Daddy's Girl: Raised To Please Him

Chapter 8

Hours blurred into an eternity. Or perhaps it had only been minutes. Time had no anchor in the suffocating darkness of her confinement. The silence was oppressive, punctuated only by the faint dripping of water somewhere in the distance. Her body throbbed with a relentless ache—her wrists chafed raw by the coarse rope, her shoulders screaming from the awkward position she'd been forced to endure. The cold bit into her skin, sharper than teeth, gnawing at her resolve. Her stomach was cramped from hunger, and her dry throat ached from crying out for help that never came.

The isolation was its own form of torture. With nothing but her own fractured thoughts for company, Sydney felt the fragile threads of her sanity begin to unravel. Her mind replayed her pleas, her screams, the desperate begging that had been met with silence or, worse, a cold, cruel laugh. She wanted to believe someone—anyone—was looking for her. That beyond these walls, her absence had been noticed. But with each passing second, doubt burrowed deeper into her chest, wrapping around her like a vice.

She tried to distract herself, to count the seconds, the drips of water, the breaths she took—but her focus slipped, and the oppressive quiet pressed down harder. Memories began to creep in, unbidden and unwelcome, pulling her into a labyrinth of fear and pain she had long tried to forget. The sharp snap of her mother's voice. The shadows of a man looming in the doorway. The broken pieces of her past clawed at her, dragging her under.

And then, piercing through the haze of despair, she heard his voice.

"Nick."

Her captor's voice was low, and venomous, and the name landed like a slap to her senses. The air in the room shifted, heavy and suffocating, as her heart thudded painfully against her ribs. Nick. The sound of the name sent shockwaves through her, dredging up memories she had buried so deeply she'd convinced herself they might never resurface.

At first, it didn't make sense. The name hung in the air like a bitter curse, the man spitting it out with the kind of hatred that made her stomach churn. But then, like pieces of a long-forgotten puzzle, it began to come together. The fragments of her past clawed their way back into the light—her biological mother's desperate screams, the shadowed figure looming over her, the night when everything had gone wrong.

Her breathing quickened, her chest heaving as the memories assaulted her. Nick, the man who had tormented her mother. The man who had turned their lives into a living nightmare. And the man she had killed in self-defense.

She wanted to believe it was a coincidence, that the name on her captor's lips had no connection to the monster from her past. But the venom in his voice, the way he spoke the name as though it was a personal curse, made her blood run cold. Her captor knew Nick. He had to. And if he knew Nick, then...

Her body stiffened as a horrifying realization took root. This wasn't random. This wasn't a coincidence. Her captor wasn't a stranger, not really. He was connected to her past, to the darkest, most painful part of her life.

Her voice trembled as she finally spoke, her words barely a whisper. "Who... who are you?"

The man turned toward her, his movements slow and deliberate, like a predator stalking wounded prey. His face was partially obscured in shadow, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the rage simmering beneath the surface.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he said, his voice dripping with contempt. "You wouldn't. People like you never bother to look at the damage you leave behind."

"I don't—" Sydney's voice broke, tears streaming down her face as her mind scrambled to make sense of his words. "I don't understand. Please, I don't know what you're talking about."

The man's expression twisted into something cruel, a sneer pulling at his lips. "Oh, you will," he said darkly. "You'll remember everything soon enough. But let me make it easy for you. Nick. My brother."

The floor seemed to tilt beneath her as the world closed in. Her breath hitched, her vision swimming as the truth slammed into her like a tidal wave. This man wasn't a stranger. He was Nick's brother.

"No..." she whispered, shaking her head as though denying it could make it untrue. "It wasn't my fault. I didn't—"

"Save it!" he snapped, his voice rising to a shout that echoed off the walls. He stormed toward her, towering over her trembling form. "You think I care about your excuses? You killed my brother! You took him away from me, and now you're going to pay for what you've done."

Terror gripped her as his words sank in. She opened her mouth to plead, to explain, but the words wouldn't come. All she could do was stare up at him, her mind racing with the horrifying realization that this was far more personal than she had ever imagined.

The room spun, her breaths coming in shallow gasps as the weight of her past crashed over her. This wasn't just a kidnapping. This was revenge. And she had no idea how she was going to survive it.

Sydney's world was crumbling, each blow, each harsh word from Nick's brother peeling away whatever fragile hope remained inside her. The ropes dug into her wrists, the pain a dull throb that pulsed in time with her panic-stricken heart. She could barely remember the last few hours—or were they days? Time had lost its meaning in this suffocating darkness. The cold was relentless, gnawing at her, but it was the bruises and cuts, the swelling on her face, that made her feel most alive—alive in a way that reminded her she was still here, still fighting, still clinging to the smallest glimmer of hope.

But hope was a luxury she could no longer afford.

Nick's brother had been unpredictable, his anger erratic. She had learned to brace herself for each outburst, but nothing could prepare her for the next lash of his words, or the violence that followed. He seemed to take pleasure in her suffering, each punch, each kick, a reminder that she was nothing more than a tool in his hands—something to break and remake in the image of his rage.

Sydney had tried to hold on to some semblance of her dignity. She fought back with what little strength she had left, but the blows came too quickly, too viciously. When her body failed her, she curled in on herself, hoping for the storm of violence to pass. The pain seemed endless, a constant companion, and yet something in her refused to yield. She wouldn't let him see her broken, wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing that she was slipping.

Then, in one agonizing moment, the tension in the room reached a breaking point. As her captor loomed over her, a dark rage flashing in his eyes, Sydney felt something snap inside her—something primal, something that refused to be cowed any longer.

With a strength born of sheer desperation, she lunged for the chair that bound her, her legs screaming in protest. The chair tipped, and she crashed to the ground, the world spinning as she scrambled to free her hands from the ropes. She barely noticed the blood on her hands, her focus entirely on the single goal: escape.

"You're not going anywhere!" Nick's brother bellowed, his hands reaching for her. But Sydney had already found the door. The outside world was a blur of rain and shadows, and with every step she took, she felt her hope flicker back to life, like a candle in the storm.

She didn't dare look behind her as she ran, the wet earth sucking at her bare feet, the rain pouring down in sheets that blurred everything in her path. Her lungs burned with the effort, her chest tight as she pushed forward through the underbrush, heedless of the branches that scraped at her skin, the thorns that tore at her clothes. All she could think of was putting distance between herself and the man who had done this to her, and the memories of Nick that clung to him like a shroud.

Her body screamed in protest, her muscles shaking with exhaustion, but she kept running. There was nothing else—no one else—out here in the dark. Only the cold, the storm, and the primal need to escape.

She didn't know how long she ran, or how far she had gone. She could barely feel her feet anymore, numb from the cold and the rough terrain, but she pushed forward. There was no turning back, no stopping. Every step was a rebellion, every breath a testament to her unwillingness to die here.

Then, like a flicker of hope in the darkest of nights, she heard a voice—a soft, familiar voice calling her name, cutting through the storm.

"Sydney!"

Her heart skipped, and she turned, stumbling in the direction of the voice. It was weak, almost drowned by the sound of the wind and rain, but it was real.

"Alan," she whispered, the word barely audible as she fell to her knees, her legs giving out beneath her.

Through the mist of rain and darkness, Alan appeared, his figure barely visible at first. He was soaked to the bone, his eyes wild with panic and determination as he spotted her. His face contorted in relief as he rushed to her side, his hands reaching out to steady her, pulling her into his arms.

"Sydney," he murmured, his voice filled with raw emotion. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

She could barely comprehend his words through the haze of fear, exhaustion, and tears. Alan, of all people. How had he found her? How was he here?

She shook her head, her voice hoarse as she tried to speak, but the words got caught in her throat. The sheer relief of hearing someone she could trust, someone who hadn't hurt her, was almost too much to bear. The tears flowed again, unstoppable, as she collapsed into his arms, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once.

"You're... you're okay," Alan said, though it was clear by the way his hands trembled and his voice wavered that he wasn't so sure. He gently cradled her, pulling her closer as if afraid she might slip away from him.

Sydney, her face streaked with dirt and rain, could barely keep her eyes open. Her whole body felt like it was falling apart, but in Alan's arms, she found something that resembled safety—something she hadn't felt in so long.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her words strained. "I didn't... I didn't know where to go..."

Alan shook his head, his grip tightening around her as if he could protect her from the storm, from everything. "You don't have to explain, Sydney," he said, his voice hushed. "I've got you now. We're going to get you out of here."

The sound of his voice, so close and steady, made the world feel a little less threatening. Her sobs came harder, her chest heaving as the relief of his presence finally broke through the terror that had consumed her for so long.

Alan gently pulled her back, his face a mixture of concern and relief, as he knelt to pull off his jacket and wrap it around her shivering form. She could barely stay upright, her body too weak to support itself, but his hands, steady and warm, never left her.

"Just breathe, Sydney. Just breathe. I'm here," Alan whispered, his voice a lifeline in the chaos. "We'll get you to safety. I won't let him hurt you anymore."

And for the first time since she had been taken, Sydney believed him. At that moment, with Alan holding her and the storm still howling around them, she let herself believe that maybe—just maybe—she had a chance to escape the nightmare.

Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone as she thought.

But even as Alan held her, the weight of the past, of Nick, of the horrors she had faced, pressed down on her. Her mind raced, the painful realization hitting her again. The danger wasn't over. It was just beginning.

Because the man who had hurt her wasn't finished. He would come for her again. And next time, he wouldn't stop until he had what he wanted.