Her Only Hero

Chapter 8

Shivers rush over my skin. "Wh—What?" I couldn't have heard that right.

"I'm her father," he repeats.

My brain struggles to find the words. "I- er- what-" I shake my head, attempting to clear my thoughts. "How do you figure that?"

"She told me her birthday," he explains. "I calculated it and figured out she would have been conceived during the time her mum and I were together."

"Do you know how many men she's slept with?" I tell him. "She was probably sleeping with five other guys at the same time as you." The line goes quiet and I jump at the opportunity as an insult pops in my head and I speak loud enough for Mum to hear through her closed door. "She's such a whore, she's run out of men to sleep with and has made a full circle and started bringing home men she already slept with eight years ago."

"She deserves someone who actually loves her," he replies, "and her mother won't do that. I will." His voice becomes rougher as anger filters into his words.

"Dorian," Misty says in the background. My heart leaps but my stomach sinks. The panic and fear bleeds through her quiet voice.

Before I can get a word out, the beeps cut me off, letting me know the call has ended.

I scream, balling my free hand up into a fist and crushing my phone in my hand. My eyes squeeze shut and I curl over, letting it all out.

Straightening up, I tap on the number again and listen to it ring.

Brr, brr. Brr, brr. Brr, brr. It goes on and one until, "Hello, this is Nathan, I'm unable to take your call at the moment, but if you-"

"Yeah, I'm sure you can't," I say to myself, clicking the end call button before ringing again.

"Pick up, scumbag." The buzzing sound bounces around in my head, worsening my headache. It doesn't ease when the ringing stops. I tense so hard my head throbs.

One more time. I hit the button and put it to my ear, repeating the words, "Pick up, pick up, pick up," under my breath.

The ringing stops again and I wait for the voice mail, but it never comes. It takes me a second to realise he's answered.

"Hang up on me again and you'll regret it!" I threaten. "I'm giving you the chance to deal with this without consequences." The urge to move hits me again, and I return to my pacing. "Return her and I won't involve the cops, but hang up on me one more time and refuse to give her up, and I'll hand your number over to them."

"She's my daughter," he says, "and I'll protect her from the awful mother she's been forced to live with."

No one has ever hated my mother more than I do, but if he keeps saying these awful things about her as if he knows her, I'm going to lose it.

"You have no idea if she is your daughter or not," I say. "You have no right to take her."

"I have every right."

My hand curls into a fist at my side. "No, you don't!"

"She deserves to-"

I'm sick of it. He's making excuses for himself and none of them are holding up. I don't want to hear anymore from him, I just want him to give me my sister back. So, I cut him off, snarling through the phone. "She deserves to stay with the family she knows."

"She's not happy in your family," he says, softly.

I want to laugh but the anger I'm drowning in prevents that. "And she's happy being kidnapped by a stranger?!"

"I'm not a stranger," I'm told.

How could he honestly think that? He just met her. "To her you are."

He hesitates, filling my ear with silence before replying. "She'll get to know me."

"What if she doesn't want to?" I ask.

"She'll be happier with me," he claims.

Another reason to laugh, but it's suppressed. "How do you know? Have you asked her?"

"I don't need to. She wasn't happy being raised by her mother."

I throw my one free arm up in the air. "How the hell would you know if you didn't ask her?"

"No child would be happy with a mother like Ruth." I hate his calm voice, as if he's talking sense. He's not.

"You know nothing about her, or us!" I shove the small wooden table out of my way as I stumble and bump into it. The legs scrape against the wooden floors, pushing through the debris.

"I know enough."

Trying my best to not scream at the top of my lungs to release my frustration and anger, I push my fingers through my hair, scrunch them up and pull. "I won't tell you again," I seethe, "Bring her back."

"No. She's better off with me."

The blood thrumming in my ears drown out my harsh, rage-filled breaths. I release the tension from my jaw and take a moment to calm my voice. "I want to talk to her."

"I—I don't think so," he says, sounding uncertain.

"Listen here, jackass," I spit at him through my teeth. "Put her on the phone now or I'll find you and shove the phone down your throat."

Beep. Beep. Beep. I'm left in silence until my screams pierce the air.

Calling back proves futile when it doesn't even ring twice before I'm directed to his voicemail. One more time and I want to throw my phone at the wall when I go straight to voicemail without a single ring.

What can I do? What—what do I do? There's no point in ringing. I'll just be wasting more time. So, what do I do now?

Hitting my phone against the side of my head, I push the anger aside momentarily to think back on the Mum's answer.

They could be at the waterpark. Or out to get ice-cream. But she wouldn't—if Misty was somewhere enjoyable, she wouldn't have sounded so scared. Where could they have—Could he have taken her back to his house? How will I know where that is? Where do I start?

I need someone to help me. Or someone to give me more information. How can I—I'll start where I know he's been.

I grab my beanie off the floor and rush out the door. Adrenaline pumps through my veins as I jump into my car and turn the key.

Speeding down the street, I pound my hands on the steering wheel, releasing my frustrations on it.

***