Page 6 of Protected By Her Daddy

He smiles. “It’s not much, but it might help. Take care of yourself.”

Tears prick my eyes. “You too,” I whisper, watching him walk away.

As the day progresses, I continue my search for safe places to rest. I avoid the more dangerous areas, knowing the kinds of people who lurk on the streets after dark. The city is sprawling, and it’s easy to get lost, but I pay attention to landmarks and street signs, trying to form a mental map.

In the evening, I head back to the shelter, a little more confident in my ability to navigate this new life.

Bass greets me at the door, his expression concerned when he sees me limping. “Welcome back, Wren. Everything okay?”

“Thanks. Yeah,” I reply, keeping my head down so he won’t see the tears in my eyes.

Bass stops me as I walk past. “Come with me. Let’s get that knee looked at.”

My eyes fly to his in surprise. “H-how did you know?”

He gives me a wry smile. “The blood and ripped jeans kind of give it away.”

I look down to see he’s right. It’s a testament to my fragile mental state that I didn’t even notice.

Bass leads me to a room at the back of the building. It’s warm and comfortable, with a chair in the corner, white cupboards along the back wall, and a treatment couch. Bass has me sit on the couch and pulls first aid supplies from one of the cupboards.

“Are you a doctor or something?”

Bass chuckles. “No. My skills only extend to simple first aid. May I?” he asks, pointing at my knee.

I nod and tug up the leg of my jeans. Bass pulls on some medical gloves and proceeds to clean the wound.

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

“I need to clean and dress it so you don’t get an infection.”

“No, I mean, why are you doing this?” I wave a hand to indicate the shelter as a whole.

Pain flashes momentarily in Bass’ eyes as they meet mine. “I lost my sister to addiction. She ended up on the streets, homeless.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “This is my way of making amends for not being there for her. For not—” His expression shutters, his mouth a tight line.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, not knowing what else to say.

Bass shrugs. “What’s done is done. We can’t change the past. We can only choose a better future.”

I settle into my bunk an hour later, a dressing on my knee and wearing a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt Bass rooted out from the lost property. They’re a little big but better than my torn, dirty clothing. I even managed a strip wash at the sink in the bathroom. It was amazing to cleanse the grime of the city from my body.

Lying in the dim light of the shelter, I reflect on the day. I survived. That’s all I can say about it. An elderly man’s simple act of kindness and Bass’ care gives me a renewed sense of hope, if only for a short while. Yet, the sting of Sam's betrayal is still fresh, a harsh reminder that trust is a fragile and dangerous thing.

I realize that this is only the beginning. More challenges ahead, more dangers to navigate. But for tonight, I’m safe.

I close my eyes, comforted by the knowledge that I’m not alone in this struggle. There’s a community here, a fragile but real sense of belonging. And as long as I have that, I have a fighting chance.

Chapter 3

Gabriel

Four Weeks Later

I sit in the backseat of the car, my mind occupied with the details of today’s deal—a multi-billion-dollar government security contract that will secure my company’s place at the top. This has been months in the making, with countless sleepless nights and relentless questions to prove that Burns SafeGuard is the only choice for all their security needs.

The city glows outside the window, rain streaking the glass and turning the lights into colorful smears. Despite the success etched in today's deal, I carry an emptiness that wealth and power can't seem to fill—a hollow that echoes louder with each victory.

Ed, my driver, head of security, and closest friend, is at the wheel. He's navigated many terrains beside me, first as a Navy SEAL and now in this new battlefield of boardrooms. We grew up together from humble beginnings, rising from the same small neighborhood, our bond forged through hardship and unwavering loyalty. Each scar and medal on Ed's chest tells a story, much like mine, though our wars are now fought across very different fields.

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