The Last Boss' Daughter

Once we’re inside I tell her, “I need to go talk to them. You’ll be okay here?”

She nods wordlessly and takes a seat on the edge of the drab bed.

I stand there for a minute, just watching her. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. I feel tempted to ask stupid, needy questions, which is an impulse I haven’t had since childhood. The vulnerability is more uncomfortable than anything else I’ve done tonight. I want to ask if there’s anything I can do, any way I can fix this, but I don’t want to hear the answer.

Without another word, without getting her to look at me, I back out of the room, securing the door and just staring at it for a moment before I turn to walk away.

I linger in Ryder’s room for as long as I can. It’s far from the kind of room with a mini bar, but Al disappears for a bit while I’m catching up with Ryder, and when he returns he has a six-pack of room temperature beer.

After the night we’ve all had, not one of us hesitates to crack that shit open.

It takes until my second can before Ryder, sprawled in his chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world, finally says, “So, how the hell did this girl happen?”

The mere mention of her unsettles me. Reminds me what’s waiting for me back in the other room—and not in the good way, the lusty way, though now that I’m thinking about it, my blood does stir over memories of her naked body beneath mine. I wish things could be easy. I wish the hell I’ve been living in since I met her could be well and truly behind us, and I could go home to her, as boring as that sounds. I just want to sink into her body and let the fucked up world around us disappear.

“Story for another time,” I tell him, taking a last swig of beer and crushing the can.

“Will there be another time?” he asks, not unreasonably. “What’s next for you?”

Shaking my head, I push off the chair and cross the room to drop the empty beer can into the small, black trash can. “Don’t know. Guess I better go find out.”

He stands, putting his beer down on the shoddy bedside table. “Well, I’ve got something in the works if you find yourself… free. You want in, I’m sure I could use one more guy.”

“What kind of something?”

“The heist kind,” Ryder says, grinning.

I roll my eyes. “Not my thing.”

“Well, it’s gonna be a big payout if you change your mind.”

It makes me weary just thinking about it. I’d gotten too attached to the idea of taking a break from all this after this job was over, to a relaxed life at the beach with Annabelle, carving out something a little more normal, seeing how it fit. A heist is the last thing I want to do, but the idea of doing nothing and being alone with my thoughts after Annabelle doesn’t feel right, either.

“I’ll let you know,” I tell him.

After I leave the guys I linger outside for a few minutes. I pretend to myself I’m being alert, keeping an eye out as I gaze at the dark, empty road, but I know I’m just avoiding Annabelle. I don’t know how to comfort people, and I doubt she’d really want comfort from me right now anyhow. Even if it was the best thing I could’ve done for her logically, I’m sure it doesn’t feel that way right now.

Eventually I run out of sidewalk to kick and phantom headlights to look for. I almost wish I smoked, I could buy myself a little more time.

Steeling myself for what’s to come, I pause outside the door, take a deep breath, and finally push it open.

My eyes go to the bed, where she was when I left her, but she isn’t there anymore. It’s a tiny room, just a cheap bed with a nightstand, a worn beige chair. The back wall is a vanity with tacky lights overhead and a sink, because the bathroom is too small to fit one. There’s a nook with a shady looking bar and some metal coat hangers off to the right of the vanity.

The bathroom door is closed and I can see the light on, so I assume she’s in there. I wonder if she’s physically ill. I should’ve been much more thoughtful, less focused on my mission and more focused on her well-being. I should’ve known she isn’t me.

Maybe she’s right. Maybe I should’ve stayed away and let someone else handle it. I just had to see it done, and now I’ll pay the price, whatever it is. Can’t say it wasn’t worth it, knowing she’s safe now, knowing Paul will never lay another hand on her and Pietro’s reign of terror has finally ended.

Annabelle is finally free.

The bathroom door creaks as it opens up, letting a stream of light into the darkened room.

She gasps in surprise when she sees me, eyes fluttering shut, a hand flying to her chest as her whole body tenses.

I feel like I’m on trial and awaiting a verdict, but I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes.

I hear her expel a breath of relief. She hesitates in front of the door for a moment, then she steps around me and heads for the bed. With her back to me, I allow myself a glimpse of her in the tiny, white towel she has wrapped around her. Droplets of water still linger across her back and shoulders, and it takes an immense measure of control not to step forward, press myself against her body, and lick them off. I imagine gripping the towel, yanking it off her, and throwing it onto the floor.

Shifting in mild discomfort, I watch her take a seat on the edge of the bed.