Page 29 of Three More Shots
She easily scrambles to her feet, and I bust ass to get up too and not lose her grip. Doing everything I can to keep this irrelevant conversation going. “They are very loud.”
“They should make a sign to tell them to honk quieter.”
“I agree.”
Step by excruciatingly slow step, we walk to the car. She remains amenable and indifferent to her earlier trauma. I don’t let her go until she reaches forward to yank open the door – which I somehow remember to let her do herself even though being unchivalrous goes against everything I believe – and clambers into the backseat, expertly fastening herself into some kind of tall-backed pink car seat. A blanket lies heaped next to her, and although it’s hotter than hell out here from the summer heat and our mutual blazing anxiety, I wonder if she’s supposed to use the quilt. “Do you want your cover?”
Her head bobs up and down almost hysterically, and I lift the blanket, heavier than I expected, but she seems happy spreading the green fabric over her entire small body so that only her face is visible. I hustle to the front and turn over the ignition, blowing the a/c full blast, so she doesn’t overheat with that weight on her. Thank fuck Adam added more Freon during the tune-up earlier.
I glance in the rearview mirror after I back out to confirm Deuce and the team are following in their convoy. The slight smile on Ainsley’s lips reassures me more than my bodyguards’ presence. We survived this crisis. Not perfect, hell, not even great. But we did, and I know without a shred of doubt that I really am her father now, and I’m never letting her or her mother go.
Chapter Eleven
I should let them go.
This is the point where I should walk away. A good man would be grateful, count his blessings that the kidnapping wasn’t worse, and leave on that high. But I can’t. I won’t. I refuse to leave the family I love even if I’m the one who caused them the agony.
Ainsley cuddles in next to her mother, and the fear I’m not used to feeling loosens in my chest. They’re safe. A little battered and bruised but not broken. My girls are together, back in the home they know with the stuff they cherish, and my sanity is restored.
Standing in this hellhole, I vow to I kill anyone who even considers harming them. Corinne will quit her job. Ains will be home-schooled, and all her appointments will be at our house. I will make them prisoners to keep them safe. I will do whatever necessary to keep them together and with me — anything and everything to shield them from my world.
My body pounds with conviction. Declan, Tarik, Salvatore, Boris come to mind first. A swath of destruction, a war to protect what’s mine. Beyond this city, to the state, hell to the country and maybe beyond the borders if the Russians attempt to regain a foothold after I destroy their men here. I will focus only on this task without pause or regret.
Unable to think of anything else except my purpose, I plot until mycara’s small hand lifts from stroking our daughter’s back and stretches toward me. Distracting me from my craving for vengeance.
She wants me. With them. Fuck me.
Despite the hell I caused them and the terror she endured, she still wants me. Luckily, I can drop onto the mattress, instead of the floor, with her almost bringing me to my knees with her forgiveness.
I sit next to her with Ainsley’s feet shoved against my thigh. My back pressed to Corinne’s legs. My pansy ass heart touches both of them. We’re all connected physically and emotionally.
“Thank you for bringing her home.”
I know she means more than returning to their shitty place. “We’reher home. Nothing will break or change that.”
A nod, despite her concussion, rubs her cheek against the pillow.
“You got her here…” She strokes Ainsley’s streaked skin without judgment in her expression. Understanding the challenge I faced. “I know you really love me if you’re willing to go through what that must have taken.”
“I love both of you, and I’d do anything to ensure you’re together.”
My proclamation finally breaks her, and she squeezes my fingers as she weeps. For me. For our daughter. For herself. Only stopping her silent tears when Ainsley’s eyes pop open. Her motherly instinct kicks in, not to upset her daughter.
“Can I go watch Paw Patrol?”
I laugh from the inanity of Ainsley’s request after the hell they’ve experienced, although I know it’s her way of coping.
“Yes, but we need to clean off your face while you watch, okay sweet pea?”
“Okay, Mommy. Can Steele Daddy do it?”
She chokes up again and only bobs her head.
With her approval, Ains jumps off the bed and flies to her rocker, settling in with her remote and the blanket I brought inside from the car.
“There’s a mild soap and Neosporin in the cabinet over the bathroom sink.”
“Do I need to use any particular washcloth?”
