"You better find my daughter and bring her back Anthony, or so help me God!" my fingers are thrumming impatiently on the steering wheel, my eyes darting from left to right, watching the cars cruise past in disdain. The traffic light has been red for what feels like hours, grating whatever patience I had left to shreds of worthless filth.
"George, I'm on my way there myself. Timothy is keeping track of her phone. We'll find her. And I'll kill the bastard myself if I have to." I commend the calmness in my voice, the complete opposite of the turmoil that is burning my insides. Christ, I hope she's okay. I don't know how I'd live with myself if – no, cut it out. Focus.
"I'll never forgive you if anything happens to my little girl. I trusted you with her!" he's frustrated, I understand. He's three hours out of town, powerless and out of reach. I have to make this right. I owe him that much. I owe it to her.
