Page 165 of Save Me

I run my hand through my hair, a feeling of helplessness still running through me. It’s been over twenty-four hours since we found Kennedy in that run-down hotel, miles from Williamsport. It was one of the hotels Blackmon used to keep the kids he transported over state lines.

Daniel Park used Nicole’s ex to get the information and kidnap Kennedy. Park, not Blackmon, was behind the first kidnapping attempt at Walcott Park of Kennedy.

Knowing this makes me anxious to settle things with that motherfucker for good.

“Your grilled cheese and tomato soup will be waiting for you once you get out of the shower,” her mother tells Kennedy.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Kennedy peers over at me and gives me a small smile right before she closes the door to the bathroom. I haven’t left her side for a minute since we brought her back home.

Yet, we haven’t had any alone time since her parents, uncles, and brother have all been in and out, hovering.

“There’s soup and grilled cheese for you, too,” Patience Townsend tells me with a smile. “You haven’t slept a wink, have you?”

“I’m fine, ma’am,” I tell her.

She shakes her head. “Patience. Please call me Patience.”

A snort sounds behind her. “You can call her Mrs. Townsend,” Kennedy’s father says, glaring at me.

“Aaron,” her mother retorts.

“Besides, he won’t be around for long.” His voice is dark, slightly menacing.

“What are you insinuating?” her mother asks.

He shakes his head. “Nothing, sweetness. But I need to speak with Dae privately.”

“No, absolutely not.”

“It’s fine,” I say, meeting her father’s gaze head-on. He’s glared at me since I first encountered him in the lobby of my condo yesterday.

I was actually on my way to her parents’ place because I knew the moment I turned on the tracker I still have of Kennedy’s phone and traced it to the garage of her building that something was wrong.

“We can speak out here,” he says, turning his back, expecting me to follow. “This won’t take long,” he tells his wife before kissing her cheek.

I follow out of the bedroom and down the hall to Kennedy’s home office. Her father closes the door behind me and with my back to him.

It’s not the door closing that has my shoulder stiffening, however. It’s the distinct sound of a gun cocking.

As I turn around, he’s pointing a nine-millimeter at my forehead.

“My daughter doesn’t cry,” he says through clenched teeth. “When she was twelve, I watched her fall off a fucking horse. The bone in her collar snapped, and when I picked her up off that fucking ground, not one tear fell from her eyes.”

He snarls.

“Yesterday, when she thought her life was about to end, she didn’t shed a tear or cry for a way out.”

My fists tighten at my sides as I recall the image of Daniel Park holding a gun to her before asking if she had any last words. Her father’s right. My little warrior didn’t bother with any tears.

“But yesterday, I watched on the security feed in my home as my daughter cried in her mother’s lap. Over you,” he seethes.

My chest tightens, doubling the pain that’s been lingering in my body for weeks.

“She cried over you, and you have to go for that.”

I raise an eyebrow, meeting his glare.

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