The Hunt

I'm not his dad

Continuing with the cleaning, both Amelia and I heard the entry door open. Sensing the potential threat, I swiftly seized the arm that held the knife, disarming her. Now that I had the knife in my hand and had her arm behind her back, I pulled us both out of sight while hiding behind something. In a calm tone, I instructed her to stay quiet. Amelia chose to be quiet when she realized how bad things were. Though I hadn't wholly silenced her, I took precautions. By putting the knife to her throat, I made sure she knew how important it was to keep quiet. Leaning closely, I touched her ear and whispered, "Now you will play nice, Amelia." Hearing her actual name, which she hadn't been addressed by in years, surprised and unsettled her. A flood of emotions welled up, leaving her on edge. Uncertain of my connection to her past, she fought the urge to cry, realizing the precariousness of her circumstances. All she knew then was the need to ensure her son's safety. For now, she resolved to play my game, but she harbored the intention to risk her life if necessary to secure their escape in the future.

As footsteps approached, I knew I had to act quickly to divert suspicion. By whispering in Amelia's ear, I told her how important our situation was and told her to act like she was hurt. With the knife pressed to her neck, I signaled that she should go along with the act, stowing the knife in my pocket for safekeeping. In a carefully orchestrated move, I picked Amelia up and addressed the oncoming individuals loudly to make sure they heard the scenario.

"I told you, Ms. Lockheart, you didn't have to help me with the trash. Now you hurt yourself," I declared, carrying her securely in my arms, creating the illusion of a concerned helper.

Sasha, noticing me carrying Amelia, chose to eavesdrop on the conversation to understand what was transpiring.

Amelia, pretending but also seeking an opportunity to escape, suggested, "You can take me to my car, and I will just leave?"

Playing my part, I responded, "With a possible broken foot, I think not. I will take you to the hospital."

Sasha chimed in, expressing concern about Amelia's well-being and suggesting they watch over Bryce while she goes to the hospital.

Amelia hesitated, mentioning the day's events with the children. However, Sasha reassured her, emphasizing that she didn't blame Bryce and that he was in good hands.

Amelia handed the car keys to Sasha, exchanged a glance with me, and reluctantly agreed to go to the hospital. We walked towards my truck, creating the appearance of me caring for her. However, in reality, I was discreetly tying her hands together to the side of the truck door, ensuring she couldn't jeopardize our situation. Once she was securely restrained, I jumped into the truck, and we sped off, leaving behind the facade of concern and care for a covert journey toward an uncertain destination. In the tense moment, I pressed Amelia for the truth about her involvement with Greyson. The encounter escalated as a passing semi-truck catalyzed Amelia's escape attempt. She seized control of the steering wheel, aiming to collide with the truck, narrowly missing it before veering into a ditch. Amelia's attempt to flee the car intensified, prompting me to intervene. I grabbed her foot, but she skillfully twisted it and used her other foot to free herself. As she made a move to escape, I discovered that she possessed a level of experience I hadn't anticipated. The situation escalated further when, to my surprise, I found my gun pointed at me by Amelia, adding a new layer of complexity.

Amelia's fiery words cut through the air: "Get out of the car." Caught off guard by the sudden intensity, I glanced around the confined space of the truck, realizing there was no easy escape. "It's a truck," I defended, attempting to ease the tension, but Amelia's retort was swift and unyielding. "It's whatever I want it to be," she snapped, her eyes filled with a dangerous determination. As I tried to offer a simple explanation, Amelia interrupted me dismissively. "The only time I want you to speak is when I'm talking to you." The atmosphere thickened, and my charm, which had often worked in my favor before, seemed futile in the face of Amelia's palpable anger. Cocking the gun back with chilling precision, Amelia's intent to forward the bolt and end my existence was evident. My realization that she was genuinely serious about carrying out this deadly act stripped away any comfort I may have taken in my usual ability to charm my way out of situations. The gravity of the moment hung heavily in the air.

"Did Greyson send you to find me?" Amelia's voice, now laced with suspicion, demanded an answer. Caught between truth and self-preservation, I responded, "No." However, Amelia, undeterred, pressed further, seeking the source of this unexpected intrusion. "How do you know my name?" I hesitated briefly before admitting, "Father dearest told me your name." The revelation opened a new layer of complexity to the already tense encounter.

Expressing her surprise at the Chief of Police having a daughter, Amelia's distrust deepened. Recognizing the need for a strategic shift, I divulged, "Listen, your dad did send me, but now I'm on my little investigation." Slowly raising my hands in surrender, I scanned the surroundings, my mind formulating a plan to regain control of the situation.

Yet, Amelia's resolve remained unshaken. "I don't care. I don't know or care about my life with Greyson and my family, so leave me and my son alone." Torn between conflicting loyalties, I stated with a hint of regret, "I can't do that." As Amelia prepared to make good on her threat, an unexpected voice intervened.

"Ma'am, put the gun down." The old man, the truck driver they had nearly collided with, held his shotgun, its barrel aimed squarely at Amelia's head. The sudden shift in dynamics forced Amelia to reconsider her actions. In an instant, the tension subsided as she dropped her weapon and raised her hands in surrender, her defiance replaced by a begrudging acceptance of the unexpected turn of events.

Wearing an disarmingly charming smile, I addressed the old man, seeking to diffuse the tension. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir. Sometimes, my gal can get out of hand." I approached Amelia, skillfully disassembling my pistol and holstering it, ensuring the old man could see the gesture of de-escalation.

The old man, nodding understandingly, spoke with a hint of amusement. "No problem, young blood. My wife is crazy as well. I was checking on you folks because that was my truck you all almost hit." Feeling a wave of relief, I seized the opportunity to further align with the older man. "I am sorry. I didn't expect her to do that."

With a sage piece of advice, the old man shared his wisdom. "No one expects crazy shit after a lover's quarrel. But if you stay ready, you won't have to get ready." Taking the lesson to heart, I expressed my gratitude. "Dearly noted, thank you, sir."

However, once the old man's attention shifted , I turned to Amelia with a swift change in demeanor. Unseen by the truck driver, I discreetly held a knife to her chest, a precautionary measure in case the situation escalated. "Now that I know you're insane, you're going in handcuffs," I whispered, maintaining the facade of a charming smile.

Back in the car, but this time with handcuffs securing her, Amelia protested immediately. "What the hell are you doing?" she demanded. Unfazed, I replied with a sly grin, "I'm being a nosy bitch." Concerned about potential onlookers, I draped a hoodie over her, concealing the handcuffs and the unfolding drama.

Navigating through the hotel lobby with Amelia in restraints, I aimed to avoid unwanted attention. Safely reaching the hotel room, I directed her to sit, making it clear that it was now her turn to provide answers. The air in the room crackled with tension as the interrogation began.