Page 61 of Fight for You
“Your parents thought he’d vindicated you? They handled your three original abductors? They didn’t know about … the governor.”
“My time with you was spotty. I remember that old guy.” A lethal look flashed before his face. Then awareness. “He … liked when we called himGovernor.”
“Jamie, you forgot?” I gasped. “Yeah. That’s true. He’d ask us to call him that. It was the key to getting fed or-or a toy when he pulled us out of our cage to—” I cleared my throat instead of triggering him further. “Oh, my gosh, I love your brain. It’s totallyprotected you from so much. He wasthegovernor, Jamie. Not just some wannabe, pretending.” At my side, Jamie grew quiet. I waited for some form of emotion to flit across his face. Malice. Anger … Something.
Nothing.
“Now, Hagerty is President Pro Tempore. He presides over the entire U S Senate. But I think you get the whole ranking up situation, right?”
“Hagerty?” Jamie sat forward, pressing his thumb onto his laptop power button to disable the screen lock. Apparently, he changed his mind. He whispered our abductor’s name again, rose from the couch, and pulled his phone from his jean pocket.
“You calling your family?”
A snort. And then he walked toward the sliders and onto the deck overlooking Big Bear.
“Oh, no, he didn’t,” I muttered, leaning back in the seat. While I wanted to keep my distance from Jamie, the other way around didn’t seem to factor. Not in any way that made sense. My stomach’s growl prompted me to set aside that thought for another time. “Time to eat.” I patted my abdomen. As I rose, my attention turned toward social media images on Jamie’s laptop.
I sank back onto the super cushioned couch and pulled the computer into my lap, reading over the headlines.
“Former Marine Raider involved in high-speed pursuit with LAPD.” My eyes fell on the subtitle, and I whispered, “But who’s the true culprit?” My gaze flicked back up to the top of the online post. Reputable website. Switching to a new Safari tab, I modified the search and came up with internet gold.
Social media sites ran rampant with the story. One such YouTube video displayed footage as if someone in front of Taco Bell had caught the entire police stop. The video transitioned into a split screen showing Jamie complying as he kneeled to the ground and an officer shouting about a weapon. The footagepaused, and the Youtuber’s smirk was deeper than mine. Arms folded, I watched the rest of the video. This dude was a professional. Grabbing aerial views from KTLA and other news stations before coming back onto the screen to ask his audience their thoughts.
As if this wereAlice in Wonderland, I fell into a rabbit hole of comments. Most of them were positive. A few others argued about police rights, and some who agreed with Jamie’s stance tried to explain that what the one officer did was wrong while praising Officer Brown. And Jamie. Obviously.
Then the comments got worse—not for Jamie.
For my heart. Women wanted him. The depraved acts men had slapped me around to do … well, they’d do it. Gladly.Yuck.
“Sleazy, fast-tail women have to have their say too,” I muttered, walking into the kitchen to whip us up some breakfast.Fast-tail.I never used that phrase, but it whisked me straight to the past. Again, that memory of escaping Rocket and hoping to find refuge in an LA church came to mind.
“Cutie Pie,get away from that fast-tail girl.” The older woman had called after the gorgeous honey-brown girl who’d ran out of the beautiful church after me. Sixteen and pregnant and unloved. A shame.
Even more shameful? Churches, despite their aesthetic beauty, harbored the most wicked people.
I’d never been to a church before, and the way they treated me … I’d never return. So, I’d thrown the teeny, old gargoyle, glaring at me beneath a wide-brimmed organza hat, the same loving glare she’d offered me all through service, then turned so fast my cornrows slapped my face.
“Cutie Pie, go back inside the church,” I said. The girl looked like that precious American Girl Doll that Governor Hagarty oftenpulled out when playing nice. Man, I’d loved that doll. Hated myself more after how compliant it made me. “Listen to your momma.”
The little girl shook her head, hazel eyes bright. “Uh-uh, that woman ain’t my momma. She ain’t even family. She’s just a church older. Um … elder.”
“Then listen to your elder. And don’t say ‘ain’t.’ You’re dressed too pretty for that mess.” I started down the steps, shuffling one flip-flopped foot after the other. Maybe that was why they gave me the stink eye? But I was wearing a dress.
Ugh. A cheap dress with spaghetti straps. And these stinking flip flops would be the reason me and my baby … I took a deep breath, wishing the anxiety away. I needed to find another hiding spot. Somewhere, Rocket wouldn’t find me. Or our child.
Tiny footsteps gave chase once I was a few feet away from the sidewalk.
“Wait.” Cutie Pie held up a gerbera daisy just as an SUV with flashy rims pulled to the curb. “We’re giving them to all the mothers.”
“Why?” My tone rose to an octave that made shame stamp my cheeks as I glared toward the cross above the church. I couldn’t turn around. Look into that vehicle.
“It’s Mother’s Day, and”—those sweet, big marble eyes dropped to my belly—“you’re a mommy.”
A whistle broke off from the SUV as I took the daisy into my trembling fingers. “Thank you.”
I spun toward the street. Rocket sat behind the wheel, his hand resting leisurely behind the passenger headrest, a gun partially concealed. He was bold like that. Or he didn’t suspect the gargoyle, too afraid to come closer, could see that far. The little girl was too short to peer in the vehicle. Just as I reached for the door, she lurched into my arms, offering me a hug.
The stiffest hug ever.
