Tyrant (King #2)(61)

“Ramie, you’re first. Now make it a good once. The Price Family is famous worldwide for their cannonball skills so don’t let me down!”

I go first and emerge from the water to clapping and cheers. “See? Didn’t I tell you guys? It’s in her blood!”

After the competition, my father’s assistant enters the backyard through the side gate and informs him of an upcoming teleconference that he is almost late for. With another “Happy Birthday” and a kiss on the top of my head, my father wraps a towel around his waist and is gone.

I look over to the picnic table where my friends are happily shoveling cake into their mouths and arguing over who had the better splash. My roses are in the center of the table, an old grey paint bucket serving as a makeshift vase.

It was the best day of my life and although he’d only been part of it for less than an hour, it was the best day with my dad I’d ever spent.

Because that hour wasn’t about politics, values, campaigns, my mother, how we looked to the public, agendas…it was just about me and my birthday. “You’re dad actually jumped in the pool!” Nikki exclaims, dumping a scoop of ice cream onto her third piece of cake.

“I know.” I whisper, still not believing it myself. Unlike the other party-goers, only Nikki and Tanner know that this wasn’t normal behavior for my dad.

“I wish my dad was more like yours,” said Stephanie, twirling a strand of her curly red hair in her fingers. “Because your dad’s the best.”

I catch a glimpse from the side of the house of my father emerging from the garage in his standard uniform of suit and tie, but before he gets into the awaiting Town Car he turns and our eyes meet. He waves and blows me a kiss. I catch it in the air and press it onto my cheek. He flashes me one last smile and wave before ducking into the car.

“Yeah. My dad’s the best,” I agree. And on that day, in that moment, for the first time in my life, I’d meant it.

“Ramie, wake up. Wake up!” I opened my eyes, but only one cooperated. The other was swollen shut. And although my head was still spinning, my vision finally focused in on my father, who was kneeling over me. I tried to lift my arms, but they wouldn’t separate. I gazed down to find them bound together in a weave of elaborate knots.

“Dad?” I asked, still thinking I might be caught up in my memory. But as a drop of sweat beaded from his forehead and dripped onto my arm, I knew it was really him.

“Who the hell did this to you, Ramie?” My father asked with genuine concern in his voice. He jostled my wrists around, trying to untie the impossible looking binding.

I opened my mouth to speak again but my tongue felt heavy in my mouth, dry and thick. All I could manage was a few groans and grunts. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to get you help.”

I needed to warn him. To tell him about Nadine. “Tanner,” I croaked. “Tanner.”

“Where is Tanner?” my father asked still pulling at the ropes. “He is the one who told me to come out here. He texted me, said there had been some sort of accident. I borrowed my secretary’s car and raced over here. And where is Samuel?” I was brought fully back into the present at the mention of my son’s name. I sat up and the room spun. “Dad, go find Sammy. Please. Don’t bother with me. Just go find my son!” I plead. My words coming out garbled but understandable.

My father gave up on the knots at my wrists and snaked his arm around my shoulders. He lifted me up off the floor. It wasn’t until I was upright that I realized we were in the house boat. “Dad, Sammy…because Tanner…Nadine,” I started again but the series of names in no way formed the warning I was trying to relay.

“What happened to Nadine?” My father asked still working at the ropes.

“She’s dead. Tanner…”

“What about me, Ray?” Tanner asked entering through a large rusted hole in the side of the boat. In his hand was a shiny silver pistol with a long wide barrel and a black handle. “Are you talking about that slut, Nadine?”

It was aimed at us.

“What did you do?” My father asked, sounding horrified. His face paled.

“Turns out that bitch was keeping an eye out on your daughter for the f*cking pedophile your daughter is so obsessed with.” Tanner clucked his tongue. “Nothing to worry about now. Bitch got what was coming to her.”

“Son, you don’t have to do this—” My father started.

Tanner laughed. “Son?” He waved the gun from side to side. “Ray doesn’t want me to be your son anymore.”

“Watch your mouth, boy, and lower that pistol. Ray’s hurt. I’m taking her to the hospital. You and I can talk when we get back,” my father argued, his southern accent coming out in full force, which made me realize that in public he took great steps to hide it, but now, not concerned about preplanned speeches or impressing constituents, his drawl was much heavier and thicker than I remembered. He hadn’t lost his accent, he’d just been hiding it. “Step aside, Tanner.” My father took a step toward the door and I limped beside him. Tanner aimed his gun at the ceiling above our heads and fired off a shot which tore a skylight sized hole in the roof that rattled the houseboat, echoing in the small space, sending rust raining down around us.

Tanner again took aim at us. “The only thing you’re going to do is set her down or you can watch as I kill her first.”