𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐄

|𝟏𝟐| 𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥𝐬

"You've got her wrapped around your little finger now, but just you wait. She's going to have your fucking head when she finds out what you did to me," Paisley seethed, shoving her step-father again.

Paisley's mother turned to look at her husband, crossing her arms over her chest once Kamden left the room in-suite of her daughter.

"What did she mean by that, Frank?" Tina demands, a stern look on her face.

"I-I don't know, babe. She's upset she was talking out of her--" he began to lie. Tina put her hand up to shut him up.

"I know my kid, Frank. She doesn't act like that for nothing," she insisted.

"Tina, come on!" Frank raises his voice in hopes to get his wife to hear him out. Frank had a feeling that one day, the truth would reveal itself. But never had he ever considered that this would accrue at the expense of Paisley.

As far as he knew, she was never conscious to process her abuse. For the minutes that had turned to hours of him taking his anger out on the once small girl, she's never reacted. Never flinched, never cried. Never protested or pried her attacker's body away from her own.

Tina didn't turn around when she said, "It's either you tell me, or she does. And so help me God, Franklin, if you hurt my daughter the way you hurt that poor boy at the market... you will rue the day you put that ring on my finger."

Frank was at a loss for words as he watched his wife continue up the countless steps. Not once had Frank mentioned his full name to Tina. He changed it so nobody would call him the name he so very much despised, so he could hide.

Not only that, but he was confused as to how Tina knew about Oliver Jefferson. Frank had done all he could to hide where he came from and all the wrongs he's done. He wanted for something to be right in his life, that's why he settled down. But even that was becoming wrong. His past was slowly being drawn out from the dark; he was beginning to think that it was best he got up and packed his bags.

But there was something that was telling him to stay and watch the drama unravel itself. A wickedly grin tugged at his awfully chapped lips as he took a seat on a barstool.

What is going to become of my girls and me, he thought, tapping his bare foot against the cold, tiled floor.

Frank's mind was being fueled with ideas of what he was to do next. Wicked, disturbing plans. Those plans kept stringing on and on in his mind, like the roots of a freshly planted tree, there seemed to be no stop to their growth, however slow it might be.

There really did seem to be no end to his plans. The images in the sick man's head were so entirely gruesome. When finally the film of what could soon come stopped, he found a way to dig back in and torture the two women through his imagination.

Usually, the thoughts would scare him. But not now. Now they were consuming him. He'd suddenly stopped fighting them. He now was those thoughts. And the destruction he could... he would cause would be unfathomable.

What was going to become of him and "his girls?"