Death Wish (Deception Duet 2)

Smack!

His openhanded strike is more of a surface sting than a bruising one, but it still hurts. Tears spring in my eyes, but they cling to my lower lids and don’t escape. I gently rub where he smacked me and shoot him a nasty glare.

“Such a gentleman,” I mutter.

“And you’re such a whore. I thought I raised you better than that.”

“Raised me? Don’t act fatherly now.” My lip wobbles but I try to remain fierce. “You hurt me. You continue to hurt me. I have nothing in here for you.” I point to my chest. “Nothing.”

His expression cools and he storms over to the door. “Get back to the dinner table and stop making a spectacle of yourself.”

With those words, he leaves me, my heart hammering in my chest.

I can handle this—him—because my guys are working on something. They’ll figure something out. In the meantime, I’ll do what I can to survive, but I am done playing the dutiful daughter. At least if he hurts me beyond repair, I’ll have gone down with a fight.

Chapter Twenty

Landry

It’s been a full week since my dad smacked me in the restaurant bathroom and he hasn’t hit me since. He’s thrown himself into work, and planning his birthday party that happens tonight, so he’s been leaving me and Della blissfully alone. When he’s not there, I’m allowed out of my room and have been able to see Della. Under the watchful eyes of one of his men, but it’s still progress.

Dad has always been this way.

Either his obsession is on work or us. It’s not ever really a balance. Since he has us back in his hold, he’s able to focus on work now.

Fine by me.

My bruises from his belt are finally healing. Still discolored, yellow and green, but no longer sore like they once were. I feel stronger and more prepared for battle than usual.

“Miss Landry,” Noel says, peeking her head in my doorway. “Your costumes have arrived. I’ve already sent Mr. Croft his and Sandra is helping Della with hers.”

I take the garment bag from her and send her on her way. Della is going to make the cutest little wolf. Laying the bag on my bed, I unzip it carefully so I don’t snag the material. I open the flap and frown down at what’s inside.

It’s not red.

There’s no hood.

We leave in less than an hour, so there won’t be any switching it out. Not this late. Sighing, I pull out the outfit, trying to understand what it is I’ll be wearing and if it’s even my size since there clearly was a mistake.

The tag attached says, “Sexy Goldilocks,” and happens to be my size.

Great.

I pull out the blue and white polka-dot dress. It’s girlish in its design but incredibly short. The capped sleeves and white scalloped edges are cute.

Goldilocks it is.

I spend a bit curling my hair into kinky curls and pulling them into pigtails that I tie up with the matching blue ribbons included with the costume. The dress barely covers my ass. I can’t help but think how much the guys would love this outfit. I settle for a plain pair of white panties, some knee-high white socks, and my black patent leather Mary Janes.

When Dad sees this outfit, he’s going to throw a fit.

So, like the rebellious woman I’m becoming, I hide out in my room, failing to let him know about my incorrect costume until the last second.

“Ready, sweetheart?” Dad asks, entering my bedroom.

He’s dressed as a boxer, wearing nothing but a satiny red pair of shorts. Someone has slicked him down with oil—and I shudder to think who got that awful job. His face is painted to look like he has a black eye and a busted lip. I wish he really were injured.

“What is this?” he demands, holding up his boxing glove-covered hands.

“Goldilocks.” I smile sweetly at him. “The costume shop made a mistake, but luckily this one was my size. I made it work. I know how important this party is to you.”

His features darken, a storm passing over him. If we didn’t have to leave right now, I’d worry about him using those dangerous gloves on me. I wouldn’t stand a chance.

“Mr. Croft,” Sandra calls out. “Mr. Constantine is here.”

I lift my brows in surprise. “Ty?”

“He’ll be accompanying us to the venue,” Dad growls. “I have half a mind to tell everyone there you came up with a sudden illness.”

“Everyone is going to be asking about me,” I remind him, leveling him with a fierce stare. “You know seeing me will erase their curiosity.”

“Don’t embarrass me,” he warns, “and so help me if you say one word—”

“Got it, Dad.”

I rush past him and down the hallway to the sound of Ty’s voice. He’s wearing a green outfit, matching green hat with a feather, and a quiver of arrows strapped to his back.