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“You sure, little one?”
“Put the gun down!” a voice calls out and I turn to see practically an entire S.W.A.T. team storm the house.
“Don’t hurt her!” I command, just as a gaggle of bodies in body armor descend on me, yanking me in every direction until finally, my grip around his neck frees, and I’m face down on the floor being cuffed.
No longer a free man.
I can survive whatever punishment they give me, but no way in hell could I survive the thought of anything happening to her.
“Don’t hurt him,” she calls out.
“It doesn’t matter,” I yell as I’m dragged out the front door, my heels sliding along the tiles. “He won’t hurt you ever again.”
“Don’t leave me,” she cries out, tearing my insides to shreds. Her big blue eyes flash fear and show a need, one that I know only I can fill. A shot of possessiveness fills me as I take in the sight of this tiny angel I’m sharing space with…but not for long.
And then a billy club hits me squarely across the side of my head and everything goes dark.
3
Dylan
“You’re free to go. They’re not pressing charges.”
My cell opens and I can’t get out of the police station fast enough. The first thing I do is grab my phone they’d taken from me and check the news.
‘Home Invasion Thwarted by Pawn Shop Owner.’
Two wrongs clearly don’t make a right. That wasn’t a home invasion and I’m not a pawn shop owner. I offer personal security services and while I do have some used items available, well over ninety-five percent of my stock is new. The senator, whose house I was pulled from, is clearly trying to spin this in the media…and in more ways than one.
As someone who knows a whole helluva lot about security, and the feelings people have when they don’t feel safe, I know that wasn’t a home invasion. All I’ve been thinking about is the fear in her eyes and the way she was pointing that Glock at the senator, or at least trying to. I’m surprised the recoil alone didn’t knock her straight back on her backside…and what an amazing backside it must be.
I shake my head from side to side, needing to stay focused on what the hell’s going on, and not get lost in my desire for her. I continue reading and whoever wrote this load of garbage says someone tried to break into their home, the senator fired two shots at the intruder, and then apparently I came charging in to save the day but apparently got the wrong man, mistaking the senator for the robber.
No way in hell that’s what went down. No. Fucking. Way.
This is the fakest of fake news if I’ve ever seen it, but I don’t have time to stew over that. I need to see her again. That’s my first priority, and exactly why I need to get a taxi to the impound lot, get my bike back and get home so I can figure out a plan. Fast.
4
Dylan
I grab the mail from the slot and head straight back into my office, throwing it on my desk as I get busy scanning the internet for any additional information about last night that I can dig up.
No way in hell was there a burglar in their home, and equally as absurd is the idea that he shot at one, especially considering the gun wasn’t in Senator Freddy Franks’ hands, but instead what is being reported as his daughter. Since when did he have a daughter?
Apparently for two years now, according to press releases tied to her adoption. The deeper I dig the less this all makes sense.
Leaning back in my chair I throw my arms over my head and exhale hard. I need a break, and my eye wanders to the stack of mail next to my keyboard.
The letters fanned out when I dropped them on my desk and I can see the array of the usual…bills, invoices, and promotions, but one letter, in particular, catches my eye. It’s missing a stamp, or a postmark, instead it’s a pink envelope with some glitter or sparkles or whatever they’re called on it, and my name is written in some fancy cursive script. It’s almost like what I’d imagine an invitation for a kid’s birthday party or something to look like.
And when I tear it open I find out that it’s exactly that. Kind of.
Dear Mr. Dylan Dean,
You may not know me, but after last night I most certainly know you. I’m Destiny Franks and I live in Senator Freddy Franks’ house. What you did last night was amazing. I don’t know how to thank you, but just know that if you hadn’t come when you did things could have ended much worse than they did, for everyone. I have no clue why you were there, how you got over the fence and a million other questions. But there is most certainly one answer to them all, and that is you. You saved my life and I recall reading in a book once, on my Kindle, that when you save someone you’re responsible for that person. I hope this doesn’t sound strange, but I have to ask. Are you now responsible for me? Am I…yours?
Tomorrow night there will be a party for my eighteenth birthday, which ironically happened the day you entered our home. It’s not being celebrated until tomorrow because that’s just how things worked out. I hope your schedule works out so that you can attend. You know where I currently live, and I hope you know it would mean the world to me if you could come, even for a little bit. I still haven’t properly thanked you in person, and it’s something I definitely need to do. Without you, I might not even be around to celebrate, so please know that despite what you might think based on what the ‘news’ is saying, you will be welcome.
