Dominic

It was the song that I recognized first.

She used to listen to it on repeat, fascinated by its sweet melancholy and the singer’s crystal-clear voice.

It was faint, the music, and it was coming from a room at the very end of the main corridor, off the path I was supposed to follow during my hourly patrols, but I knew it to be that same one, and that could only mean one thing: behind those white, floor-to-ceiling double doors, was Sarai.

My daughter.

Yes, it had to be her.

Every other piece of the puzzle regarding her disappearance had so far matched. This was Antonio Santos’ villa, these were his most trusted men, and while no one on the outside had been able to confirm his girlfriend’s appearance, much less her identity, my sources told me that this girl had been with him since the day my wife had filed a missing person’s report for Sarai.

I glanced around, no one else seemed to be coming or going. If I wanted to sneak into that room and confirm my theory, then I had to do it now, before this window of opportunity closed. The blood in my veins was boiling, urging me to walk faster, but I didn’t want to raise any suspicions by breaking into a sprint and barging into the room where the boss’ girlfriend was.

Everyone and their mother had warned me that if I cherished my life, I would do well to stay far from the girl. To not touch her, speak to her, much less look at her.

Santos was apparently obsessed with keeping her all to himself.

Tough luck, because if his girlfriend was my daughter, she was going to be coming home with me. I didn’t believe it for a second that Sarai could ever love this monster, not after he had beaten her mother within an inch of her life, then marked her as a pariah in the city, forcing her to uproot her entire life again and nearly die of hunger.

I stopped exactly two steps before the point of no return, took in a deep breath and then I pushed the door fully open.

As I took in the sights, I dared not cross the arched doorway into what was clearly a woman’s bedroom.

Everything inside sparkled gold, a neat trick obtained through layers of paint, glass jewels hanging down from the ceiling and clever mirror placing. Warm candle light bounced off every shiny surface, making it seem as if night could never fall upon this place.

Soft shades of yellow, cream and white were punctuated by splashes of vivid colors: a vase of fresh flowers on every table, a discarded platter of pomegranates, grapes and figs, an antique Persian rug, its rich shade somewhere between cerulean and navy.

Everything looked and felt exquisite, impeccable.

Just like her.

She was leaning against the frame of an open window, eyes closed, absent-mindedly running her hands through the fur of a Siamese cat, softly humming along to the lyrics.

It was her.

I had truly, finally found my daughter, Sarai.

I hadn’t realized how many things a decade could change. Looking at her now, I could only see a mere shadow of the unruly little girl I had left behind when I went to prison.

Sarai was all grown up, a woman in her own right, and I made a mental note of every change in her. She no longer wore her hair in a bun, her golden locks flowed freely, their tips reaching her buttocks. Her clothes were a woman’s clothes, form-fitting and revealing, and silver jewelry adorned her slender figure. She wasn’t wearing much makeup, but she didn’t need it, her skin was creamy and flawless, unmarred by the sun.

She had grown into such a delicate, beautiful woman.

And this mad man had locked her in this place.

The only comfort about that was that she seemed unharmed and well kept, fed, clothed and bathed, and at least for that, I was going to spare Santos’ life. If I had found her abused like her mother, then… I didn’t know what would have happened.

Every fiber in my being urged me to run to Sarai and hold her in my arms, promise her that her daddy was here now and that everything was going to be alright, that I was going to steal her away this very night, but I knew that I couldn’t promise her anything now.

I had to temper myself.

I needed to learn the layout of this place, people’s routines and roles, before I could form a proper plan and finally reveal myself to her. I didn’t want Santos to see any changes in her behavior and force her to rat me out.

With a last look of longing at my precious girl, I made to retreat back into the hallway.

I had barely taken a step, and the floorboard creaked.

The cat hissed, displeased, and jumped out of Sarai’s arms.

“Diva, for God’s sake, what has gotten into you?”

She turned, annoyed at the furry beast, and her gaze landed right on me, freezing me in place.

I opened my mouth, wanting to say something, but I then closed it right back. She didn’t seem to recognize me. She was staring at me with the same expression as one would look at a stranger on the street - uncaring, unbothered.

I tried not to let it hurt me.

Perhaps I had changed too. Perhaps for the worse, given the last years of my life, and she couldn’t reconcile the man I was now with her caring teddy bear of a father who made funny faces at her, trying to get her to laugh.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” she breathed, then rushed to add, “not that it matters.”

She loosened the cord of her robe and let it fall off her shoulders, before turning her back to me and heading towards the bed. By the time she had climbed onto its mattress, she was stark naked and giggling, like this was all a fucking joke to her.

She was all smiles, playful and coy, while the blood in my veins had frozen and I was getting dizzy with the need to throw up. I couldn’t believe what I was feeling - my cock was swelling in my pants at the sight of Sarai’s beautiful body, on display for my viewing pleasure, and that was not a fatherly thing to experience. How could I be turned on by her?

“Tell me how you want me,” she purred.

She was kneeling on the edge of the bed, running her hands all over her willowy body, squeezing her breasts and dragging her red painted nails across her navel, tempting me, while waiting for my reply.

I swallowed hard, mesmerized by her movements.

God, how I wanted to fuck her! How I wanted to push her onto her back, spread her legs and bury myself in her hairless snatch. How I wanted to use my cock to make her scream her apologies for tempting me and then pound her until she swore she would not behave like that with any other man, ever.

I could not believe what I was feeling.

Or seeing. My girl, being so… so… brazen, so shameless, so… eager to let me have my way with her.

Why?

I was a total stranger to her, apparently. She was supposed to be Santos’ woman, whether that had been willingly agreed to or not. I had somewhat made my peace with the idea that he must have slept with her, coerced her somehow. Men of his type didn’t keep virgin girlfriends.

I had a vague idea of what she might have had to endure, the damage it might have done to her body and psyche, which was why I was going to fix that for her, with therapy and patience and emotional support.

This was too much for me to handle, the idea that she hadn’t been taken advantage just by that monster. Had the bastard made her sleep with some of his friends too, was that why she was inviting me to fuck her now?

“Oh, I know,” she said and dipped a hand between her legs, rubbing herself. “I’ve gotta wet the kitty first, get it ready for you. Unless,” she trailed off, “you want to give me a hand with that. Stroke it hard and long for me?”

I used to think I was a tough, street-wise and battle-hardened, unbeatable, real life Eddie Cusack, except probably not as ethical. I had it in my mind that just like Mason Storm, I could endure anything, any torture, any deviousness, and not only come out alive, but stronger than before.

It had been hard not to feel like an action movie protagonist when my entire life before prison, had consisted of beating people up. Every dirty fucker in the city had cowered before me and their slutty little wives wouldn’t have hesitated to drop those panties if I told them I wanted to fuck their pussies for a while, behind their husbands’ backs.

No, I had been not a cop treading blurred lines, nor a boxer, nor an MMA fighter either.

I had been a debt collector, right hand to one of the city’s most fearsome loan sharks.

I used to live in a nice house, with a beautiful wife to whom I was still stupidly loyal, and our sweet daughter, Sarai.

But that had been before my life was stolen from me.

My boss, the man I had given my full trust and loyalty to had set me up to take the fall for a scheme of his and I spent the last ten years in jail, paying for a crime I did not commit.

My wife and daughter had ended up on the streets, impoverished, and I spent that decade coming up with a plan to have my revenge against my old boss and rescue my girls from whatever hell the sonovabitch had plunged them into.

I had saved one, but having the other moan before me as she worked her pussy threatened to steal my sanity. Not only because she was doing that, but because my body was reacting to it. The sight of her beautiful cunt made my cock twitch and harden to painful levels.

I felt like the dirtiest bastard alive. I was getting turned on by my own daughter.

“What’s wrong,” she panted and stopped masturbating. “You’re kind of scaring me, Tony. Have I done something to displease you?”

Something snapped in me in that moment.

Sarai was blind, something I just now remembered her mother mentioning. I thought it had been another of her drunken rage-filled rants, but…

My sweet girl had no idea whom she had been teasing like that.

She was innocent before me, the fucking monster in the room, who was tethering on the edge of doing an unspeakable thing to her.

She climbed off the bed, somehow knowing where I was and coming straight for me. Or rather, for Antonio Santos.

She reached out a hand, feeling the space before her and smiling when her fingers bumped into my chest.

“There you are!” She giggled.

I knew I should have run.

I knew that I was done for the moment I touched her skin and smelled her arousal, because I knew I was going to fuck her.

My daughter, impaled on her daddy’s cock.