Page 29 of In Daddy's Custody

“What’s going on?” I ask curiously. Or I try to sound merely curious, anyway. Truthfully, there’s a knot of anxiety in the pit of my belly. I’ve been the focal point of too many stalkers and crazy paparazzi to relax now. Especially when Jaxon’s hands are clenched so tightly around the steering wheel his knuckles are white.

He doesn’t answer me. He does grunt in what I assume is meant to be a sound of reassurance, but it doesn’t do much for me. If anything, it makes me more worried.

“Jaxon!” I raise my voice. I need for him to talk to me. To tell me that everything is okay. “What’s happening? Is someone following us?”

“Not sure,” Jaxon says quietly, his focus still flitting between the mirrors and the road. “It’s a possibility.”

“No.” My whisper of horror is so quiet I doubt he hears it, but I’m sure he notices that my entire body stiffens, and my hands fly to my mouth, stifling my scream of frustration. I am so sick of other people interfering in my life. I just want to be left alone, to live my life in peace. Why is that too much to ask?

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be here.

It goes round and round in my head, tormenting me. My emotions are all over the place. I can’t say I’ve been exactly happy at any time since Richard broke the news to me in my dad’s office that I was getting kicked out of home and sent to the other side of the world, but I haven’t always been completely miserable, either. There have been moments, particularly when Jaxon is being kind to me, that I’ve been okay. But right now, he’s ignoring me completely as tears prick at my eyes, trickle down my cheeks. I know he probably has more pressing matters to attend to—namely our potential pursuer—but I hate it. I hate his lack of attention. I hate the way he makes me feel so dependent on him. I want to hate him so bad, I want to blame him for the fact that I’m here, but I can’t. And I hate myself because I can’t.

Anger simmers inside me. Anger at Jaxon. Richard. My father. Myself. The world. The injustice at my being here, away from my friends, my life. Frustration at my lack of autonomy, my complete helplessness. I need a drink. Or something to help me relax. But there isn’t anything. I’m stuck here with my thoughts and they’re infuriating me.

My body stiffens as the anger inside me boils up into an explosive rage. With a scream of fury, I lean forward and punch the dashboard of the car as hard as I can. Half of me expects the airbag to deploy and sirens to go off, but nothing happens. There’s no airbag. No sirens. Just a blinding pain that starts inmy knuckles and works its way up my arm; a deep throb unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I cradle my fist in my hand and whimper in pain as the sparks of agony continue to shoot up my arm, pulsing in time with the beat of my heart.

“Oh, my god.” The pain is so bad, all I can do is whisper the words and cradle my swollen fist against my body. “Owwwww,” I groan.

Jaxon looks across at me and frowns. I don’t think it’s a frown of disapproval though, as much as concern. “I was going to ask if you feel better now, but I think it’s obvious you don’t. I’m going to pull off the motorway and stop at a petrol station and get you some ice, okay? Just hang in there for a bit more, little girl.”

I’d half expected him to be angry at me, to tell me off for potentially damaging the hire car, so his compassion is a nice surprise.

“What about…?” I’m referring to the people possibly following us, but my hand hurts too much for me to even put my thoughts into words so I fall silent. Jaxon seems to understand, though.

“Don’t worry about that,” he assures me. “It will be fine.”

I groan in response and lay my head back against the seat, cradling my sore hand against my chest. The shooting pain hasn’t eased any. In fact, I think it’s actually intensifying. My hand is numb, but my wrist isn’t. Nor is my forearm. Or my shoulder. Pain so bad I can’t even describe it is burning all the way up my arm, and it’s making me even angrier. Bitter. More miserable.

“It’s so unfair,” I sob through my tears.

“What’s unfair, little girl?” Jaxon asks from beside me, without taking his eyes off the road. He’s busy changing lanes, focusing on the traffic. I’m surprised he even heard me.

“Everything!” I cry. “I want to go home.”

For the second time since we’ve been in this car, Jaxon reaches across and puts his hand on my knee. My body responds much the same way it did earlier; his touch on my bare skin is electric, sending sparks through me, directly to my core. For the briefest of moments, his hand on me is enough to distract my brain from my throbbing knuckles.

“It will be okay, Jade,” his deep voice rumbles.

But then he takes his hand away and shifts his focus back to the road and the deep, pulsing pain kicks my brain back into high gear. I can’t think of anything besides the aching throb. My thoughts are jumbled, incoherent, shattered with the pain.

“N-n-nooo, it w-w-won’t!” I wail, stuttering through my sobs. “It h-h-hurts!”

“Yes, punching hard things generally does,” Jaxon tells me dryly.

Asshole.

“But you’re going to be fine. In just a few minutes I’ll be able to get you some ice and some painkillers and you’ll feel much better. I’m going to take care of you, little girl. I promise.”

In my distraught state, I can’t tell iflittle girlis a term of endearment or a condescending insult. Back at the hotel earlier today I’d wondered the same thing. And I’ve been with Jaxon nonstop since then, and still haven’t figured the man out. If anything, his changing demeanours between kind and stern, caring and asshole, has left me more confused than ever. And thehint of protectiveness in his promise confuses me even more.I’m going to take care of yourings in my ears. While I’d never had a manager before, I’d had more than my fair share of bodyguards, but none of them had ever been protective before. They’d never taken care of me. They’d protected me, sure. But that was different fromprotective.Right now, Jaxon is acting like far more than just a bodyguard, or even a manager. He’s acting like a daddy. A bodyguard daddy.

True to his word, within just a few more very long, very painful minutes, Bodyguard Daddy pulls off the road into a gas station complex with a shop attached.

“Wait here,” he orders, and without waiting around for me to respond, he’s out of the car, locking it with a beep of the remote, and disappears into the store, leaving me trapped in our Mercedes with my throbbing hand.

Nervously, I clutch my sore hand to my chest and peer out the window as a white sedan pulls up beside us. The driver looks at me. Smiles scarily. How much can he even see through these tinted windows? Can he see it’s me? Is this the vehicle that was following us before? Where’s Jaxon? Panic wells up inside me and I fight back a scream.Jaxon!I scream in my head.Help me!I’m frightened, but I don’t know why. Well, aside from the obvious, of course. Being alone in a strange country and all that. But it’s not that. It’s this white car, and the passengers in it. Realistically, I know the heavily tinted car windows will be obscuring me almost completely. There is no way the slimy weasel paparazzi dudes will be able to photograph me and say with any certainty that it’s me. But then, since when has the truth mattered to them?

I wish Bodyguard Daddy would come back. I’m not comfortable with that car right there. My nerves are frayed enough withoutthem adding to it. The passenger leans over and presses a camera up to the car window. I slink down in my seat, hoping against hope that the darkened windows are actually protecting me as much I want them to.

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