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Ha!I laughed to myself, absorbing the true nature of what happened.

No, he's scum, he has no feelings. He never did, I don't know why I ever thought I could change him.

I needed to find Quinn, talk to him and find out what the hell happened. There had to be a reason he signed that contract.

But why?

What threat had my father laid out for him to ink that paper?

My head throbbed, veins pulsing against my forehead, swelling with anxiety. I'd been torn for years between my father and my life. A tiny voice had always told me to be there for my dad, that he needed me, that he had my best interests at heart.

That voice had seized, it's muted, gagged, and choked off. I was worth more than this, more than what I was given. I was human, alive, with a heart pumping my blood.

But not my father, he was made of pieces of punishment. He wanted me to suffer for the death of my mother, for his loss of Uri Powell.

I hadn't said her name in years, it was hard for me to even think of those letters. The voice inside my head couldn't materialize her name across my tongue. It just hurt too much.

All my life I had felt her hands cradled around me, holding me when I needed a hug, lifting me when I was down, pushing me when I needed support. She had been there in spirit, her love flowing through every inch of me.

It was hard to explain. To know and feel the love she had for me even though I never had the chance to meet her, to see her. But it was there, it's always been there.

That was one thing my father could never take.

Her love.

I shouldn't have ever questioned or second guessed what my heart had said to me. My entire life had been a fucking game to him. I was playing chess against him for years, my world being checked against his moves.

He was the king and I was his pawn.

Why did I let this go on for so long?

I led him to think he could treat me anyway he wanted!

Fuck! How stupid am I?

No, not stupid... Weak, I was weak.

The splashing of feet behind me sent chills down my back, the cold water forcing me to stand. Wiping my ass in a feeble attempt to dry it, the crisp fabric formed to my shape, goosebumps stiffening my pores.

Tugging the phone from my front pocket, I pulled up his number. Hitting the button, I forced the phone as close to my ear as it could go.

Come on, answer.

Tapping my fingertips against my thigh, I walked in small circles, bumping into people as they passed by.

The reverberating sound echoed through my skull, the ring seemed to be drawn out in slow motion against my eardrum.

'Hello?'

“Quinn?” I said, holding a finger inside the open ear, I tried to block out the horns that roared across the street.

'Yeah'

“Where-”

'Gotcha! Sorry, leave a message.'

Mother fucker! His voicemail is a fucking joke?