A lump rose in his throat, shame washing over him at the thought of having to admit to such a heinous act with his wife and daughter watching.
“Where are my sons?”
Antonio glanced at a spot above and behind Ethan, but before he had a chance to wonder what the man was looking at, he heard almost a whistling sound—and then burning pain on his right side that literally knocked him over.
He grabbed his right arm as he heard Amanda and Alison cry out behind him, and it took him a moment to connect the pain on his right side to the thug holding a baseball bat, staring down at him.
“Let’s try that again,” Antonio said. “Did you know—?”
“Yes,” Ethan said, briefly closing his eyes, wishing he was just having a really fucking terrible dream.
“Yes, you knew that Willow was my daughter?”
He stomach roiled and it took real effort not to vomit all over the carpet. “Yes, I knew that she was your daughter.”
“Huh,” the older man murmured. “That’s a brave thing to admit.”
“Can we please… I have a study, can we please discuss this in my study, away from my family? They have nothing to do with this. Please.”
“Why? Your wife doesn’t know?” The older man feigned surprise.
“My daughter is eight years old,” Ethan stated.
“Mine’s 18,” Antonio responded, his tone hard and cold.
“Please.”
“You’re not budgeting your time very wisely, Ethan,” the older man informed him. “If I were in your place right now, I’m pretty sure location is the last thing I would be worried about.”
The old man pulled out a cell phone and began fidgeting with it. Ethan took advantage of the momentary distraction to steal a glimpse of Amanda—and then he wished he hadn’t. He couldn’t even hold her gaze as she stared at him, her blue eyes round with horror. Beside her, Alison was so terrified she was bawling.
What have I done?
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, barely able to find his voice.
Antonio flicked a glance in Ethan’s direction, but saw that he was staring at Amanda.
Then there was noise—static, like a microphone brushing against fabric, and then he heard a voice that he recognized—then another.
On the cell phone, which Antonio held facing them, was a video.
Willow was on her knees in that dingy, piece of shit hellhole, her back to the camera, but Ethan was facing the camera, his eyes closed as her head moved back and forth in front of his crotch.
The blood in his veins turned to ice.
It must have been the tail end, because then Willow was getting to her feet and Ethan wanted to die as he listened to himself say he needed a condom.
“Turn it off,” he said, covering his mouth as bile rose up in his throat. Tears burned behind his eyes and he jerked in Alison’s direction, but she was still crying and hadn’t seemed to notice the phone.
“Imagine how I felt the first time I saw this.”
Still fighting back nausea, Ethan pushed himself up off the ground and forced himself to stand, even as the man with the baseball bat shifted his weight, caressing the wood deliberately.
On the video, Ethan was already pumping into Willow for all the living room to see, but the bastard finally pushed a button on the top of
the phone and the screen went black, the sound cutting off.
“I didn’t want to hurt her. I didn’t have a choice.”