Page 100 of Savage Desires

"I'll be right there the whole time, love. If it gets to be too much, let me know, and we'll go back to the hotel. You don't have to hash everything out at once. Like I said, we have time." His words put me at ease.

"Okay, let's do this."

He kisses my knuckles again. "Wait for me."

I roll my eyes but wait for him to open my door anyway because I secretly love how he takes care of me in even the smallest ways. We walk hand-in-hand into the gym. The old bell rings when the door opens, announcing our arrival.

"Gym's closed," my dad shouts from his position on the weight bench. He always lifts once the last of his clients leave for the day. He says it helps him decompress even though he spends hours punching things every day.

"I hoped maybe you'd make an exception for your little fighter," I say.

The weights crash to the ground as he spins in our direction. He stands frozen in place, staring at me like I'm some kind of apparition. Not that I blame him. It's not every day your lost daughter pops in randomly to say hi. I watch a barrage of emotions flicker over his face: anger, sadness, confusion, and then pure unadulterated joy.

Once he realizes I'm actually standing here and not some figment of his imagination, he crosses the distance between us in long strides. He pauses for barely a second before pulling me into his arms. Kisten doesn't immediately drop my hand. He waits until he feels me relax into my dad's hold before releasing me. I wrap my arms around Dad's waist, and I'm transported back to that sixteen-year-old girl who felt safest in her father's protective arms.

"Tell me I'm not dreaming," Dad chokes out.

"I'm not sure. It feels like one…" I say tearfully. I lost the battle with my tear ducts the moment I felt my dad's arms around me. They are tears of sadness and anger for the years stolen from us and tears of happiness and joy at being reunited.

He finally pulls away and holds me at arm's length so he can look me over. He has his own tears streaking down his face. I've never seen my dad cry before.

"How… how are you here? I thought for sure you were—" he chokes off his words. He was going to say dead. He thought I was dead. Even so, he kept calling Cutter to make sure someone out there was still looking for me. He was in a hopeless situation, and still, he didn't completely give up on me.

"Kisten saved me," I say, giving him the easiest answer I can. I step back and wave toward Kisten. "Dad, this is Kisten Daniels."

Kisten offers his hand to my dad. As soon as their palms touch, my dad yanks him into his arms and hugs him so tight I'm surprised Kisten can breathe. "Thank you. Thank you for bringing my little girl home."

"No need to thank me, Mr. Morris."

"Call me Felix. And there is every reason to thank you. I can't even express how I feel right now with words."

Kisten nods knowingly. This isn't the first time he's been to a reunion like this.

"I kept your room the same… You're grown now, so you'll want to change it. Make it something new, a fresh start," my dad rambles.

I bite my bottom lip and look at Kisten for help. He doesn't say anything. He's waiting for me to make my decision. Even though I've told him dozens of times he owns me, so there's no escaping me, he still seems to think I might change my mind. He hasn't said anything, but I know he's worried that returning here would change things for me.

He's wrong. I love my dad and have missed him so much, but I can live without him. I can't live without Kisten. He's my entire reason for breathing. Besides, I don't have to live without my dad. We can talk on the phone as much as we want, and since Kisten has access to a private jet, we can visit often. I can have the best of both worlds.

"I'm not staying in Vegas… I live in New York City with Kisten…"

Dad immediately looks at Kisten with suspicion. Not that I blame him. His daughter, whom he knows was sold as a sex slave, pops up years later with a man she claims saved her. It's not out of the realm of possibility that Kisten was the one who kept me all these years and that I'm now a victim of Stockholm syndrome.

"He really did save me, Dad. He runs an organization that takes down trafficking rings. He found me while working undercover to take down a ring in New York City. I was being sold at an auction, and he bought me to save my life. He rescued six of us that night, and when we took down the trafficking ring, we were able to save forty-seven more girls."

Dad's face is a mask of shock. I can understand why people don't really understand how many women are used in trafficking rings like the one I was kept in. Two or three girls go missing, and you assume that's all it is when usually those women are sent elsewhere. A private buyer or a brothel or something like it.

"I guess I'm moving to New York. It's time for a change of scenery anyway," my dad says.

"You don't have to do that, Dad. We can always talk on the phone, and Kisten has a private jet, so we can visit a lot."

"I'm moving, and that's that," he insists.

"What about the gym? This place is your life."

He shakes his head. "No, little fighter. You are my life. Have been since the moment I opened my door to see a precocious two-year-old in a frilly pink dress with pigtails. I only stayed here in hopes that you'd find your way home. Now here you are…"

I throw my arms around him, hugging him tight. "I love you, Dad."

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