I hear the echo of footsteps. They seem abnormally loud, like what a man on death row might hear as he makes that final walk to his execution. I feel like that, like each step I take brings me closer to the end. I allow a few tears as I picture Skull’s face when we said goodbye. I rub my hands down the sides of my pants, trying to calm the emotions inside of me. I need to be cold when I talk to my father. I can’t let him see how much I’m hurting. Something tells me that will only bring him pleasure.

“You might as well dry it up. It must be really hard being filthy rich and having your father cart you off to the South of France to protect you.”

South of France? I have a feeling Pistol wasn’t supposed to let that escape. I can’t imagine why my father would do that. That’s where the Donahue family have a lot of holdings. I know if I wasn’t so emotional, I might be able to piece it together better.

“Skull will kill you someday,” I promise him quietly.

“He’ll be destroyed when he loses you,” Pistol responds. “He won’t notice what’s going on right under his nose.”

“He might not. But his brothers will, and when you’re found out, he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t worry about it, doll face… You won’t be around to see it.”

“Maybe not, but I’ll take comfort in knowing that it will happen, and Skull will spit on you when it’s done.”

Pistol slaps me hard across my face. His ring catches my lip and tears it open. The coppery taste of blood drips on my tongue. I would respond, but my father picks that moment to walk out of the room and meet us. I glare at him, not bothering to contain my hate.

“What happened?” my father asks right away, and the spark of anger in his eyes surprises me.

“Just a little love tap from your henchman,” I answer sarcastically.

He turns to Pistol. “You hit her?”

“She was mouthing off,” he says with a shrug.

That’s when I see a side to my father I should have known was there, but somehow didn’t.

“I told you she wasn’t to be harmed.”

“She’s in one piece. I just decided to teach her that women should be seen and not—”

I scream. I can’t help it. Before Pistol can finish that sentence, my father shoots him in the stomach. Pistol drops to the floor moaning and clutching his belly.

“W-We had a deal—” he moans.

“That didn’t include you touching my daughter. Besides, you had to know your men would suspect you if you weren’t injured. This way, you have the perfect cover… if you live.”

“Damn you!” Pistol gasps, his breathing turning hard.

“You should save your breath, unless you use it to pray that Devil’s Blaze cares more about you than you obviously do them,” my father says, then turns to me. “Elizabeth, hand me your locket.”

My hand goes to it, grasping it tightly with refusal on my lips. My father shoots Pistol in his foot. I jump in response.

“Do it, or I’ll just keep shooting, and then we’ll move onto those men upstairs in room two hundred and three that you actually care about.” I surrender the locket to him, doing my best not to cry. He puts it in Pistol’s hands, then calmly looks back at me. “Come along, sunshine. We need to get out of here before people start looking for you.”

He grabs my arm and doesn’t give me a choice. He leads us away and into the room he came from. I look over my shoulder at Pistol before my father jerks me away, demanding my attention.

He walks me quickly through the back room, which appears to be a storage room for the hospital, then through a metal door which leads to the outside. I briefly consider running away, but the tight, bruising grip my father has on me doesn’t give me the chance.

A limo waits for us at the corner. A man in a nondescript suit stands with the door open. My father pushes me in without a word. I stumble inside, managing to keep from face-planting into the seat. Just as I sit upright, my father joins me.

“Where’s my sister? I want to see Katie!”

“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll make sure you get to see her soon.”

“Where are we going?” I ask, staring straight ahead at the privacy screen and thinking I’ve made the wrong decision. That phrase just keeps going over and over in my brain: I’ve made the wrong decision… I’ve made the wrong decision…

“To my yacht,” he says, and I hear the tinge of pride in his voice.

“We can’t! Skull—never mind.”

My father laughs. It’s a warm laugh, one I remember as a child. The same laugh he used when my sister Katie climbed up on the table for our fourth birthday. She saw the birthday cake and wouldn’t stop until she got up on the big fancy dining room table that was my mother’s pride and joy. The trouble was, she had on her muck boots that we had to wear to go to the barn. My mother freaked out and came running, screaming at Katie. It scared Katie. She scrambled to get away from mom and, in the process, dumped the cake all over my mother’s dress. Dad laughed for ten minutes, infuriating my mother so much that she left for two days.

I had forgotten those memories. How? My father had doted on both of us during that time. It had been good. We were happy, but now…

“Don’t worry, sunshine. I already know your boyfriend is striking today and destroying my yacht. I told you before, I know it all. You don’t have to fear spilling the beans. Interesting, though. You would be willing to kill me and yourself to guard his secrets? Such loyalty. I definitely kept the wrong daughter.”

“If you know Skull is destroying it, why would you be heading straight there?” I ask, confused and hating the man in front of me at the same time.

“That is the question, isn’t it? A question that will become all too clear, soon. For now, I suggest you lie back and rest. We have an exciting day in front of us.”

I turn away from him, staring out the window.