Page 27 of Broken Daddy

“Okay,” I sigh, straightening up and pulling out my phone. “This is what we’re going to do. Your tenant needs to stay somewhere else. I’m sorry, I know they were subletting to help offset the cost. And you and I, we’re going down to the police station. You need to file a report.”

Guilt sweeps across her face and my heart aches for her.

All I want is to tug her into my arms and tell her it’ll be okay.

But I can’t, because I don’t know how true that is. Whoever did this has it out for Gen; there’s no way they chose a completely random door in this building.

This took effort. This took anger.

“Hey.” I speak firmly to pull her attention back to me. Gen’s startled eyes meet mine. “I’ve got you, okay?”

There’s only a half second of hesitation, and she nods. The worry lifts from her features.

Guiding her back toward the elevator, everything in me wants to put a hand on her lower back. But my palm hovers just over the thin material of her blouse.

The last thing I need right now is to be distracted by how much Iwanther when I need to focus on protecting her.

Chapter13

Genevieve

My tires are slashed.

There’s no way it’s a coincidence.

Just two days ago, my apartment door was vandalized. And now this.

I stand in the grocery store parking lot, staring in shock. The worst part is, this isn’t evenmycar.

It’s Nate’s.

“No, no, no,” I murmur, anxiety starting to crawl through my veins like ants. I clutch my cell phone, trying to decide—do I call the police? Russ?

But I already know what I have to do. Like I said—this isn’t my car.

I text him first. Vague, avoiding the truth behind the act. That I was singled out for this.

There’s a problem with the car. I can get a cab, but it has to be towed back to the house. Don’t want to get you in trouble with insurance.

Do men as rich as Nathan Sharpe even need to worry about that? He could probably let a monkey drive his car and his insurance company wouldn’t care. It’s an older model Bentley, but still way more car than I could ever afford.

His response comes quick, which has me wondering—is he really worried about me?

What kind of problem, Gen.

Not a question. I’ve discovered Nate likes to give orders, and when I’m not feeling like prey being hunted down, it makes me imagine just what would happen if I disobeyed.

My hands shake as I type out,The tires are slashed.

A couple walks by, seeing the damage and that it’s obviously not an accident, murmuring to each other as they stare. This is drawing attention now. I look up at the light posts in the lot. They must have cameras somewhere, right?

Nausea roils in my stomach and I dig a bottle of water out of the grocery bag. It’s been like this for a few days, random nausea taking over here and there. Nerves, I think, with everything that’s been going on.

The hot and cold from Nate, the apartment…and now this.

I should probably notify the police again and tell them about this, too. The officer I spoke to at the station didn’t seem too concerned about the vandalism until Nate got involved. He was upset, borderline belligerent, half out of his chair as he told the guy, “Mywifewas stalked just after she had our daughter, and do you know how far it had to go? That creep broke into our house before he was arrested. You’re going to take down this report and look into that video footage.”

I’d been so caught off guard by Nate’s story, it took me a second to realize the officer assumed when Nate saidmy wife, he was talking aboutme.

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