The girl was awake again. Lianna Mercier, the darling daughter of the son of a bitch that deserved to die for all that he’d done.

No, not die.

Suffer.

Killing him would have been too easy.

That was the entire reason he’d changed his focus to the girl. He’d spent years gathering data on the father, but the man’s heart lived in the beautiful blonde currently crying in the other room. His eyes flicked over to the monitor with the video feed, the angle changing every thirty seconds to show a new view of her curled up in the corner. He wanted her again, wanted to make her scream again, wanted to hurt her in ways that would break the man.

Not yet.

Turning back to the computer screen, he forced himself not to watch her, not to stare at the curves he could still feel under his hands, to ignore the steadily growing hardness against his fly. It had barely been five hours since the last video he’d made, but he knew it had been received. As soon as the file had started playing, David had received the alert.

Now, he just had to wait.

The first set of videos he’d put together had gone unanswered, but the fucker hadn’t been stupid enough to call the police. He’d called his head of security instead, Michael Turner, but neither of them were capable of finding him.

It wouldn’t matter who they called in. They wouldn’t find the girl until he wanted them to find her. After she was broken down, crawling on her knees for him — hollowed out and empty. Destroyed.

“Let’s see if you want your princess back when I’m done with her.” The seething anger was like a toxin in his blood, slowly eating away at him, and the only balm he’d found was in her sweet screams. The way her body bowed under his, the way she fought against him only to bend to his will again and again — it was perfect.

The cell phone to his right started to ring, a chipper little sound, and he quickly verified that the routing program he’d written was still working. Picking up the headset that would distort his voice, he pressed the answer button and waited.

“Hello?” Robert Mercier’s voice was exactly like it was on his television appearances, only a little… edgier. “Are you there, asshole?”

“Oh, I’m here.”

“Where the hell is my daughter?” He was shouting now, and it made David smile slowly.

“You mean your sweet princess?” There was a series of curses on the other end of the line, a rush of muffled speech from Turner, the jackass giving him useless guidance.

“I want proof of life.”

“You want another video?” David taunted and chuckled when Mercier started shouting again.

“Don’t you dare touch her again! You will release her immediately!”

“That’s not how this is going to go, Mercier. You’re going to do some things for me. If you obey, she won’t suffer… much. But if you—”

“I’m not doing a thing for you, asshole. I’m going to find you, and I’m going to—”

“You won’t find me, and you won’t find your darling daughter either, no matter what your men are telling you. Not until you’ve followed every last demand I have.”

“What do you want? Money? Out with it!” Mercier’s desperation started to leach back into his voice, and the satisfaction was almost equal to the way he’d felt holding Lianna down on the couch just before he’d fucked her in the man’s fancy penthouse.

“I don’t want your money. I want everything. First things first though, you own three subsidiaries based out of Hong Kong, Seoul, and Mumbai. You’re going to sell them.”

“Are you insane?” The fucker was shouting again.

“Maybe,” David conceded before he continued, “but that should concern you since I’ve got a particularly beautiful young woman locked in a room just one door away. You have eight hours to sell them and return the documents as instructed. You’ll receive the offer packet by courier within the hour. Consider the five-hundred dollars restitution for what I’m doing to her.”

“I’m not selling you my companies! I’m not doing anything for you! You will return Lianna and—”

David laughed, cutting off the idiot’s tirade. “Now you have four hours to respond.”

“Just tell me how much money you want!”

“Two hours, and if you haven’t sold them by then we’ll see just what else your princess can take.”

“This is not—”

“Clock is ticking, Mercier.” With the press of a button, the call ended and he leaned back in the chair, swiveling side to side before double-checking the program that had bounced the signal through so many digital gateways on so many continents that they’d never find the real source. With a swipe, he navigated to the timer and started it.

Two hours and he could have her again.

Glancing at the screen, he knew he should feed her, keep her strength up — but he wasn’t sure he could go in the room and not take her. When he’d turned the lights off, her fear had been palpable, and through the black and white of the infrared he’d watched her panic as he had slowly turned each camera off. She had screamed so loud, begged so prettily, but he’d held off. Waited until her whispered pleas from the microphones were their own kind of music.

Then, Mercier’s first timeline had expired while the man had been busy fucking around with his men instead of calling the number he’d provided.

Not like David minded him missing the deadline.

The tight grip of her throat had been glorious. The wet, choking sounds in the darkness better than he’d ever imagined. He’d wanted to chain her up, to take her again, and he would. There was an endless list of things he could do to the pretty blonde, a thousand ways he could shatter her — and if Mercier’s timeline ran out again he’d just have to decide what came next.

* * *

Two hours passed by so quickly.

David slammed his fist down on the desk, leaning forward to glare at the screen, grabbing the mouse in a grip hard enough to make the plastic creak. The timer had gone off over ten minutes ago, but he was still sitting in the chair watching his email and waiting for the confirmation that Mercier had sold the companies.

Are you really going to test me you son of a bitch?

With a growl, he grabbed the bottle of rum, tilting it up to take another harsh swallow. The fire burned its way into his belly, joining the cold rage that had been a constant companion for years, but not even the alcohol could calm him right now.

The bastard had wasted another two hours, and ensured his daughter’s suffering in the process. Some part of him knew that he was a sick and twisted asshole to be excited by the ideas floating in his head, the possibilities of what he could do to the vulnerable woman in the other room. He just didn’t care enough to stop himself.

Lianna Mercier was just as guilty as her fucking father. Still criminal. Both of them squatting in the top one-percent of wealth in this country, and her father had destroyed or bled everyone he’d ever met dry to make that true.

And she worked for the bastard. Always at his side.

He’d made himself king of a corporation, and she was his pretty little princess. The heir to his bloody kingdom. Mercier Systems was the key to destroying them both, destroying all of it… and it was clear Robert Mercier wasn’t giving it up without a fight.

But this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. None of this was how it was supposed to go.

David growled and tapped the bottle against his forehead. Something was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be so delicate, so pretty when she cried, so sweet as she pleaded — no, she was supposed to be vicious and biting. Catty and cruel. Like every one of those rich bitches who filled the rooms of the city’s elite.

And Robert Mercier was supposed to be falling all over himself to get her back.

Setting the dark liquor back on the desk he flipped over to his tracking program, checking his work for the tenth time — but he hadn’t made a mistake. The papers hadn’t been signed, the courier had not been called to pick them up, and there was no call coming in on the cell phone.

Mercier knew exactly what he was doing to her, to his only offspring, but he wasn’t responding.

Was she not the key? Did the bastard even have a weakness?

David growled and kicked the CPU under his desk as he pushed himself away from the set up. He was surrounded by evidence. Filing cabinets full of things that damned the asshole and verified that the blonde was the crux of whatever was left of Robert Mercier’s soul. She had been pampered since birth, protected, given everything the man was capable of providing. The best of the fucking best.

“Spoiled little bitch.”

Rage, a welcome old friend, purred in his chest. Erasing the visions of her biting down on her pretty pink lips, her blue eyes searching his for a mercy she wouldn’t find. She was Mercier’s heir, his pride and joy, and he was going to tear her down off her pedestal. He traced the edges of her naked body on the screen. “You’re not safe anymore, princess, and Daddy is about to see just how serious I am.”

The idea formed in his mind like oil spilling into water. Corrupting and dark.

No more hollow threats, no more countdowns, no more half-measures. Robert Mercier was going to fall in line or he was going to watch the pretty blonde break.

It only took a few minutes before he was dressed, the stifling mask over his face, and all of the tools he would need gathered together. Leaning back over the computer, he sent an encrypted email through the server, turned on the routing program, and then took another long drink of the rum. Sweet and burning, all the way down.

“Let’s see how long you hold out, bastard.” Spitting the words at the unresponsive screen, he left the room and walked a short way down the hall. He paused at the heavy door, taking a steadying breath so he could calm the hate rushing under his skin.

Don’t kill her, just make her scream.

Turning the key, he shoved the door open and watched her long limbs contract into an even smaller ball. Pale blue eyes widened as she lifted her head, and he couldn’t help but smile at the open fear on her face.

“Seems like Daddy doesn’t want to save you, princess,” he cooed, keeping his voice low and quiet. With careful, measured steps, he approached her. The way she shivered was beautiful, and he wondered if it was the chill or his presence that made her muscles quake like that. “I think something a little more direct will help, don’t you?”

“No, no, wait. I’ll get him to do what you want. I’ll talk to him again, I swear. Just let me talk to him!” Her pleas were desperate as he paused beside her, staring down at the terrified form. It sent a thrill through his blood. That blonde hair like an actual fucking halo, as if she were some angel and not the spawn of the fucking devil.

Still, even Lucifer had been an angel once, and her hair was like spun gold on her shoulders that he had an urge to push his hands through, to pull until her lips parted so he could—

Stop. Fucking focus.

David looked her over, letting his rage blow like a cold wind through his core, hollowing out the pieces of him questioning his plan. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do, princess. You’re going to get him to do what I want, but you’re not just going to talk to him, you’re going to scream for him.”