A chill ran down my spine as I suddenly realized something. Norma hadn’t bought her condo until after he’d gone to jail. He was well aware of her address since it was the one on file for all of his next-of-kin paperwork. He must have scoped it out after his release. Or else he was guessing because of her location that it was posh, as he’d said.

But there wasn’t anything on file saying where I worked. Norma had always been very good about making sure both Ben and I remained sheltered from him, even when he was behind bars. It was to make us feel safer, she’d said. Now I realized she’d been planning ahead. Been planning for this very situation.

It was never good to question him, but I needed to know. “How did you find me anyway? Who told you I was working here?”

“My lawyer did. A while back. He happened to come in here one night and saw you working. Kudos, Gwen. Managing a big club in the city. Pretty big stuff for a poor Anders kid from Jersey. I didn’t think you had it in ya like your sister. I sure as hell know your faggot brother doesn’t have it in him.”

My jaw clenched at the mention of Ben, and for the first time since he’d moved across the country, I was glad. There wasn’t any way our father could get to him.

“Anyway.” He scratched at the collar of his button-down. “I was taking a chance when I came by today. I’m guessing you usually work at night but I can only be out in the world during daytime hours. Lucky break that I found you.”

“Yeah, lucky.” At a time of day that I was almost never at the club, on an occasion that I was the only employee in the building, on the one fucking time I didn’t look at the cameras before opening the doors. Real lucky.

“Look,” I said, feigning control, “I have to get back to my work. My boss is going to come looking for me soon. So you need to go.”

He ignored my bluff, either not believing me or not caring. “It’s not gonna cut it, Gwen. My job. It will take a long time to get out of that house and into a place of my own with the kind of wage they offered. And I can’t stay there that long. You don’t know what that place is like.”

“I can’t let you stay at our place, Daddy. I told you, it’s—”

“Up to Norma,” he finished with me. “Then let’s see. If that’s not going to work, maybe we can discuss some other ways you can help me.” With eyes half closed, he rubbed his neck, his long hair shaking as he did, reminding me of a dog scratching at an itch. “How about you just give me the cash directly?”

Yes. He was a total dog.

“H-how much?” I stuttered as my fear neared its threshold. He was setting me up to have to say no to him, and I tried never to say no to him.

“Hmm.” He looked at the clothes I was wearing, my shoes. They weren’t Bergdorf Goodman quality, but with Norma paying most of my bills, I was able to splurge on a few nice things. I felt guilty now as I remembered the kind of life we’d had growing up. My shoes could have paid for groceries for a month.

So I shouldn’t have been surprised when he named his amount. “Twenty-five thousand ought to do it.”

“I don’t have that kind of money.” My words came out breathy and thin. He hated any response to a request that wasn’t yes, sir.

“Come on. With that pretty building you girls are living in? I’m betting twenty-five k doesn’t even cover half a year’s rent in that place. You can’t spare six month’s rent to help your old man get out of the hellhole he shares with a bunch of filthy addicts?”

“It’s not me who has the money. I told you. It’s Norma. I barely make enough to contribute to the utilities.” More lies. More pointing at Norma. She’d take care of him, though. She’d know what to say to make him back down, while I…just…didn’t.

He made a clicking sound in the back of his throat that was more menacing than it should have been. “You can get it. I know you can.”

I shook my head fervently. “I can’t.”

“Ask Norma for it.” He came toward me as he spoke. “She’ll give it to you. Do it for your dear old dad. To make up for all that time you didn’t do shit for him.” With each step he took, I took one backwards until I was up against the stainless steel worktable with nowhere else to go.

I braced my hands on the hard surface behind me and quickly tried to plan my next move. If I told him that I’d get it, would he go? And then what? Would I have to give him the money? Would I have to go into hiding? He couldn’t be charged with anything. Growing up, we’d had home visits from the cops and social services a couple of times, and my father had made sure we showed them what he wanted them to see—food on the table, toys in the house. He was always able to cover up his crimes. Especially when half of them were merely mental games. Games that didn’t leave marks or bruises.

This was that type of game. If I didn’t give him the money, he’d hurt me. I had no doubt of that. It would be nice to believe he’d changed over the years—I had—but prison never softened anyone. If anything, he was probably harder. I wondered if he hit harder too. If he hit me, if he physically touched me, the law would step in. It was too much to hope it would be enough to put him back behind bars, but was getting smacked around worth it to get a restraining order?

It was. But I didn’t think I could provoke him like that on purpose. It went against a lifetime of training. I obeyed. I tried not to get hit.

Except…

Something triggered in me. Something besides fear. Rage. Because how dare he? How dare he come into my work, my life, and demand compensation for the time he spent in jail because he’d beaten his children? How dare he have beaten us in the first place? It had taken years to let go of the constant ball of worry in my stomach and even longer to gain any sort of confidence. How dare he take it from me now?

“Well?” He took another step toward me. We were less than an arm’s length away now.

Gathering every bit of strength I could muster—more than I knew I had—I straightened my back and said, “No.”

“What did you say?”

“I said no. I’m not going to get you the money. Not because I don’t think Norma will give it to me, but because I don’t want to. It’s not yours. We don’t owe it to you. I don’t owe you anything.”

Smack. The back of his hand across my cheek. I heard the distinct sound of it before I registered the burn, the shrieking pain. I’d half expected it and yet, as his knuckles made contact with my bone, it stunned me, stole my breath, sent green specks across my field of vision.