Page 30 of Good and Gone

What a fool I have been. And what was the point, anyway? Did I really think I could have someone like Hailey Adams to myself? What a fool I was to think that he would ever let that happen. He wanted her, and he used me to do the dirty work.

A man, especially one like him, can never have enough things. He can never have enough money. He can never have enough sex. He can never have enough things to say. He can never have enough things to keep him busy. He can never have enough friends. That’s one thing I could really use right now. A friend. Someone to help get me out of this mess. Someone to talk to about it. Someone who understands.

I’ve considered going to the cops. Preemptively. I could try for a plea deal.

But I don’t know. Maybe I'm getting ahead of myself. Maybe that's not the answer. One thing is for sure, I’ve got to play everything by the book. If I’m going to get through this and live to see my first child born, from here out, I’ve got to do everything by the book.

If I can get through the rest of this week, I might be home free. Everyone is going to believe what they want to believe, and they're going to want to believe the worst. My job is to pretend like I don't know what they're talking about. The worst thing I can do is panic.

Instead of panicking, I spend most of my time daydreaming about killing the boss. It’s a nice thought, but it’s not going to help me. Not at all. If I kill him, he'll just get replaced by someone else. It’s a temporary fix to a long-term problem. The boss will never really be gone.

Problem is, I don't know what else to do. Maybe Ishouldgo to the cops. That or I’d better start thinking about the safest, most comfortable way to die.

A lot of people are going to say I had it coming. A lot of people are going to say it was the right thing because I fucked up. A lot of people are going to say it’s what we needed. They’ll say I made my bed. Time to lie in it.

If I don’t kill him, if I don’t go to the cops, if I don’t hang around and pretend like nothing has gone wrong, the way I see it, my only other option is to run. I could pack up and hit the road. Maybe go across the border.

I think about it, and I can’t sleep. I can’t eat. It feels like I’m having a breakdown. That’s what the wife calls it, which is why I spend most of my time here at the safe house. I don’t want to be at home when they come for me.

I also don't want to live like this, always looking over my shoulder. Fuck living my life in fear, always on edge, always waiting for the shoe to drop. That ain’t me. Obviously, Hailey wasn't supposed to get out. I wasn't supposed to get stabbed. I did what I was supposed to do: I protected the others. That was my job. To make sure they didn't escape. Except for her, I did that.

I made a mistake, dropping my guard, but her getting away wasn’t my fault. Even if he can’t see it that way.Hewas with her, not me. But he can’t look weak, so he’s going to make sure I do.

He’s going to let me take the fall. It feels a lot like being stabbed, only this time in the back. After backup arrived, it was me who went out and helped him search for her all night long. We searched all the next morning. It wasmewho was with him when we got the news she had been found. I thought he was going to kill me then. But he didn't. I don't know why. Now I do.

Maybe it would have made it easier if he had. Maybe this is what those girls feel like. I've never really thought of it that way, and I don't plan to start now. You can’t think like that in this business. Same as he can’t think that way about me. You’ve gotta leave your feelings out of it.

Not that he’s doing such a good job of that. It was his fault we stopped searching. It was his call. He said we needed to get everyone moved just in case Hailey was talking, just in case she was able to lead the cops to us. Afterward, he didn’t come to the new place for several days. This is not uncommon. We move these girls a lot. But I heard rumors among the guys that he was looking for a way to get her back, and while I wouldn't put anything past him, I didn’t believe it.

Then, about a week after she escaped, he showed up at the new house. His breath was cool with mint and a touch of alcohol. He seemed pretty normal. Not like he was about to fly off the handle or anything. He was wearing his usual suit and his expensive cologne, the kind that’s overpowering. He just went about his normal business, like nothing had happened.

He’s come back every night since. I’m still alive.

Tonight he’s been drinking, which isn’t like him. But he's in good spirits. “What's up?” he says with a nod after he triple locks the front door. There are new protocols now.

“Busy around here,” I say. “You know how women are.”

I'm trying to play it cool, like we're friends, like all is well. But I can't help myself. I can’t shake the feeling that he thinks I did something, and he's going to find some way to kill me. I'm trying to act like I'm relaxed, but I can't sit still. He's towering over me, so close I can feel his breath on my skin. And I can smell his cologne.

“I’ve brought you a gift,” he says. “I thought it would be the least I could do for all your hard work.”

He tells me this, and this is how I know I am going to die. I know all about his MO as far asgiftsare concerned. You get a gift, you’re dead before the sun comes up. Besides, it's hard to believe I'm being rewarded for basically being an accomplice to a girl getting away. And then he hands me the keys to a new Dodge. He asks me to walk outside with him to take a look. I go, because what choice do I have? It's not really anewcar, but it's pretty nice. Not nice enough to die for, but you get my point.

“I was thinking,” he says. “I know we've discussed the possibility of bringing in another girl, and I've decided I'm going to go for it.”

“Want me to start scouting?” I ask.

“Well, I was thinking we could get Hailey back.”

“Haha,” I say. I can’t help myself.

“I’ve been watching her,” he tells me. “For a good while before we picked her up.”

“You can't be serious.” I’m referring to the notion that he thinks he can somehow re-abduct this chick, not about his stalking. Men like him, they’re obsessive. Weirdos too, but I guess enough money will do that do a person. Factor in brains, and well, it gets real bad, real quick.

“Oh, but I am,” he tells me.

“Is that what the car’s for?”