugged and pulled out a phone from the pocket of her shorts. "I have video surveillance that says you do." She locked eyes with me. "And also-"

She cut off as she tapped the screen of her phone and audio started playing.

The blood drained from my face when I realized it was Jackson's voice on the end of the audio. What was worse though, was that I recognized the conversation.

I tried to go for the phone. Tried to knock it out of her hand but she just danced out of the way. She stood behind Branson.

"I'm a man of my word. I said you could walk away after you'd helped track down Branson and you have. So I no longer need your services."

"It's really that easy? And you're not going to tell my father about what I've been doing?"

"Crystal," My father said as he turned to me. "What is this?"

Any other day I probably could have come up with a convincing lie. But at the moment, I was beginning to feel like I was suffocating. I stared at the girl who'd called herself Sarah. Looked back at Branson.

I'd already made it out like I hadn't met either one and yet here I was on the recording talking about Branson.

My mind whirled and I did try. Tried to come up with a convincing lie. But it was taking me longer than usual. I couldn't think straight.

Unfortunately, that was my downfall.

My lack of answer, while I tried to come up with a lie, was answer enough for my father. And I didn't see his backhand coming until it was too late.

That stung more than the blow from Branson.

My father started toward me and I rubbed at my cheek. I backed up and stood tall in front of him as he backed me into the wall.

"Is what Kurt said true?" He asked me.

Even if I could have come up with something he'd believe, it was too late. I realized. Because when he'd hit me, I hadn't turned to look at him in shock and horror, but instead had glared at him.

If I'd continued my act, I would have been able to talk my way out of this. But I hadn't, and he'd seen that. I could see in his eyes that he now knew Branson was telling the truth. That there was nothing I could say that would convince him otherwise.

So I didn't bother trying. I stood straight and tall in front of him. I locked my gaze on his. I let him see me. "If it was me," I said. "If I was one of the girls being trafficked, if I was one of the ones you ordered murdered in the streets," I said. "Would you think it wrong then? Or would you keep doing what you were doing?"

My father stared down at me for what felt like an eternity before finally turning to Branson. "Take care of this," He said before turning and walking out.

I looked over at Branson who was watching me the way a lion did its prey. Sarah stood in the doorway as if daring me to try and make a run for it.

"Now," Branson said as he walked toward me. "you and I can really have some fun."

***

Two days.

Two fucking days.

That's how long I'd been Branson's new punching bag.

I knew the FBI would need some time to get things together but come on. I expected them to move their asses a little faster.

If I lived through this-which was looking more and more unlikely-Damien was going to get a beating from me.

Although, Branson really hadn't done much to me himself. Oh no, apparently getting his shiny shoes dirty was too much of a hassle.

So I was now intimately familiar with Miss Sarah Smith. And she was not afraid to bloody more than her shoes. That much was made abundantly clear.

I struggled at the ropes that bound my wrists to the chair. Struggled to try and loosen the ropes around my legs. Nothing.

Not that I had expected anything to happen. Sarah had tied the ropes and then Branson checked them. Tightening them throughout the day as needed.

My wrists and ankles were red. The skin rubbed raw. I was sure the majority of my face was black and blue even though I didn't have access to a mirror. My whole body screamed its protests at not only my being awake, but at sitting in this uncomfortable chair for hours. Even breathing hurt, but as far as I could tell nothing was actually broken.

Well, there might be a broken bone in my shoulder, but to me, it felt more like it had been dislocated. I would know since Marrek had insisted I had personal experience in telling the difference.

That asshole.

Of course, most of the bruising was Branson's or my own father's doing. Sarah Smith liked to play with her knives.

I had more cuts than I cared to count at this point. None of which were fatal.

Not that they were going to let me die just yet. Oh no, my father wanted me to tell him just what kind of information I'd been giving to the FBI. If I still had it. If they were coming. I hadn't said a damn word about it.

But I was beginning to grow tired.

My mother-the coward she really was-had taken one look at me and turned and walked out. Pretended she hadn't seen anything. Pretended to know nothing about what my father was. As usual. Pretended not to hear me when I called out for her help. When I begged her to help.

I knew that she knew what my father was. I had known for some time. I knew she feigned ignorance because she liked the life she had. Liked the power my father held. I didn't realize she liked that power more than she loved me.

A fist flew into the side of my face and my head snapped to the side.

I tasted blood in my mouth and bit down on my tongue to keep from crying out. I looked up at Branson as he loomed over me, and then promptly spat out the blood in my mouth onto his shirt.

His hand shot out to wrap around my neck, squeezing until I could no longer suck in a breath.

And then, when I felt like my head was going to explode if I didn't get a breath of fresh air, he let go. I gasped out and sucked in as much air as I could. I kept my head down, my chin touching my chest.

"Your father grows impatient," Branson said as he grabbed hold of my chin and forced my head up to look at him. "And he's the only person keeping me from removing your limbs."

Gee thanks, dad. Glad to know you have a little love for your daughter.

Really though, it was more likely he didn't want any of my limbs removed so that when my body was inevitably discovered, there wouldn't be quite as many questions. Still, there obviously would be questions seeing as it was me who was going to be dead, but hey if my body was still relatively intact they could make it look like a suicide.

Of course, that would have to be after they let all my wounds heal up. But I knew for a fact-because I was eavesdropping when they thought I was unconscious-that that was their plan.

If I'd been anyone else, they would have just made me disappear. But since I was a famous-former-model, they couldn't do that. There would be too many questions. Hence the reason they hadn't begun ripping out my fingernails or cutting off my toes.

Lucky me.

"Go to hell," I said to Branson as I jerked my chin out of his grasp.

His eyes flashed in anger. He turned to Sarah who was leaning against the wall behind him. "Hand me the cattle prod," He said to her.

Vote

Comment

Enjoy!

And Thanks for Reading!