Hypocritically Yours - Hayley Faiman Page 0,129

something isn’t right. Leaving her in the situation that she’s in, with her mother missing, possibly worse. It feels so fucking wrong.

When I left, I called Hansen on the road and he promised to go to the hotel first thing in the morning to be there, to check on her for me. I feel marginally better, but there is just something that feels so off.

“At the hotel in Tulsa with Holden,” I murmur.

Laurent frowns, then I hear Lawrence clear his throat. Lifting my head, I look past Laurent to see Lawrence standing at the mouth of the hallway.

“You made it,” he says. “She’s in the bedroom. She’s not asleep, I bet she’d like to see you.”

He lifts his lips in a ghost of a smile, and it’s all I need to know to realize that she has indeed been hurt. This wasn’t an overdramatic moment, she’s injured and I hate it.

“The police?” I ask.

Laurent nods. “They have been here, along with Bash. The report has been filed and hopefully with Bash being who Bash is, there will be an emergency restraining order sooner rather than later,” he explains.

Lifting my hand, I wrap my fingers around his shoulder and squeeze, giving him a shake. “Thank you, Laurent, you’re a good son and a better brother,” I offer.

Walking past him, I make my way to Lawrence and catch his gaze with my own. “Thank you, Lawry. I don’t know what she would have done without your calm demeanor. You’re a good brother too.”

“We got this, Dad. You didn’t have to come back,” he mutters.

Grinning, I nod my head. “I didn’t come here because I didn’t think you had it. I have full faith in you, I came back for myself.”

Lawrence grins. “Well in that case, then.” He chuckles.

Shifting past him, I head toward Lucinda’s room. The room is bathed in darkness. I slip inside, thankful that it’s quiet and dark. Closing the door behind me, I make my way over to her bed. Sinking down on the edge, I reach for the small lamp on her bedside table.

Flicking it on, I look back over my shoulder and grunt at the sight of her face. Her neck has bruises, her face has a bruise forming beneath her eye, and there is a knot on the side of her head.

“I’ll kill him,” I growl.

Lucinda’s eyes flutter open, her lips turn up into a grin and she looks over at me. “Daddy,” she cries.

“Lucy,” I rasp.

Reaching out, I wrap my hand loosely around the side of her neck, trying to hold back tears. I’ve never seen my baby hurt this way before, the most I’ve ever seen is a bruise on her knee from playing outside. She’s never even broken a bone.

“I’m okay,” she whispers. “I’m okay.”

“Are you?”

Her lips turn up into a small smile. “I am. I’m okay.”

I stay right next to her. I talk to her for another fifteen minutes, just to see where her head is at. I want to make sure that she really is okay. Once I believe her, once I’m satisfied, I leave her to rest.

Once I’m away from her and in the living room with Laurent and Lawrence, I look at each of them. Sinking down on the chair, I rest my forearms on my knees and bow my head for a moment, lifting it slowly, I flick my gaze from Laurent to Lawrence.

“We’ll be going after him every single fucking way that we can,” I announce.

Lawrence frowns, but Laurent grins. “Fuck yeah.” He chuckles. “Fuck, yeah.”

Chapter Forty-Five

LANDRY

My entire body jerks up and I let out a grunt as I reach for my phone in my pocket. I’m too blurry-eyed to actually read the name on the screen. Sliding my thumb across, I clear my throat before I answer.

“Landry,” Hansen barks.

I blink a couple of times, then look over at the clock on the wall. It’s almost eight in the morning. My stomach sinks immediately.

“Where is Tennessee?” I demand in a rush.

“I was going to ask you the same thing. I’m standing in the living room, the door was left ajar and nobody is here.”

“What do you mean?” I shout. “What the fuck do you mean nobody is there?”

Standing to my feet, my heart starts to race. “She’s gone, Landry. There is a bag in the master still, an empty bottle of water on the coffee table, but nothing else. They’re gone.”

Shaking my head, I lift my hand and run my fingers through my hair. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,”

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