Sassy Road by Destiny Blaine Page B

take care of her only daughter, a daughter she professed on paper to hate.
    Sassy was eight years old.
    “Well?” Victory asked, backing against the kitchen counter and crossing her arms. “What do you want?”
    “Do you know who I am?”
    “I guess I’d have that better than thou attitude, too, if I were banging Logan Marcs.” She searched her eyes. “No. Why? Should I?”
    “Look closer,” Sassy said, hoping if Victory were Damsel’s old lady, she’d viewed family photo albums or at least a picture. She wanted to be sure there wasn’t any resemblance to the girl she once was because when Damsel came back to the clubhouse, she wanted him shocked, truly surprised.
    “I don’t know you,” she assured her, turning toward the stove.
    “I have muscle spasms, uncontrollable tics whenever I’m nervous, or overly anxious. My mother died when I was in the third grade. I was eight years old. I endured more beatings than any animal, was raped at least a hundred times, and still managed to walk in here because the man responsible for inflicting my pain was kind enough, or perhaps his intentions were born from cruelty, to leave me alive.”
    A spoon dropped to the counter. Victory faced her. “And what do you want? A handout?”
    “Do. You. Know. Me?” she demanded, raising her voice. “Do you at least know something about me, anything at all?”
    “No,” Victory assured her, watching her closer than before. “What does this have to do with Damsel?”
    Sassy walked toward her, remembering everything Scott taught her, how to watch for muscle movement, a sudden change in breathing, or a shifting of the eyes. A hot pot of soup boiled behind Victory’s back. The last thing Sassy wanted was a face scorched and burned— another win in Damsel’s favor. “My name is Sassy Road. I’m Damsel’s stepdaughter.”
    A slow clap resounded. Damsel entered from across the room. His hands still came together as he applauded her performance. “I have to hand it to you, doll. I don’t know who you are, but you’re mighty convincing.”
    “Damsel, what’s this about?” Victory asked, rushing to his side.
    “An imposter wanting money, no doubt,” Damsel replied. “Who are you? Why did Sassy send you here?”
    Sassy swallowed the bile rising in her throat. “I am Sassy.”
    Damsel twisted his mouth, narrowed his gaze, and shook his head. “You ain’t, Sassy, woman. I don’t know who you are, but you ain’t my stepdaughter. She was an ugly girl, didn’t have a body to speak of, and—”
    “And you liked torturing her, enjoyed seeing her in pain.”
    He snorted at that. “She was a kid.”
    “A kid you abused!” she screamed, aware of the pistol in the purse she clutched.
    Damsel took a step back. “Victory, get out of here. Tell Gaylord I need to see him.”
    “Damsel,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I can’t let you do this. If what she’s saying is true…”
    “Now, damn it!”
    “Damsel, no,” Victory pleaded. “Not another Addison. I won’t stand by and watch. I refuse to let you take another life.”
    With Victory’s stance taken, Damsel wheeled around and slapped her to the floor. Victory’s head wobbled from side to side as she fought to maintain consciousness.
    Years of anguish rolled forward, the heartache and pain, the tears shed without anyone there to wipe them away. Sassy shoved her hand in the small purse, retrieved the gun, and after she pointed her weapon, she squeezed the trigger.

 
     
     
     
     
    Chapter Nine
     
     
    They were detained by a construction crew. A contractor told them they’d be waiting about ten minutes. “Bullshit!” Logan screamed, punching at the wind.
    “Chill, man,” Tigger said, watching him disconcertedly. Confusion stamped its place upon his brow as he wavered back and forth, an effort to steady his bike. His foot dropped to the ground, and he glowered, hanging his arms over the handlebars. “Start talking, man. You knew she was Damsel’s