He slowly lowers the zipper.
I tilt my head back to look over my shoulder.
Our gazes meet, and the warm golden green of his eyes says he's remembering our kiss.
Dallas traces my jaw and his thumb grazes my lower lip.
Then he steps out of the tiny bathroom and closes the door, taking the heat with him.
He’s dangerous. I know that.
But no matter how many times I whisper it in my head, I still feel safe with him.
He came for me even though he also has a price on his head.
The nasally voice of the man from the alley fills my head.
She’s prettier than her dossier photo. Might take a little bonus from her before I collect.
That man looked like he would enjoy hurting me.
What if Dallas hadn’t been at the gala at all? Would I have even made it out of the building? Would I be dead beside my father?
A chill sinks into my bones until I start to shiver. I quickly undress and step beneath the hot spray, but it doesn't penetrate the cold. It doesn’t drown out the sight of my adoptive father falling into my arms fills my head or the screams of frightened gala guests.
It doesn’t penetrate the confusion, anger, and terror from the men outside my house. Emotions swell and crash over me like a wave, stealing my breath until I can't breathe. I sink to the tile as tears spill down my face, getting lost in the water. Because on top of it all is relief.
That I'm alive and Arthur is dead.
He can't hurt me or my mother anymore.
Whatever he did with those papers will go to the grave with him. I think. God, I hope the investigation doesn't bring those to light.
He held them over me for years, promising I'd go to jail if they were discovered. Even though I was young when I signed them, I’m an adult now. He promised I’d be tried as an accessory to the crimes. It kept me in line.
Now I have to wonder how much of it was true. Can he still ruin my life even though he's dead?
As the tears stream down my face, I worry that he could. I don't know anything about the shell company, but as Arthur reminded me all the time, it's in my name. If investigators start digging, they won’t see a fifteen-year-old who signed what her dad told her to.
They’ll see Arthur Townsend's daughter.
I had such grand dreams of being an elementary teacher. Of helping shape young minds and give them a better life. But I haven't even been able to finish my degree. He hindered me at every turn.
Yet I still loved him. He was part of my life for almost eighteen years. He kissed my skinned knees, proudly took me to a daddy-daughter dance at school, and watched terrible romcoms with me when I got older.
He was like two different men when it came to fatherhood versus business. After he became a congressman, they started to combine into one man. One neither my mom nor I recognized.
Tonight, they both died.
I don't know how long I sit there, mourning him and my life. Guilt and relief twist together in my stomach until I'm doubled over.
At some point the bathroom door cracks. I feel the change in the air.
Dallas doesn't say anything, just checks on me, then quietly closes the door.
When the tears no longer fall, I wash the rest of the blood from my hair and skin and feel somewhat better.
Dallas is pacing the room when I open the bathroom door. He's removed his jacket and shoes, and when he turns, his tie is gone and the top buttons of his shirt are open, revealing a hint of muscled chest. The sleeves are rolled over his corded forearms,where I spot the edges of ink. Even when he should look relaxed, he radiates controlled strength.
