Daddy's Little Psychopath Ch. 06

My suspicions confirmed, I believe that my skin turned pale and my breathing grew thin. "Are you sure?"

"I don't have a single doubt otherwise," he told me. "That girl . . . she's one of the scariest creatures I've ever encountered in my life. She . . . she just doesn't seem human."

"What do you mean?"

"It's difficult to explain, and I have no evidence to support it . . . but, I think she's sort of set herself up as some a 'Queen' of sorts around here. I don't know how she did it, or when, but that's the vibe I feel."

"A queen?"

"Yes. I think she controls this town. The government, the police, the industry . . . everybody."

"Can . . . can you prove it?"

"No . . . there isn't a shred of evidence to be found. But, that's the thing that's so suspicious."

"What?"

"There's a lack of evidence where there should be. Rhonda has had five children, right? So, how come no man steps up to take credit as a father? Yeah, it's possible that she just got knocked up three different times by deadbeats, but that seems uncharacteristically sloppy for an award-winning virologist and supergenius prodigy like Rhonda. Especially since by all accounts, she seems to obsess over money down to the last tenth of a percent of a cent. She seriously does not waste a penny. But, if she could prove paternity—and she's a medical doctor, so she should be well aware of how that works—she could be thousands of dollars richer if she'd only take the deadbeats to court."

I shook my head. "I don't understand. What does this have to do with proving that Rhonda is a crook?"

"Don't you see? Half the things about Rhonda don't make sense. She has hundreds of security systems and surveillance equipment all over that home of hers that have to be worth at least a quarter-million, but not a dime of her traceable income indicates that she bought anything like that. That means she bought it with funds that can't be traced by anyone—not even the government. That means she's got an entire system of finances that we don't know about!

"And as far as the children are concerned . . . haven't you noticed that even with the number of 'boyfriends' she has, she spends more time at home than anywhere else? That she won't let any doctors besides herself treat or even do a casual check-up on her own children?"

I was beginning to dread where this was going. "Mr. Lowrey, what are you saying?! Just who do you think is the father of Rhonda's children!?"

He only looked at me sadly, and then diverted his eyes without speaking.

"No . . . .! David!? Her own father!?"

"Like I said, it's just a hunch, but I've never been more sure about anything in my entire life. It's the only thing that makes sense."

"Is . . . is David willingly doing this?"

"From what I can tell? Hell fucking yes. Have you ever noticed the way that he looks at Rhonda? He tries to hide it when other people are around, but it's clear that he has a wandering eye for her. Rhonda herself seems to revel in dressing slutty and teasing her father."

So that was it. Rhonda was David's lover. She was the other woman I'd never known about. She also had to be the "Buyer" that set me up with David in the first place—why, I have no idea, but it didn't matter anymore.

She'd just made the biggest mistake of her life when she pissed me off.

"So what can we do?"

"Well, if we could somehow do a paternity test on one of her children, we could prove who fathered them."

I frowned. "And what would happen to David?"

"Well, the penalty for . . . for, well, incest . . . is severe in this state. David could be facing prison time. As much time as—"

"Then that isn't an option," I replied. "I don't want David to go through anything of the sort. Think of something else."

He sighed again. "I don't have anything else. I didn't even have much of a case there, but Rhonda is a clever bitch and keeps herself looking clean."

So I was stuck. The only lead I had against Rhonda was something that would also destroy David, and possibly his entire family. I didn't think David or his wife were aware of what a monster their daughter truly was, or what she did outside of her work as a doctor. If I took Rhonda down with this, I'd potentially destroy David's life too, and his children would be split apart and shuttled to foster care.

I needed a different plan.

"Mr. Lowrey, you mentioned that Rhonda has had a lot of boyfriends in the past, didn't you?"

"Yes, so?"

"Then I think I may have a plan."

******

-RHONDA-

I was finishing some work in the hospital, checking on patients that had been stricken by the mysterious flu strain that had become all the rage lately. I treated every person I could find, doing my best to find a way to contain, control, and eventually cure the contagion. I was the best virologist for nine states, and I made damn sure people knew as much by the end of the day. The doctors and nurses practically worshipped me, calling me an 'angel sent from heaven'.

Their praise was nice, but the better price were the excellent samples of the flu that I had collected. These would come in handy. Now that I knew their half-life, communicability, and rate of escalation, that meant it was safe enough to use on The Bitch, Daddy, or one of their brats if I ever needed to. I could infect them and then cure them just as easily . . . or I could sit and watch them suffer. It all depended on whether or not they remained obedient.

But, I had just headed to the spare office that the hospital had set for me when a young man entered.

"Dr. Rhonda Scott?"

"Yes?"

"These are yours, ma'am."

I snatched a white envelope out of his hands and tore them open.

Child visitation papers and a demand for a paternity test? Who the fuck would dare!?

I looked at the name: Clay Stevens. I recognized him as one of my "boyfriends". One of the men I'd paid to say he fucked me and keep his mouth shut. Unfortunately, now it seemed that he wanted to extort me for more money.

Clay knew damn well that he wasn't the father of my children, because I wouldn't let that ugly son of a bitch or his cock within ten feet of me. He was useful as a decoy so that people wouldn't know that I was being knocked up by Daddy, but now he was proving to be a nuisance.

Like I said, why couldn't the rest of the world just fuck off and die and leave Daddy and me alone?!

But, fine . . . if he wanted more money, he could have it. I contacted Clay's lawyer and talked him into settling out of court—I would pay him an exorbitant sum just to shut him up and renounce visitation for "his" child. I would even throw in some fake documents saying he'd knocked me up.

In a way, this was actually a good thing. This actually made my cover story more believable.

******

-KATY-

And she took my bait. Like I knew she would.

Oh, I've heard all about how smart Rhonda is. I looked her up online and saw all the awards she'd won—all the honors she'd received. She gained her first degree as a child, and had gone on to earn several more before even being old enough to drink. She was considered to be one of the smartest people on the planet, and everyone felt she was one of the most gifted people of our generation.

Which made her an absolute moron.

Yes, you heard me. A moron.

The problem with being intelligent is that the only thing it does is help you connect dots quicker. The average person sees A and B . . . but a smart person sees A, B, C, D and all the way through P. When you're intelligent, you make faster realizations and reason things at a faster pace than others. It makes you feel comfortable and secure because you see things others don't.

But that's the first rule in chess: you only become smart by playing someone smarter than you. And, if no one is smarter than you are, then you get dumb. Very dumb. Being able to connect dots faster means that all I need to do is show you the dots I want you to see, and then your "smartness" lets you connect them all on your own.

Rhonda's degrees did not impress me. Neither did her fancy awards or her seven-figure job as a medical researcher and virologist. She was merely an obstacle to me. An obstacle between myself, David, and my child.

So, she took my bait. As I knew she would. We were able to pay Mr. Stevens enough for him to go back on his word to Rhonda, and claim to be her first child's father. Rhonda, predictably, chose to go the route that most benefited her, by paying him off a second time.

That meant we had her right where we wanted her.

******

-RHONDA-

Someone was fucking with me.

No sooner than a week after I paid off that idiot Clay than eight more men all stepped forward demanding both visitation and paternity tests for my other children. Eight! I was only pregnant three times . . . four with the one inside me now! They can't all even be the fucking father! And there's no way I can pay them all the same amount of money I paid Clay!

But the problem is, if I turn them all down and prove they're not the fathers, then that means my cover story starts to fall away. Not to mention, my children's genetic information will be processed in the court . . . and with modern medical equipment, it's possible to figure out who the father is even with an inbred child. Sooner or later, it would be possible for someone to put two and two together and figure out that I'd been bearing my own father's children.

So I was completely fucked. Either I spend half a fortune shutting up every one of those clowns, or I screw over everything I worked so hard for.

I spent days tearing my hair out over this. I was only barely in the mood to let Daddy fuck me, but I didn't dare turn him down, because I promised I never would. And if I turned him down, that just meant he'd fuck The Bitch more. So, I let Daddy take my pussy as usual while doing my best to keep him in the dark. I took my frustrations out on The Bitch, instead.

I had never made use of my studded dildo before, but I sure as hell made good use of it that week. I took The Bitch to the same room where I'd made her watch me fuck Daddy and I fucked her in the ass with that studded dildo. I forced her to her knees, and shoved the cock into her mouth, making her choke on it like the dirty little bitch she was. I made her gag, only took it back out when she vomited. I didn't want any of her filth touching me.

Then, I forced her onto all fours, made her spread wide for me, and shoved that dildo up her asshole with one stroke. Oh my god, she howled like such a banshee. I knew that she had never been fucked there before, and I knew she'd expected me to fuck her in the pussy. But no, I wasn't in the mood to let her enjoy this that much. I wanted to stretch that asshole of hers as much as I could. I made damn sure it hurt.

But the problem was, it became less fun the more I did it. After the first couple of times, the filthy Bitch started to enjoy it. "Um, Ronnie, are . . . are you going to fuck me in the ass again?" she asked me, with trembling anticipation.

It was no fun watching her cum again and again while I kept fucking her ass, and eventually I got tired of it. I had no desire at all to see that whore in pleasure.

And then she said something that really got my goat.

"Thank you so much for what you've done, Ronnie," she said. "I convinced David to fuck my ass for the first time last night, and he just barely fit. I think the stretching you gave me really paid off!"

I swear to God, I came this close to stabbing her in the throat with a rusty knife there and then.

******

I needed to know who the hell was ruining my life. I didn't believe that all of those guys suddenly grew a set of balls overnight, so that meant someone was trying to get my attention. I reinstated several of my old web handles and email addresses so that whoever was trying so hard to get my attention would find it much easier.

Eventually, I finally received the message I was waiting for.

"So, are you ready to renegotiate yet?"

It was that slut, Katy.

"You know you're dead, right, Bitch? I gave you the chance to walk away, and now you've pissed that away."

"Oh, no. You don't scare me. I know who you really are, Ms. Rhonda Scott."

I angrily typed back. "So what? You want a medal for figuring it out? One would look pretty on your corpse."

"No. I just want the same thing I always wanted. I want to be with David. I want to be with him and our son."

"And what the hell makes you think you have any leverage on me? I could tell the whole world what sort of fun little things a Saudi princess likes to do in her spare time. Or, did you not realize that I knew who you were too, bitch?"

"Go ahead. My family is worth billions. That story would get quashed before it even made the news. On the other hand, I think you would have a much harder time recovering from the world finding out that a world-renowned virologist has been blackmailing her father in a relationship for years, and that she has five children by him. Or that she paid men to cover up the whole affair. Or that she embezzles millions of dollars from banks a year."

That bitch! How the hell did she find that out!? How could she possibly know about that!?

No, it was a bluff. It had to be.

"Your family would cut you loose. Yeah, rich Saudi families like to have their fun, but when it starts making their image look bad, that's when princesses lose their fancy titles."

"Yes, but I still haven't broken any laws. You have. You're the one who will go to prison for a long time, considering all the things you've done. You, David, everyone. Everyone except me and my child. When David would be arrested, and you all lose everything you own, my child will go back to his mother. And even without my family supporting me, I'll at least have him."

I hated this girl more than I hated anyone in my entire life. Even The Bitch . . . and I didn't even think that was possible.

"Okay, fine. Let's hear what you want."

"I already said it. I want to resume seeing David. You won't have to pay me anymore. I will gladly let him fuck me and give me his children."

"Deal. But, if you fuck with me again, you're dead."

"I knew you'd come to your senses eventually, Rhonda. Thank you very much for your business."

When I was done, I picked up one of my monitors from the stand and threw it to the floor. I stomped around on the mesh of wires, metal and plastic until my heels broke and the soles of my feet grew sore. I had just lost my perfect family. I had just let another woman come between me and Daddy again!

Why!? Why did this keep happening to me?! I just wanted to be with Daddy! What was so wrong about that!?

Eventually, I sat down and got a grip. I forced my arms, my hands, and my knees to stop shaking. I had to remember who was in control. I had to remember that I was the genius. Not her. She was a clever bitch . . . I'd give her that . . . but I could play the slow and steady game.

First, I needed to know a few things . . . such as who had tipped her off to my plans.

Even with her money and resources, there was no way in hell that stupid little bitch could have figured this all out by herself. She had help, and I needed to know who.

The first step was figuring out where she had spent her money. I checked with the Saudi banks, where the rich Saudi families liked to do business. I eventually found a huge amount of cash that had been wired from Saudi straight to a township nearby.

Within a few days, I'd figured out where she'd spent the money and who she'd called most often. Most of the calls went to Los Angeles County in California, to an area code that had only recently been instated. That told me that whoever she was speaking to had to be wealthy . . . almost as wealthy as she was.

A week went by, and I finally had a breakthrough. I figured out who lived in that area, so I knew who her mysterious friend was . . . but they were remarkably well-encrypted. I was right about him being wealthy. He had recently jumped from a multi-millionaire to a billionaire worth at least $11 billion US dollars. He was also well known for an extremely extravagant lifestyle, and for being extremely private about his life. Absolutely nothing about what went on in his life was public.

Which meant he had things to hide.

I could destroy the asshole. And by doing so, I would eliminate any leverage that Arabian bitch had on me.

So I got myself a nice cup of hot chocolate, settled down at my computer, and began to read. I poured through pages of information and data like a good bedtime story. I absorbed numbers and data. Places and dates. Every little secret was opening up to me.

Soon, I knew everything I needed to know about you . . .

. . . Mr. Barry Garrett.

To Be Continued . . .