Dazed, I open my eyes. Three angry, two-inch lacerations form apattern above my right breast. Blood spills down my body, staining my thin, white tank top.
Men and women in FBI vests stream into the room, guns drawn. The music is turned off. Words are yelled, and heavy footsteps thunder up the stairs. Crying and screaming and cussing from the second floor follow a moment later.
The selling of sex is illegal in the U.S. These girls are all victims, coerced to sell their bodies, but the law doesn’t see it that way. In the eyes of the law, it’s not just the pimps who are criminals—these women are too.
Which means, if law enforcement believes I’ve traded sex for money, I’ll also be branded a criminal. I could be facing time in prison.
None of that matters for now though.
Pushing past the numbness, I propel my aching, bleeding body to the couch. Peony is the only thing that’s important.
I gather her in my arms. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re going home to your daddy.”
She wails into the side of my chest not dripping blood. I kiss the top of her head. “You’re going home to your daddy.”
An FBI agent approaches us. And I keep whispering the words into Peony’s hair, a new, denser fog spreading through my brain.
60
GARRETT
I removethe pan of mini blueberry muffins from the oven and put it on the counter. They don’t look too bad. Actually, they smell and look exactly how they’re supposed to, unburned and golden brown.
Athena is staring out at the dimming evening light through the living room window overlooking the driveway. The same place she’s been standing for the last two hours.
“They’re here!” The girlish pitch of her voice gushes out loud and excited, and my currently already faster-than-normal heart rate spikes.
Athena takes off running, sprinting past the coffee table and couch. I toss the oven mitts onto the kitchen counter and follow right behind her.
She unlocks the front door and flings it open without stopping to put on her shoes. She rushes toward the black SUV pulling up to the house. Her feet are bare, but she doesn’t seem to care.
I shove my feet into my sneakers, tie them up, and jog over to join her.
She bounces on the spot next to the open passenger door and frantically waves at Peony.
The woman agent removes my daughter from the car seat. Peony’s hugging a stuffed dog, shadows of exhaustion painted under her eyes. A physical exhaustion. As well as the emotional strain that could only come from the ordeal she has been through. Twice.
Hopefully with time and therapy and plenty of love, she will eventually heal.
And be the carefree little girl she’s meant to be.
Athena reaches for Peony. The agent gives Athena a small, placating smile and shifts her body slightly, putting herself between them.
“Are you Garrett Carson?” she asks me.
Peony’s sad eyes meet mine. Eyes with more knowledge of the world than someone so little should have.
Her face brightens, the reaction tugging deep in my chest and leaving me dizzy with relief. “Daddy!” She stretches her free hand toward me, answering the agent’s question.
And that one word is all I need to hear.
My heart climbs into my throat, and my vision blurs for the first time since learning she and Zara were missing. I’d been able to hold back the tears all this time, but seeing my daughter, hearing her voice, getting to hold her warm body in my arms…those are the things that finally pull down the dam, rip loose the floodgates.
I gather her in my arms, my tears dampening her hair. She’s alive. My beautiful, sweet little girl is alive. I hug her and kiss her cheek.
Her arms go around my neck, holding on tightly to me, and she rests her head on my shoulder. Little hiccupped sobs vibrate through her body, and wetness spreads through my T-shirt where her face is pressed against it.
“Christ, I’ve missed you.” Tears clog my voice, relief and happiness buff it to a shine. I hug her once more. I can’t stop hugging her.
