The Last Boss' Daughter

I have no idea what’s going on with her.

During the day I have to work for Raj, so maybe that’s when they’re letting her out and I’m missing it.

I’m running out of time.

The party is in five days. Annabelle doesn’t know not to go to it, and if she’s living at the house and not able to leave, it won’t even matter.

She can’t be in the house.

I don’t even know if she’s okay.

I don’t know if Paul did something to her, broke a limb, maybe? That would explain why she isn’t leaving.

There have been moments, gripping, awful moments, where I wonder if she’s even alive. I don’t entertain them for long, feeling that somehow I would know if she wasn’t. A funeral, a burial—goons moving a body out of the house in the middle of the night. Something would happen. And nothing has.

Last night I got desperate. There’s no time to wait anymore and I have to know what’s going on. I bribed a guy I know at the power company and went up on the poles with him so I could plant a camera to record the comings and goings. If I can figure out when they’re letting her leave the house, I’ll change my schedule with Raj accordingly. He’s getting cagey as the big day draws nearer, but I don’t care. In a few days, I’ll never see Raj again.

I can’t consider the possibility that I won’t be able to get to Annabelle before then. I can’t blend in with the caterers to get inside—I’m too big, too off; there’s an energy I exude that wouldn’t work. I’ll stand out. Get killed. Fail to rescue Annabelle.

Unacceptable.

If I have to, if I absolutely have to, I’ll call in a couple favors of my own. I’ll have Lance and Raj taken out. I’ll turn. I’ll blow the whole operation. And my reputation, most likely.

Even in my head, this is getting messy.

I don’t like messy.

I’ve never been this uncomfortable in my life. Regrets nag at me every night—thoughts of Annabelle by the tree behind her house, kissing me, wanting me.

Why the fuck had I pushed her away?

I should’ve just taken her then. I could’ve sent her ahead of me, finished the job, and met up with her afterward. Sure, maybe they would’ve been alarmed by her disappearance, maybe Raj would’ve suspected me, but Annabelle would be safe.

That shouldn’t be the most important thing to me—shouldn’t be my first thought upon waking and the last thought before I finally pass out sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

But it is.

I’m consumed by her.

I want her back in my arms more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life, and I’m actually terrified that it will never happen. That I’ll lose her, when I never even had her in the first place.

Annabelle is going to be mine. She is mine, whether she knows it now or not.

So right now her family is fucking with what’s mine.

Bad idea.

I’ve more or less stopped sleeping, but it’s worth it.

Because I’m there when she steps onto the front porch around 3am, her long dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She’s looking up and around, like she’s looking for something.

My hand is on the door handle. I want to jump out of the car and go get her, but I can’t. The path isn’t clear. It may be three in the morning, but there’s a wrought iron gate, security system, alarm—I wouldn’t be able to get to her fast enough, even if I went in with guns blazing.

Before I can think of a plan to get her attention, a stocky man with a head of dark hair comes out and takes her by the shoulders, leading her back in. I don’t have much in the way of equipment, but any idiot knows to bring binoculars.

What confuses the hell out of me is that when I get a good look at her face, she’s smiling. Not her taunting, “fuck you” smile, but something softer. Childlike, almost. The man who came out to get her doesn’t seem to be exerting any force, he’s just guiding her.

What the fuck?