Page 101 of Daddies Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies)

Oh god.

This betrayal runs deep.

It sends waves of hot and cold through me. My dad trusted this man, and he died because of it.

Preston Fairchild.

He’s older now, with crow’s feet around the eyes and smile lines, which he flashes at me.

My anger is so momentous that it pricks tears in the backs of my eyes.

I want this man dead.

His steps are lazy as he adjusts his shining gold cufflinks, but his gaze never leaves mine.

A metallic taste fills my mouth. I must have bitten myself.

I’m wracking my brain for information about this man since Oliver has gone quiet. Which I totally get, but what did Dad say about him?

Easy on the eyes. Suave. Comes from money.

Natural connections to entitlement and moral corruption. He doesn’t mind hurting others to get what he wants.

Too obvious.

He’s going to play this like he can charm me. Like I’m dripping to have him in my pants just like every other rich playboy I’ve come across before.

If he wasn’t a traitor, he might have been right. But as much as I can appreciate a bad boy or three, I don’t like slimy terrorists who align themselves with cartels.

“You really are his daughter,” he says softly, head tilting as he takes me in, savoring the moment.

I’m not in my signature skirt, but my pants are so tight it’s as if they’re painted on and my blouse highlights my curves. I kept the heels. I know how to fight in them, and they make for a handy weapon when needed.

Preston takes another step closer, hovering behind where Sunny is propped on the couch. I don’t like how he’s using his proximity to her as a threat to us both.

“Ryan begged for your life, you know.” His voice is soft and mocking.

The air in the room is fire, and the world narrows on him. I hate this man.

“Pathetic, really.”

“I’ll show you pathetic.” I step forward automatically, hands balled into fists. But it’s a lone step.

Still, Preston’s eyes flash with malice, and his soft laugh mocks me.

My skin prickles. It’s like a slap to the face. He doesn’t think I can do this.

I’m here, aren’t I?

The poke at my fury is an attempt to deflate my threats, but it doesn’t mean I don’t have what I say I have.

I mean, I don’t. I have plenty of ways of getting the evidence to someone if something happens to me, but the guys told me not to think that way. Which is fine because I’m considering the many ways I can shove these heels up Preston’s ass.

He points at me jovially. “There she is again. Your mother.”

I’m back to amusing him.

Back to wanting to smash a fist in his face.