You call this fate?

Chapter 19

"Stay here," Mr. Rodwell said, making to get up.

"No," I said, clutching at his arm. "I am coming too. That was Tasha."

"Look at your hand," was all he said before he untangled his arm and shot off.

I looked down. Damnation. It was my left hand. Not so bad in the grand scheme of things, but not so good either.

I grabbed the counter with my right and started to heave myself up, my bum leg dragging like dead weight. Once I had finally gotten my good leg under me, I realised the crutches were still on the ground. I really need to get my priorities straight.

There were shuffling and thudding sounds coming from the living room.

"Get a grip, man! Where do you think you are going?" Tasha snapped.

"Where is she?" a harsh voice asked. It wasn't Mr. Rodwell who said that. It could have been Granny Tonks, but only when she was hitting the hard stuff right under my nose; she hadn't been doing that today. "Where is she? I will not leave here until I have her!"

"My good man," a calm voice admonished, sending chilling fingers down my spine. It didn't really take that much imagination to wonder how the person this voice had been directed at felt. "Keep your voice down. Don't make me do it for you."

A guttural sound ensue. It took me a moment to recognise it as laughter. I let myself slide down and started up again after propping the crutches by the counter. "I want my daughter, and I will be as loud about it as I wish."

"I would strongly advise against that, my friend," Mr. Rodwell said in the most unfriendly of friendly manners. "If you do anything like that, I will have to stop you. And trust me when I say, when I stop something, it usually ends up being forever." Whoever the man was, he had just gotten frozen to a popsicle in my metaphorical mind. "Now tell us what it is you want so we can refuse and you can leave."

I pushed my good-side crutch under my armpit and hobbled very slowly and painfully towards the living room. My hand was starting to burn up again, the momentary relief forgotten.

"I told you, I want my daughter," the man reiterated, his voice slightly lower this time. I bet he hadn't even realised.

He wanted his daughter? That could mean only one thing.

John was here to claim what was his.

I had been expecting him to come all night. The fact that he had come this late just went to show how much he cared about his child. Now all I had to do was stiffen my spine and go tell him to go to hell and that if Hannah agreed, he would never get to see her again as long as I was alive.

So, no pressure.

"What daughter are you talking about here?" Mr. Rodwell asked. Thank goodness Tasha had enough sense to keep her mouth shut.

"What daughter? What daughter? After you kidnap her and bring her here you ask me what daughter?"

Kidnap? That was an interesting concept. I hadn't thought about it that way.

"Kidnap? Man, do you even know the people who live here?" Somehow, I did not think he meant that as a compliment.

"I know it's that one-legged bitch who lives here. She probably wants to take her away and sell her to--"

Thud.

A shriek and a moan followed, accompanied by the sound of something heavy hitting the ground.