The Assassin's Mask: Daynara and Nicholas

Chapter 6: Purged

Daynara

I glare at the laptop’s screen, wishing I was anywhere but here. I hate that I feel this way. I thought I had escaped Père’s clutches, but this is a harsh reminder that he will always find a way to coax his way back into my life. I should have known that he’d continue to exert control and drag out my pain. It’s what Père does and why he has become such a powerful force in his business.

My stomach drops, and my heart flips when the call finally connects. I tighten my fists and swallow the sour bile that threatens to choke me when I finally face the man who nearly destroyed me.

Our eyes are similar in color, but his skin is paper white compared to my almond one. His hair is white, and his face is angular compared to my heart-shaped face. I look more like my mother with her gorgeous dark brown hair, chestnut eyes, and darker skin.

“You’re looking well, Daynara,” he states steadily. Père has never been the type to give in to emotions. Even when he beat me to the ground, he never raised his voice.

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, cutting through the bullshit, “I kept my end of the bargain, but you just can’t let me go.”

Père arches a sardonic brow, “I don’t have time for your theatrics, Daynara. Your life is in danger now, and it’s probably best if you come home.”

I shake my head, “Strange how I leave the country, and now my life is suddenly at risk.”

Père shakes his head, “Have you stopped taking your medications? Dr. Rollins said you must take them daily to stave off your paranoid delusions.”

My chest heaves with boiling emotions. I don’t know why I waste my time arguing with Père. He will never admit to what he has done. In his mind, everyone is at fault, and he’s always right. Anyone whom he hurts is because they deserved it. The bastard is a textbook narcissist sociopath.

“Enough,” I slam my fists against the table’s surface, making all of the items on it shudder, “What do you want?”

Père tilts his head and gazes steadily into my eyes, “I just wanted to ensure my daughter is safe. I would hate to see Nicholas hurt while protecting you from my enemies. Or him being killed because you couldn’t keep your f*****g mouth shut. I hope you can understand that.”

I know this tone. Though Père’s not saying it outright, he’s threatening me. He’s letting me know he’s in control, and if I say a word about what I know, there will be consequences. He’s also reminding me of what he’ll do to Nicholas if I involve him. But I learned that terrible lesson long ago.

My lips tighten, and my vision blurs as I bid for control. After a moment, I release a deep breath and manage to say, “I hate you so much.”

His smile is rife with retribution when he says, “You still haven’t answered me, Daynara. Do I need to worry about you staying quiet about things that should remain confidential?”

I shake my head, “I know what’s at stake, and I would never risk my freedom.”

He snickers, “I hope you’re telling the truth for your sake. Well, I’ll see you soon. In the meantime, don’t forget to take your medications, darling.”

Once the screen goes dark, I can’t resist the initial outburst. The laptop skids across the table, landing hard against a nearby wall, its keys falling everywhere. The desk breaks to pieces as I push it down. I’m a hurricane of rage as I tear at anything standing in my way. I feel like the painful memories of my past are suffocating me. For years, I managed to push the burden of those memories away. I even went to therapy. But one phone call with my Père undoes all of the progress I’ve made.

Closing my eyes, I let my tears fall and dazedly make my way to the kitchen. I need a drink. I need to purge myself of this unbearable weight in my chest. It takes me a couple of minutes to find Nicholas’ wine cellar. Without a thought, I begin to open bottles. Clinging to one of the bottle’s necks, I slide down the wall and let the ghosts of my past drag me down the dark recesses of my mind.

I cover my ears as my Maman’s screams resound across the room. I know I shouldn’t be out of bed, but Père was mad, and I was scared he’d scream at me. When I snuck into my secret room, I didn’t expect to hear Maman crying. I followed the screams until I saw Père hurting Maman in the big scary room. Père makes Maman and me cry all the time, but I had never seen him hurt her the way he is doing now. As his fists slam into her belly, I cower behind one of the walls. Gurgles and cries of pain fall from her lips as she falls to the ground.

Père looks mean. His face is red, and his lips are pulled back, showing his sharp teeth. He looks like the scary dogs that he uses to guard the grounds.

“Please, Dion,” Maman pleads, using her hands to protect herself from another strike, “Nothing happened.”

Père wraps his fist around Maman’s hair and lifts her to her knees, “I saw you speaking to him, you f*****g w***e. Did you think I wouldn’t know he was helping you?”

Maman shakes her head, “No, I….”

My Père slams her head against the wall, making several items fall and shatter on the ground. I cringe when he bangs her against the wall until blood is pouring from her head, mouth, and nose.

I want to help Maman, but I’m just a little girl. I’m only five.

“Don’t!” Maman cries out. Her voice gurgles and her eyes are dazed.

“Please, Dion, I─” her voice cuts off when my Père wraps his arms around her neck and twists hard. A cry escapes my lips when my Maman slumps to the ground, her head at an odd angle and her unblinking eyes gazing blankly ahead.

My Père must hear my cry because his head turns and he faces me. His loud footsteps ring in my ears, and my body shudders when he stops in front of me and takes me by the forearms. Fear, as I’ve never felt, courses through my tiny frame, but I can’t move.

“Père,” I cry out fearfully as he drags my tiny body across the floor until I am beside Maman’s unmoving frame.

Père places his large hand on my head and pushes me down, “Look at her!” he snarls. Tears fall from my eyes as I gaze into my Maman’s dead eyes.

“This is what happens when you’re a bad girl. Do you hear me?”

I give him a tearful nod. But Père is unconvinced of my surrender. He lifts me to my feet and takes my wrist in his hand. It takes me a second to hear the snap and feel the recurring agony. My hand hangs from my wrist like a floppy fish, and my cries permeate the air.

Uncaring of my pain, Père pulls me to him and growls, “If you ever tell anyone what you saw, I will break every bone in your pathetic little body.”

I can’t answer because I’m too busy vomiting in my princess pajamas. Père throws me to the floor, making my body thud against the ground. Pulling my broken wrist to my chest, I try to crawl away, but my Père doesn’t let me get far. I try not to vomit again when he takes me by the ankle and drags me out of the room until we’re back in my bedroom. I curl up into a ball and cry once he leaves the room. Eventually, I passed out from the pain. The next day, my Père took me to the hospital under the protest that I fell off my bike.

Life became worse after that. Everyone we’d encounter would comment on how spoiled and protected I was, never understanding that Père kept me close to keep me under his control. He only cared about his reputation. The abuse was continuous after that. However, Père ensured he wouldn’t leave any permanent marks or damage. Those who dared question his authority or saw through my calm façade were fired or had “accidents.” I lost two people I cared deeply about and a kind doctor at my Père’s hands. That’s why Nicholas never learned of the abuse. Though he was a trained killer, I couldn’t risk his life. I loved him too much, even if he didn’t feel the same in the end. That was when my Père ’s control slipped, prompting me to find a way out, even if it was in a body bag. When Père saw he was losing his hold on me, he sent me to a mental health facility. He convinced the doctor to diagnose me with delusional paranoia, ensuring no one would believe me if I revealed the abuse. But even that didn’t stop me from finding a way to escape his clutches.

Within a half hour, sexy music rings across the apartment, and I’m floating in a drunken haze. By the time I reach my third bottle, everything is numb. I feel no more pain or fear. I feel like I’m floating euphorically into a world where no one can hurt me. It’s a feeling I know very well.