“I don’t think—”
“Jesus, Hailey, just let him help you get out of here. Go!” her friend encourages.
“You get this little girl into my car,” I tell her friend.
Before her friend can argue, I look at Hailey. “Follow me.”
She looks lost, scared, and so vulnerable, but she nods her head, and I sprint to my car and get in.
“You like to go fast or slow?” I ask Hailey’s daughter.
“Slow?” She giggles and smiles in the way of a little girl who has no idea of the danger she is in.
“Okay. Since this is our first date, I’ll let you call the shots. Don’t get used to it, though, kiddo.”
I pull out onto the road and look in the rearview. This time, Hailey is following me.
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Chapter 10
Hailey
I have lost my ever-loving fucking mind. Of course Monte would have people watching me. Of course the minute he got word I picked Marisa up early he would be on his way to her. Of course in the blink of an eye I would have nothing to balance the scales and would have hit bottom, the sins of the past always weighing me down.
The drive is a blur as I go crazy inside knowing Monte could be closing in on us. He will take her. He will take her from me. My baby, my little girl, my reason for existence—he will get her and find a way to make me pay.
The man has no conscience. Hell, the man has no soul. I knew I was in bed with the devil himself, but what could I do? Hailey “Hard Knocks” Poe Timmons—he got the nickname right. My entire life has been surviving the hard knocks.
Tears fill my eyes, making the road in front of me blur while I follow Morrison closely so I don’t get separated from my daughter any more than I already am.
How did he know where I lived? How did he show up just when I needed an escape? Can he really give us a safe place?
I don’t know shit about him. Am I going from one bad situation to another? Could it even get worse?
Hailey, cut that shit out right now, I tell myself. It can always be worse. Don’t tempt karma; she’s a bitch, and she’ll be sure to show you much worse.
My chest tightens at the thought, making it hard to breathe. I need a distraction.
I start to tap my fingers nervously on the steering wheel and look at the speedometer, seeing we are going five under the speed limit. The man has a fucking Porsche, and we are driving under the speed limit, all of this with Monte possibly catching up.
I gasp. What if he’s working for Monte? How stupid am I?
I stop myself before my mind runs wild with one bad scenario after another. A man like Morrison Caldwell is not the type to run with the likes of Sean “Monte” Timmons. No, Morrison is about the game, the money, and the flash. He isn’t one for power plays and mind games. Is he?
God, I hope the hell not.
My mind swirls, making me feel like I want to vomit, as Marisa’s head bobs, and it hits me right in my gut. I look in my rearview mirror to see just what I didn’t want to see in my backseat.
Marisa’s car seat.
In all the chaos, we didn’t move it into Morrison’s car. No, no, no. Please don’t let him wreck. Please let her be buckled. Please, oh please, don’t let us get pulled over. The last thing I need is for Monte to be able to level a charge of child endangerment against me. The last thing my little girl needs is to become property of the state.
She is mine. I can’t lose her to anyone. She is the only good I have in this entire world, and I can’t give that up.
Now on high alert, I watch him drive, wondering if he realizes just how precious the cargo is that he carries.
Every turn, he slows and uses a signal. Every stoplight, he brakes with ease. He never gets remotely near the speed limit, much less goes over it. Morrison Caldwell is a man of mystery, but right now, he is keeping my little girl safe, even if it may only be until Monte gets to us.
The burn fills my lungs again as the thoughts continue to invade.
He slows, and I follow as we enter a gated community of condos, a luxurious entryway opening into the upscale facility. I continue at what feels like a snail’s pace behind him until he pulls into a garage and directs me to pull in beside him.
Blowing out a breath, I try to calm my nerves. I have to be strong for Marisa. Then I force my fingers to stop trembling and get out of my car just as my precious little girl comes bouncing over without a care in the world.
Inside, I smile to myself. This is how it should be. Adult problems are just that—adult fucking problems. They shouldn’t trickle down on top of kids. Let children be children. There is more than enough time later in life for them to be filled with worry, doubts, and insecurities.
“Mommy, did you see me? Did you see me?” She beams, and I look to Morrison, who is smirking. “I rode in a porch.”
“Porsche, Porsche,” Morrison tries to correct.