Page 31 of Exclusive

“I’m not followin’.”

“No, you’re not. And that’s the real problem. That’s why she took off to wherever. She didn’t run from me. She ran from… well, you. In a way. Mostly from herself, though.”

Pain flashes in his eyes, very quickly, and then they darken to a lethal shade of angry. His lip curls, nostrils flare, and he speaks low enough for those in Hell to hear. “Come again? You tell me my daughter ran from me; you’re gonna want to explain that shit real fuckin’ clear, fuckin’ fast.”

“Sir, I meant no disrespect, and shouldn’t have said it like that, but… I can’t say any more. I’m sorry. I really am, but I won’t speak for Presley. It needs to come from her.”

He toys with me by nodding, only to say, “Or, you can go ahead and spit it out before I lose what’s left of my patience and kill you. Dead. No longer alive. Up to you.” He hilts a shoulder, as if unconcerned which I choose… because he absolutely does not give a shit which I choose.

Lord knows I’d love nothing more than to hash it out with him; no shortage of questions I want to ask, certain no answer will suffice. For instance, how could he let things get to the point they have? Or, how the hell can he claim to be “Father of the Year,” yet somehow have missed the perpetual pain his daughter goes through life carrying? But I refuse to ask him. Over my dead body, the current threat on the table, will I risk hurting her even more by saying too much, especially behind her back. I just need him to go find her and fix this, once and for all. Help my girl feel whole, so I can love and cherish her wholly.

“Go ahead and give it your best shot, then. But either way, dead or alive, I’m not telling you anything other than this. You need to go to Presley, wherever she is, and force her to talk things out with you. She’s hurting, she’s been hurting, and you’re the only one who can fix it.”

He falls back a step, sweat beading on his forehead as he tugs open the few buttons of his shirt. “Sutton, I don’t say this shit to other men, or lightly, but… you’re scaring me.”

“I know, and I’m sorry for that, I really am, sir. I wish like hell I could tell you more, but, but I won’t betray Presley. Ever. Not even to you.”

I swear I could see a wet glisten in his eyes, and I’m positive I spot the long, hard bob of his Adam’s apple when he gulps. “Is, is she mad at me? Hurt? Did someone do, do something bad to her that I never knew? Please, Sutton, give me something.”

I take a step and lay a hand on his shoulder, speaking with the calming conviction he needs, and deserves. “No, nothing like that, I swear. Presley adores you, worships the very ground you walk on; she’s far from mad at you. Just, just go to her, now. And make her talk.”

“You wantin’ to come with me?”

“Nope, you guys don’t need me in the way. Go get our girl, sir, and bring her back to me.”

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