ʜᴜɴᴛᴇᴅ

• • ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴏɴ • •

Word count: 2135 words

Danny's POV:

ᴍᴏɴᴅᴀʏs ᴀʀᴇ better. I thought. Never in a million years, did I think I'd say that.

I sat on the stairs, my arm propped up on my knee to hold my head up, staring down the dirt driveway.

She was already running late, but then again, she lived multiple states over.

Don't get me wrong, Jordan seemed nice. But I'm afraid of what would happen if she got to know me. It's what people at school did to me, the ultra-rich ones; they looked down at me, and saw nothing more than a patch of dirt.

And I mean the money-is-infinite-for-me kind of rich. Somewhere in the radius of billions. I always found it odd why the hell rich kids would go to the schools I did—or why, more precisely, I went to the same schools they did.

My family wasn't rich or well-off. We were just living comfortably—we being my mother and I—so I had no clue as to how we managed to afford sending me to such a classy school.

Neither did anyone else who attended said school.

"About damn time." I muttered, watching as a sleek black limousine with heavily tinted windows turned right, down the driveway.

I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. "So . . . That's her?"

I put my hand on top of hers. "Last I checked."

"A limo? To a farm?" Bailey sat next to me on the steps. "Don't tell me her parents outta own half the damned U.S.A."

"Pretty sure they own most of the oil industries in North America, Bay-bay." I watched as the vehicle came to a halt.

None other than Jordan Star, stepped out. Clad in a pair of jeans and a black shirt that showed her stomach, Jordan acknowledged me, then her eyes went curiously to Bailey.

"Who are you?" She asked Bailey.

"I'm this big one's"—she punched my shoulder—"neighbour."

"Oh." She turned to face the driver who was heading to the back of the limo—and who held a gun? "It's alright, Orrin. I've got it." Jordan faced us again. "This is my driver, Orrin. He's supposedly my personal security until my parents come back—sorry."

Orrin had broad shoulders, was a little shorter than me, had cropped black hair, brown eyes and and a stubble for a beard crawling along his jaw.

"It's fine." I replied, coming to stand on my feet. "Need any help with your things?"

She waved it off. "No thank you, I've only one bag. Again, I'm so sorry for this—the extra person, my being here . . ."

Bailey chuckled, fixed her hat and walked away to the barn.

"Like I said, it's fine." I repeated. "Let's get ya settled in." I offered her my hand to help her up the steep steps, and I noticed Orrin tensed.

"I don't bite, you know. Maybe don't ask Bailey if you don't believe me." He didn't move, nor did he relax, and I noticed Bailey giving me a side eye over her shoulder—as if to say fuck you.

Jordan looked over her shoulder. "It's fine, Orrin."

His Magnum attached to his hip in a holster, Orrin's hands twitched, then returned to his side.

I led Jordan up the stairs to one of the three spare bedrooms, it was plain white, but clean.

She set her large bag down beside the door, than made her way to the middle of the room.