Page 114 of Daddy's Obsession


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I suck in a sharp breath, raising my hand. “I’m so sorry. Please put ice on it later, okay?”

“Yes, yes. Go on! Before I change my mind.”

I bring my hand down and strike her hard across the cheek, my handprint already reddening her skin. Marianne winces, tears in her eyes. I feel awful, but she’s totally right. If we’re going to sell our act to the guards, I can’t afford to do this in halves.

I hide on the other side of my large mahogany wardrobe closest to the door, my back pressed against the wall to keep out of sight. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good luck, Ms. Willow,” she whispers. Marianne gives me a supportive nod before she takes in a big, sharp inhale. “GUARDS! Guards, she’s escaped! Ms. Willow has escaped!”

Their thunderous stampede echoes up the stairs, low voices barking orders as five armed men rush into my bedroom. Marianne wails, a hand pressed to her swelling cheek as heavy tears stream down her face. She points at the window, frantically trying to talk while hyperventilating.

She would have made a wonderful actress in another life. I know it’s fake, but evenIfeel bad for her.

“She attacked me!” Marianne cries. “She attacked me and pushed me down! Then she went out the window and—”

I don’t stick around to listen to the rest of her prepared speech. The guards have their backs to me, offering me the perfect opportunity to quietly slip out the way they came.

I hold my breath as I rush down the stairs, careful to keep my footsteps as light as possible. My heart pounds so loud and so hard I’m worried it might burst out of my chest. Every muscle fiber in my body burns with fear and desperation.

There’s no time for second guesses, no room for doubt. I keep going until I reach the main floor of the house, sticking to the shadows as I sprint for the back door. There’s only one guard on duty here; the rest are up front with the cars or upstairs trying to figure out how on Earth I supposedly managed to jump.

The guard doesn’t see me coming, doesn’t have time to process what’s going on when I throw myself at him. We both go tumbling down, his head smacking against the polished marble floor.

“I’m sorry,” I wheeze, meaning every word. I may be the daughter of a cartel lieutenant, but I didn’t inherit my father’s taste for violence or inflicting pain.

The poor guy is out cold beneath me, but at least he’s breathing. He’ll likely wake up in a little while with a headache to end all headaches.

I swallow my unease. There’s no time to feel sorry for him. I reach beneath his suit jacket and feel around for his holster. They all have the same standard issue Beretta on their person. I take his gun and shove it into the waistband of my jeans behind my back before moving on, not bothering to shut the door as I race outside.

The sky above is an inky black, the moon only a sliver. The cool air soaks into my skin, nipping at the tip of my nose. I’m thankful it probably won’t get any colder than this. Los Angeles isn’t known for its cold winters, but I’m not abandoning my coat any time soon. There’s no telling where I’ll end up sleeping tonight, and I’d rather not risk hypothermia.

Behind me, the sound of frantic shouting.

They’re looking for me.

I can’t stop.

While the guards search the front of the property, I escape by climbing the fence in the backyard. I make my way to the street, walking for about five blocks at a brisk pace. I throw a cautionary glance over my shoulder more than once. Nobody’s following me. The coast is clear.

For the moment.

I walk and walk until the arches of my feet are sore. Nobody even blinks an eye when I stride past, but it’s a liberating feeling instead of a lonely one. It takes me a minute to figure out where I’m going. I didn’t bring my phone with me because my father can easily have it tracked. I’m not worried about getting lost. Anywhere I end up is better than being shackled to that madman Esteban.

It’s a little past ten in the evening by the time I wander past a Greyhound bus station terminal. The wedding should have happened by now. I’ve no doubt thrown a massive wrench in my father’s plans, but I don’t care. I’m out and free, a world of endless possibilities to discover.

I walk up to the ticket booth, still jittery from my getaway. “Excuse me?” I call to the clerk behind the desk.

The man gives me a disgruntled once over, looking very stupid in his red Santa hat corporate probably forced him to wear. “What can I help you with?” he asks flatly. Buddyclearlyloves his job.

“I need a ticket.”

He huffs, resting his elbow on the counter before jerking a thumb up at the screen above his head. “I’m gonna need to know where, sweetheart.”

I study the destinations listed with wide eyes. I’ve never been allowed outside of my home, let alone Los Angeles, without an escort. Now I’m paralyzed at the thought of going to Phoenix, San Diego, Anaheim, Salt Lake City, or maybe even San Francisco. I could go even further if I wanted to, but…

I only have two thousand dollars to work with. Even then, I won’t know how far I need to go to escape the Becerra Cartel’s reach.

The clerk clears his throat. “I don’t have all day, toots. Shit or get off the pot.”

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