Victims No More: Daddy Dearest (Phoenix Club: No More Victims - Volume 2)

Chapter 17

"Are you all right, sweetheart?" Charles squatted next to the dead woman and picked up the gun, checking the clip.

Hannah retreated to the far end of the sofa but nodded at his question.

Motioning her forward, Charles gripped her shoulders. "Do you remember the special hiding place?"

"Yes," Hannah whispered, trembling. Her teary eyes darted to the body and back to her grandfather.

"I want you to go there now and hide. Don't come out until I come to get you, do you understand?"

She nodded again. "What... what're you gonna do?"

He swallowed and glanced toward the hall. "That's a bad man in there. Those kids need help. I'm going to help them."

Her chin trembled. "I-I don't want you to get hurt."

Charles smiled and kissed her brow. "I won't, sweetheart. I may be old, but I haven't lost my edge." He kissed her head again and ushered her to the front door. "Now, go," he spoke quietly. "Hide. And wait for me."

Hannah hugged him. "Okay." She wiped her eyes and put on a brave face. "Be careful, Poppa."

"Always am." He sent her out the door, leaning out to watch her until she reached the stairwell and passed beyond his sight, then he stepped back inside and softly closed the door and locked it. He turned and faced the hallway. Muffled voices drifted from the bathroom.

The old man's normally soft features hardened as he checked the weapon once again and began turning off the lights.

• • •

Franny couldn't stop herself from shaking as she stood in the tub and hugged her naked body, her eyes on her feet. The boy stood beside her in the same state; head down, eyes empty, tears rolling down his face. Neither was able to look at the other out of shame and humiliation over the things her father made them do to each other—while he watched and got himself off.

Nausea twisted her guts and she wanted to puke. The boy looked ashen and ill as well.

I hate you! She silently screamed at her father. I hate you so much!

"Let's get you out of there." Russell grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Franny, taking liberties with his hands as he dried her off. "That's my good girl."

Franny squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing her sobs. When the cops had rescued her over a month ago, she'd tentatively hoped to never feel violated ever again. But she felt violated now. Everything the boy was forced to do to her—it felt like her father doing them to her instead. Like Franny, the boy was his victim. She didn't blame the sweet boy who had tried to help her.

Eager to cover up, Franny pulled on the dress again. There were no clean clothes for the boy who had no choice but to put his dirty garments back on. He didn't seem to care as long as he wasn't naked anymore.

Russell exhaled and stared at the boy. "We'll get you something clean to wear before we rent you out." He winked and smiled. "Our customers aren't all that picky, but it's just good policy on our part."

Franny was thankful the boy couldn't hear him. Though his disability didn't ease the fear radiating from his face; he knew this man meant to send him to hell.

"How about we rejoin our hosts and check out the young one?" Russell chuckled and ushered the two kids out of the bathroom before him. "She's worth more than both of you combined." He leaned forward and brushed his lips on Franny's ear. "Not that I mean to sell you, darling," he whispered. "You're my little girl. I want you with me always."