The Trinity Trilogy
[Book One]
One night is all it took to alter the course of their life's.
Ezra King
I was raised to be a killer, a ruthless leader by nature and merciless when it comes to my own. That night, I was a mere man in the presence of a...
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"For the last fucking time, I didn't touch her."
"Daddy told me you did, he said that they saw you taking her in your car, explain that to me!" This is what I get home to. She pounced on me the second I walked through those doors, her loud and nasally voice ringing in my air and further worsening my headache.
It's always daddy this and daddy that. I'm reaching a point where I'm debating whether this whole things a mistake. I haven't had the chance to properly breathe, her presence is an ever growing bacteria inside my chest, but for my daughters sake and safety, I'll have to endure it.
The past has got me grounded, the events that followed all those years ago have imprinted themselves right on the forefront of my brain. There's no escaping it.
"Yes, I had her kidnapped and tortured, do you see me as the type of man to fuck and exchange pleasantries with the fucking enemy?" She quickly deflated, her chest caving in as a sign of her relief. Possessive bitch.
"I'm sorry baby, you know how I get. But always remember that you aremine." Her eyes are blank, there's no sympathy, no remorse, nothing.
She likes the game, loves to hold that leverage over your head and dangle it in front of you. She knows I wouldn't go against her, my daughters safety is all I think about. If keeping her safe means letting her do whatever the fuck she wants, then so be it.
"Yeah I know. Where's Mena?" I break away from her touch and begin searching for her.
"In your room. I'm going out, daddy called." Before I can voice my response she's already out the house. As I reach my bedroom door, the bottom piece of wood is covered in food, little fingers marking the way she pushed it. Quietly peeking through the slightly ajar door, I'm greeted with the sight of my daughter reclined back against the mountains of pillows on the center of my bed, her eyes wholly glued on the TV while she distractedly feeds herself.
Softly knocking on the door, her eyes lazily move over to mine, a toothy grin brightening her entire face. I walk over to the bed, pulling my shoes and socks off, and jumping into the bed and pulling her tiny body towards my chest, kimchi covered fingers be dammed. Her little hands grip my shirt and pull me away. Her face tells me I'm getting a scolding.
"What's wrong?" I sign to her, she shakes her head, a stubby finger pointing at her unfinished bowl of rice and kimchi, her absolute favorite. If she could trade me for a bowl of it, she would in a heartbeat.
My eyes stay on her, while her attention deviates from me to the animal documentary she loves to watch. Her eyes are sparkling and basically bulging out of their sockets as an image of a massive whale jumps along the ocean.
She's extremely intelligent for a three year old. I haven't been able to take her out of this house—of this state. Her intelligence and heart are what keep me sane. She is so bright, a light not even her monster of a mother can sniff out.
