CHAPTER HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FOUR

VIOLET POV

I’ve never run so fast in my life. My feet barely touch the floor as I pound the beach front, my heart in my throat as I realise what I’ve done. What she’s done.

      I’m out of breath as I see his car in the distance, but I still keep running, and then I see him, and he’s running too.

      I slam into his body and wrap my arms around his neck and I want to tell him how sorry I am but no words will come.

      “What, Violet?! What is it? What’s going on?” His hands are in my hair, on my cheeks, checking me all over, and his eyes are wide and petrified.

      I struggle for breath, and it pains so much to see what I’ve done.

“Nothing…” I wheezed. “Not like that… It was Maggie Connor! She changed my clock! I didn’t know! I swear I didn’t know!”

      His eyes are so hurt as he realises. So hurt.

      It makes me feel like shit upon shit. I struggle not to cry, but I don’t deserve to cry, not after being so stupid. I’ve been so stupid.

      I really am naive. Just a stupid fucking idiot. Just like Maggie Connor says.

      “You gave her your phone?” he asks, and it’s so angry and pointed that my tummy flips.

      “No! She took it! I wouldn’t! I didn’t!”

      “I’ve been waiting here an hour, Violet. A whole fucking hour.” He’s so hurt, his eyes so scared. “I was out of my fucking mind, Violet! Petrified! Do you have any fucking idea what that’s like? Do you have any fucking idea?”

      No. I don’t.

      Because I’ve never lost anybody. Not like he has.

      But I’m beginning to get a sense of it. Because I’m petrified of losing him right now. Petrified of losing everything.

      “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and my voice sounds pathetic and small. “I’m so sorry, Spencer.”

      There’s no Daddy this time, but he doesn’t even notice. He’s staring past me, into the distance, his jaw gritted and his eyes so sad.

“Get in the fucking car,” he says. 

•

•

SPENCER POV

A terrible concoction of relief and anger. Hurt, too.

      Hurt that someone as loving and special as Violet could do something so stupid and reckless.

      My temples pound as I drive, my gut churning and twisted.

      “I’m sorry,” she says again, but it does nothing to calm my mood.

      I have nothing to say, not like this. Not while I’m still wired and on the edge, chased by demons I’ve tried so hard to ignore. Demons that know exactly how it feels to lose everything.

      I pull through the gates and park up, slam the car door as I head for the front door. Violet follows like a shadow, her fingers clasped tight together and her eyes on the floor.

      I close the door behind us, and then I lock it, barricading us in as though she’s still in danger.

    Only she wasn’t in danger, only reckless. Trusting. Far too trusting.

      “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry, Spencer, I swear.”

      I pour her a juice, unsure of how much she’s had to drink already, and dig out a bottle of whisky from my father’s vintage stash and pour myself a healthy measure. She watches me, staring with big doe eyes.

      “I can go,” she whispers. “If you want… I can go…”

      “You aren’t going fucking anywhere!” I snarl. “Not fucking anywhere, Violet. You’re fucking grounded! Forever, Violet, for-fucking-ever!”

      Grounded. It sounds so fucking stupid.

      She nods anyway. “Okay.”

      “No!” I snap. “It’s not okay, Violet! It’s really not okay!”

      I stare at the girl in front of me, only she’s not a girl, not really. I can’t keep her in a cage, can’t protect her from everything, can’t keep pretending she’s an infant who needs me to dress her and wash her and wipe her dirty ass.

      It all falls away, this illusory game we’re playing.

      She’s not West.

      She’s not Clara, either. 

  She’s just her. A young woman who’s never known love. Who’s never known what it feels like to be cared for.

      And that’s what she wants from me.

      She wants love. Not just kinky daddy play, or a new phone, or a daily call at lunchtime. She wants love. Actual love, as an actual young woman with someone who treats her right.

      “Talk to me,” she whispers. “Please.”

      I don’t know where to start.

She takes a step closer and her eyes are so eager for reassurance. “Please talk to me.”

      “I was scared,” I told her. “So scared I couldn’t think straight.”

      She nods. “I was scared too. Scared because I knew how scared you’d be. Scared because I’d hurt you so bad.” Her lip trembles. “Scared because I thought I’d lost everything, all for the sake of someone who never even gave a shit about me. Scared I’d ruined the only good thing I’ve ever had.”

  Her words pang. “You haven’t lost anything, Violet. I’m still right here. I’m just fucking angry.”

      She nods. “Angry because of me. Scared because of me.”

      “Scared because of that stupid selfish bitch Maggie Connor more specifically.”

   She shrugs. “I should have stopped her. Should have checked.”

      “Yes,” I agree. “You should have.”

      “It’ll never happen again…” she says.

      “No,” I tell her. “It won’t.”

      She sips at her juice, and she’s thinking, her gaze darting around the room as she tussles with some course of action or another. “You could punish me,” she says. “Like your uncle did, with the belt. I deserve it, Daddy. I deserve everything.”

      I feel the beast stir, taking advantage of the adrenaline. It’s so easy to want that. So easy to seek out control in the way I learned from my uncle and he learned from his father. The belt is hanging on the hook behind the study door, in the same place I stole it and  kept it.

      The prospect of tanning Violet’s pretty little backside and making her suffer for her recklessness is so fucking tempting.

      “Never in anger,” I tell her. “My uncle never disciplined me in anger, Violet.”

      “But your uncle never lost anyone,” she whispers. “Not like you did.”

      That’s true enough.

      “I don’t mind,” she says. “Really, Daddy, I don’t mind.”

     Her eyes are so adoring, so eager to make it all better. Maybe the belt would do that, forge a bond of respect that no silly little bitch like Maggie fucking Connor will ever stand a chance of breaking.

      “It’ll hurt,” I tell her, and she nods.

      “I know it will, Daddy.”

      “You don’t,” I say. “You don’t know at all.”

      “I don’t care,” she says.

      I down the rest of my whisky.

      “Go through to the study,” I tell her.