Page 11 of Mercenary Daddy’s Girl (Daddy’s Girl #9)

GHOST

“ T hat’s him, isn’t it?” Gemma’s coming undone. Nervously fidgeting with anything she can get her hands on while I drive. It’s times like these when I wish I were better. Understood the normal side of life. Could give her more than a shoulder to lean on.

I can’t. I never learned how to whisper sweet nothings. Give false hope. Promise a world I couldn’t deliver. I’m the cold-blooded creature men like Don Bernal call to make messes go away. Not the soft-hearted gentleman who can make even the darkest day bright.

But where I fail in one aspect, I exceed in the other. And this time, I won’t be taking out someone else’s trash.

“It was.” No point in lying to her. We’re in this together, for better or worse, no matter what happens next.

“Did I mess up?” Gemma asks when my car comes to a stop in front of the safe house.

“No. Never.” I rest a hand atop her knee .

My eyes are glued to her face. Searching every line for an answer to what’s happening inside her.

“But I asked to go out. He saw us because of me.” Her stillness is unsettling. Though, that’s how it goes, isn’t it? The calm before the storm.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, little Gem.” My grip on the steering wheel turns to white-knuckled strangulation. “I knew the risks and shouldn’t have agreed to it. But what’s done is done. Don’t look to the past for answers. Look at the future with you and me in it.”

Gemma nods, but there’s no movement on her face to say she believes it. Her gaze remains fixed somewhere past the motel walls’ faded paint. Into a void that’s staring straight back at her. Unlocking fears I’ve fought to keep at bay.

I get out of the car and circle it to open Gemma’s door. She joins me, holds my hand, and squeezes tight as we make our way back to the safe house.

Inside, my mind settles on the reality of our situation.

There’s no way Rico hasn’t put two together that I’m the Ghost. That Gemma’s alive, well, and in my care.

But worst of all, I know he followed us back here.

His vendetta wouldn’t allow him to let this go so easily.

Getting one over on me is his life’s goal right now, and I pity him for trying.

Gemma heads to the sofa and sits on it delicately. With it, her seams start to split. Tears well in the lids of her eyes, and she sniffles softly. Her hands, balled in tight fists on her lap, struggle to reach up and brush away the oncoming threat of spilling liquid.

I break into a near sprint until I’m on bended knee in front of her. My hands wrap around hers, nestling them to give any ounce of comfort.

“I actually deluded myself into believing it was over.” Another sniffle followed by a weak-hearted chuckle. “That things were looking up. For me. For us. ”

I slide one hand up her arm, resting it gently on her shoulder.

“It will be. Soon.” Leaning forward, I give her a kiss on the cheek. Keeping everything about this soft, delicate, like she’s an ancient antique that could shatter from a strong gust of wind. “No one’s going to hurt you, Gemma, not while I’m around.”

Even if it means I have to set this whole goddamn world ablaze to make it happen.

“But then what?” she asks, glistening eyes pinned to mine.

“Then you and me—and who could forget your mom—are gonna get out of this town. Start our lives somewhere fresh. Maybe Texas, maybe the coast, with a couple of dogs, cats, and any other little critters we might pick up along the way.”

For the first time since we left the restaurant, Gemma smiles. It might not be much, but it means we’re moving in the right direction.

“I like that idea.” She hooks her arms around my shoulders, and we hug.

I hold her for as long as she needs to be held. From the sofa to the bedroom and all through the night until she falls asleep in my arms.

Hours pass with us cocooned together. But while she sleeps and gathers her strength, I lie awake, sharpening my mind. Waiting for the inevitable.

And when it finally comes, in the form of my phone buzzing on the side table, I slip out of Gemma’s arms and out of bed. Collect my mask off the floor and slot it on my face.

“Don Bernal isn’t pleased, Ghost,” Rico says as I bring the phone to my ear. “He asked for you. Better not keep him waiting.”

“I’ll be there.” I kill the call.

I glance back at the bed. At everything I have to lose if this doesn’t go the way I played it out in my head. At my little Gem, stirring back to consciousness.

But I don’t let doubt creep in. There’s no time for it.

Because this ends now.