04: The Child

ROXANNE POV

I jumped out of the car and knelt beside the man, my breath catching in my throat.

My hands trembled as I cupped his face, trying to steady him—or myself, I wasn’t sure.

"Shit...shit...look at me!" I muttered, as I scanned his features for any sign of recognition.

His eyelids fluttered and for a brief moment, his chestnut eyes opened. They were unfocused, hazy, but alive.

Relief hit me, though it was quickly replaced by a strange sense of familiarity. Something about him tugged at me—a face I should know, a name I couldn’t quite place.

Before I could make sense of it, his eyes slid shut, his body going limp.

"Daddy!" The sharp, high-pitched cry startled me. I turned and saw a little girl rushing toward us, her light brown eyes filled with fear, tears streaming down her face.

She dropped to her knees beside me, her tiny hands pressing against his chest and her sobs grew louder.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay," I murmured, softening my tone as I reached out to her. "What’s your name?"

Her gaze flicked to me, confusion and fear swirling together.

She wiped at her face with a trembling hand, her voice barely a whisper between her hiccuped sobs. "Angelina."

"Alright, Angelina," I assured her, my voice wavering slightly as I glanced between them. "We’re going to help your dad, okay? But I need you to stay calm for me. Can you do that?”

She nodded, clutching his shirt tightly, her eyes stayed locked on mine.

I slipped my arms under him, trying to lift his dead weight. He was heavier than I expected, but I didn’t have a choice.

As I heaved him upward, I thought I heard something hit the ground from his pocket, but I didn’t have time to check.

"Daddy’s car blew up," Angelina whispered suddenly, her voice cracking.

She pointed toward the corner of the street with a shaking finger. "And...and there were scary men..."

I stared at her for a moment, trying to process, but the weight of the man in my arms and the urgency of the situation snapped me back.

Whoever those men were, they could still be close—and Kendrick wasn’t far behind me either.

"We can’t stay here," I urged, my voice firm. "We have to move. Now."

Angelina hesitated, her gaze flicking to her father, but then she gave a small nod, her trust placed entirely in me.

Whatever this was, I didn’t have time to figure it out. Right now, I just had to keep us alive.

With a surge of urgency, I hauled the man into the back seat of my car.

His body slumped awkwardly across the seat, motionless and heavy. I slammed the door shut and turned to Angelina, crouching to meet her teary gaze.

"Hop in, sweetheart." I urged gently, guiding her toward the passenger seat. Her small feet shuffled hesitantly as she clutched the hem of her shirt.

"I’ll take you both somewhere safe, I promise," I assured her, nodding for emphasis. "I’m Roxanne."

After a brief pause, she gave a tiny nod and climbed into the passenger seat. Her little hands gripped the edges of the seat tightly as I buckled her in.

"You’ll be okay." I whispered, brushing a curl away from her face before rushing to the driver’s side.

Sliding in behind the wheel, I fumbled with my seatbelt, stealing a glance at Angelina. She was silent, but her gaze never left her father slumped in the back seat.

I gripped the steering wheel, shifting the car into gear and turned onto the street, my mind racing with every possible option.

After what happened at the diner—and realizing the cop who’d chased me was working with Kendrick’s crew—calling the police was out of the question.

The hospital? That was just as dangerous.

Kendrick and my stepfather were ruthless, and they knew exactly how to cover their tracks. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were already watching places like that, waiting for me to slip up.

And then there was the man in the back seat. If he was connected to the “scary men” Angelina had mentioned, taking him anywhere public might draw even more unwanted attention.

My apartment wasn’t an ideal solution, but I figured it was the safest bet for now.

Kendrick might have figured out where I worked—one of his men must have spotted me during my shifts—but I’d been careful.

Paranoid, even. I always took a longer route home, switching it up each night to avoid patterns.

I even went as far as swapping out my car’s license plates every few weeks, a precaution I hated but couldn’t afford to abandon.

As far as I could tell, Kendrick didn’t know where I lived yet. For now, I had to trust that my precautions were enough.

It wasn’t just my life on the line anymore.

I exhaled sharply, glancing at the man sprawled in the back seat. He was still unconscious, his chest rising and falling faintly.

Strangers or not, I couldn’t leave them—not like this.

For now, I’d do what I could. When he wakes, we'll have to figure out the rest.