But she didn't break. She survived to be a tough little girl, full of sunshine and light.
Until April died, and everything changed.
I kept telling myself that Mac leaving for Puerto Rico wasn't a bad thing. It was a chance for her to be surrounded by people who loved her. It wasn't fair for Mac to have a father like me, one who was still paralyzed by grief, even now.
I kept telling myself I was making the hard choice by letting her go back, at least for a little while. It was selfish to keep her here, with her murderer father, the one who couldn't make her feel better. I felt powerless, trying to snap her out of the depression. But this part, I had control over. I was making a sacrifice so she could thrive.
I kept reminding myself of that. If I repeated it enough, maybe I would eventually believe it.
I put my arm around MacKenzie’s shoulder, squeezed her tight against my side. “Your mother loved you so much. You were the light of her life.”
“Do you think she watches us now, from Heaven?” MacKenzie pulled away from me, continued to swipe her finger across the screen, her attention on the photos.
“Your mom is looking down on us every day,” I said. “And probably raising all kinds of hell up there.”
“I wish she was here,” she said.
I kissed the top of her head, suddenly filled with an overwhelming feeling of regret that the last couple of years had passed in a blur of grief and rage. I hadn’t done a good enough job with my daughter. And now we’d skipped ahead years, and she was already growing up. “I miss her too.”
Every day.
The Congressman poured himself a scotch from the bar in the suite of the hotel. I watched the amber liquid half-fill the glass, and breathed a sigh of relief. He had already had too many drinks. It meant he would be close to passing out.
He was a slovenly, arrogant man, but I didn’t mind him too much. He wasn’t cruel or angry, and when he drank, he passed out. Some men would get weird or hit you when they drank.
Like Aston, the man who owned me.
You had to be careful of men with unlimited amounts of money and power. I’d learned that a long time ago. I was reminded of it every day.
“Now there, my little Oriental tiger lily,” he said. I rolled my eyes at the slur. The drawl in his voice only got thicker the more he drank, the alcohol somehow intensifying his accent.
I forced a smile, turned on my flirtatious mode. “Yes, Congressman.”
“Come here and sit on daddy’s lap.” It angered me when men talked that way. He patted his leg, and I perched on the side, letting the split in my dress open high up on the thigh. He ran his thick hands up my leg. I should have felt revulsion at the thought of him touching me, letting his hands wander all over my body like he owned me. But he did own me, didn’t he? I belonged to Aston. I was Aston’s to do with what he wished, and tonight, he wished for me to be with the Congressman, a reward for the Congressman’s loyalty to him.
I had no choice anymore. My choices were taken away a long time ago. At twenty-three years old, I had lived enough horror for several lifetimes, and my life was already over.
I only had one reason for living. And that reason was on the other side of the world, his young life hanging in the balance.
I leaned over, my lips close to the Congressman’s ear. “Why don’t I go slip into something more comfortable?”
“Oh, now, darlin’,” he said. “You look plenty good to me.” He slipped his fingers under the fabric of my dress and between my legs.
I caught his hand, covered his fingers with mine. “Don’t you want to see what I brought with me? I have something especially naughty for you.”
“Do you?” he asked. He raised his glass to his lips, his hand still between my legs.
“I do,” I said. My hand over his, I moved his fingers against my skin, to touch my bare *. “Feel that?" I asked. "I'm wet for you already."
He would be too drunk to notice that I wasn't.
He groaned. "Meia, you are making me crazy.”
"Now, why don't you go get nice and comfortable in bed," I purred, taking his glass from his hand. "I'll refill you and you can relax while I go do myself up for you."
As arrogant and domineering as he was, he was also easily manipulated and highly suggestible. I stood, and he followed my lead, letting me cater to him, refill his drink. It was part of the fantasy. He liked the idea of a Thai woman catering to him, had no real interest in the fact that I wasn't Thai. Asians were Asians to men like him.
I played into his fantasy.
Each night like this got me closer to my goals.
Saving him. The person all of this was for.
And killing Aston, the man responsible for Lily’s suicide. My captor.