His Father

He didn’t freak out at the possibility of my pregnancy. He didn’t get mad or tell me to abort. He told me he’d support me. He says I’m his weakness.

I love him. Despite the shit he’s in. And Maddox… I’m so worried for him I wish he’d answer his phone.

It’s my number now, surely he should recognize it? He knows I have nothing to do with this. What if they already have him?

I push that thought away and chew on my nail bed again. A bad habit I’ve picked up lately and intend to stop doing as soon as I’m out of the country.

It hasn’t sunk in yet. I really don’t want to leave but what choice do I have? He’s right. I’ll just complicate the situation.

So why has he just texted me?

Sargent: You can come back home. It’s done. They have their guy.

I try to call him as I frown at his message on the screen. I look to the man on my right.

“Something doesn’t feel right about this.” If it’s not him texting me then does that mean they have him?

“What’s wrong?” my driver slash security personnel asks calmly.

“I just got a text message from Sargent asking me to go back.”

He takes my phone from my hand and carefully looks at the message. His eyes flicker to the road and back to the phone. “I have to take you to the airport.”

“I know,” I reply. “I don’t think it’s him.”

His brows furrow with his own anxieties and suspicions as he connects to the Bluetooth in the car and calls the contact, “Bossman.”

Unfortunately, Bossman doesn’t answer and neither do two other guys who he calls immediately after.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He presses something in his ear and speaks a bunch of military-sounding jargon that I don’t understand. Then he starts yelling, which turns to begging. He looks at me and I know he’s thinking the worst too. “I’m taking you to the airport and seeing you on that plane. Don’t argue with me, I’m not in the mood.”

I nod once because I don’t want to add to his plate either. But then, after building up the courage to challenge a stranger I ask, “But what if they need help?”

“You are my priority.”

“You’re not getting paid if he’s dead,” I retort firmly, hoping the money will entice him to do what I want him to.

He frowns. “I don’t give a fuck. If I take you back there and you end up dead that’ll be on my conscience. Not everything is about money. I care about the people I protect.”

For the first time in hours I smile, it’s weak but it’s there. “You’re a good person, Miles.”

“I need to concentrate,” he grumbles and flips his sunglasses over his eyes.

I take that massive hint and turn away, pleading with God, if he exists, to figure this out. I know I’m in way over my head and I should be gratefully running for the hills but I never was very good at staying away from danger. Maddox doesn’t deserve this. What if he needs me? He’d never leave me behind.

But I don’t know where he is so how can I help?

I want to cry.

I don’t know how to handle all of this.

Sargent

I kick a shirt to the other side of my closet and sigh gravely. Especially when I see her underwear beneath it next to an open tube of deodorant. Weeks ago I’d have been furious at the sight, annoyed by the clutter, but it hasn’t been something that has bothered me in the slightest.

I think of the products I purchased for her myself for my personal en suite so when we showered together she’d smell of lavender or berries. I think of the way she dropped her clothes onto my floor and all I’d do is step over them. She’d pick them up eventually, once changed or showered, but it never bothered me.

And now, her things linger and she’s gone and I remember why I hated the clutter.

My house is a mess because of the feds and her things are everywhere, reminding me of her every moment. It makes me feel nauseous and bitter. I want her back. I want all of this to go away so I can pin her to the couch and insist she nap with me, before taking her to the store and buying her everything she looks at so she can fill my home with more clutter to remind me of her.

You know you’re growing fond of a woman when you want them to nap with you, not fuck you. Though I wouldn’t mind that either.

“Any news?” I ask my head of security, Tucker. He’s at the door, his shoulders against the frame.

I brush past him and he follows, his hand on his gun. “None yet. Which is good because it means they don’t have him.”