Chuckling, I pick up my phone and dial Bree’s number, eager to hear her voice.
I’m greeted with her voicemail instead.
Dammit. I’ve asked her to keep her phone on in case of an emergency multiple times.
Immediately, I call back and still get her voicemail.
Frustrated, I set the phone down. How much shit will Brady give me if I say I want to swing by my apartment?
Do I really care what he thinks?
I ring Bree a few more times with the same result.
“Damn, I’m glad you stayed in the car,” Brady says, flinging himself into the passenger seat. “She’s a tough one.”
Glancing down at his empty hands, I give him a light punch on the arm. “Where’s my coffee, jerk? No wonder she keeps turning you down. You waste her time and don’t buy anything.”
Brady’s eyes widen. “Fuck. Should I go back inside?”
“No,” I answer, the smile fading from my lips. “I need to stop by my place real quick.”
As he opens his mouth—to rib me, I assume—my phone rings. At first I’m relieved, figuring it’s Bree. But I don’t recognize the number.
“Hollister.”
“Hey, Liam. It’s Howard. The dude you wanted me to keep tabs on? He got sprung early this morning.”
“What the fuck? How?”
“They got some sort of emergency bail hearing in front of another judge. Parents posted bail. He has to wear an ankle monitor and stay at their house, though.”
Motherfucker.
“Why didn’t anyone call us?” Bree certainly would’ve called me if she’d been told Chad was loose.
“Don’t know. Sorry. I just got in. Called you as soon as I saw it.”
“Thanks. Appreciate it.”
“What’s wrong?” Brady asks after I throw my phone on the dash.
I can’t believe they let that asshole out of jail. Thank fuck I moved Bree into my apartment. To my knowledge Chad has no idea where I live. Probably the only time I’ll ever be thankful Bree and I haven’t had a lot of contact in the last few years.
“They let Bree’s ex out of jail.”
“Shit. He stupid enough to contact her?”
“He better not. She’s at my apartment, though, so she should be fine. Supposedly they put an ankle monitor on him.” Am I trying to convince Brady or myself everything’s okay?
Brady snorts. “If he’s crazy, ankle monitor won’t mean shit until it’s too late.”
“Thanks a lot, asshole.” I pick up my phone and my finger hovers over Bree’s number. I hate to call and scare her with this news. Especially when she’s alone.
On the other hand, there’s a .38 and a box of bullets in my nightstand drawer and I want her to be prepared.
Just in case.
The house doesn’t look any different than it did a few hours ago. For some reason, though, I’m uneasy being here by myself. There’s no Kimber waiting inside to greet me at the front door. I can’t believe how I attached I’ve gotten to her in such a short time.
For that reason, I pull my car right up over the lawn and park next to the front porch, crossing my fingers Vince is in a forgiving mood when he returns and won’t mind the tire marks in his grass.
Rushing through the house, I finally locate my charger in the bedroom and stop to plug in my phone, which died completely on my way over. Since it’ll take a while to give it enough juice to turn on, I stretch out on the bed and close my eyes for a few seconds.
A clink and rattle invade my mind sometime later. I blink and turn my head, searching for the clock.
“Shit!” I bolt upright, grab my phone, and yank the charger out of the wall socket. While my phone powers up, I slip my shoes on. I was out of it for less than thirty minutes, but I’m still eager to leave and return to Liam’s apartment.
A squeak and clunk from the front of the house reminds me why I woke up in the first place. Vince has upgraded the place significantly, but it’s still an old house. It sighs, creaks, and produces other random odd sounds all the time.
This particular creaking sounds too deliberate.
Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.
Didn’t Sully tell me to listen to my instincts? Hell, didn’t I discuss it at length in group therapy?
Time to go.
The knock at the front door sends my heart racing. Did Liam drive by and see my car?
Liam wouldn’t knock. No, he’d burst in and lecture me for not telling him I was coming over.
There’s another knock at the same time my phone buzzes in my hand. Startled, I drop it.
Shit! I realize I’d been holding my breath, hoping whoever was out front would assume no one’s home and go away. Hard to do when I’m making so much damn noise. And let’s not forget my car parked haphazardly in the front yard.
Maybe it’s a neighbor checking to make sure everything’s okay?
This neighborhood’s never been the kind to look out for each other—a painful lesson learned as a child—so that seems unlikely.
I snatch my cell phone off the floor and keep it in my hand as I creep toward the living room.
Another knock at the front door. No, not a knock. Three blunt pounds from the side of a fist against the hard wood. The small glass windows at the top of the door rattle.
The police?
No, they’d identify themselves.
A name forms in the back of my mind, but I refuse to allow the thought to fully form.
“Brianna,” an agitated voice calls out.
No.
Chad.
I’d recognize that belligerent tone anywhere.
Heart slamming in my chest, hands shaking, I freeze. What the hell should I do?
Call 911?
“Bree, baby, I know you’re in there.” He chuckles softly. “Address was on the restraining order.”
Liam had warned me about that. Another reason, I was happy to stay at his place.
Footsteps thud over the porch. Back and forth. Back and Forth. From experience, I know Chad’s pacing. Something he does right before he loses his shit.
I’m too scared to make a sound.
Grab the shotgun?
911. Call Liam. Then shotgun.
Is that a good plan? Is calling 911 overreacting?
No, dumbass. There’s a restraining order. He shouldn’t be here.
This is what Sully meant about there being no time to process in an emergency. Mere minutes have passed since I woke up, but it feels like an eternity.
911 on the way to get the shotgun.
Yes!
As my thumb hits the last button, I realize the pacing’s stopped. Not a single sound comes from the front porch.
Did he actually leave?
“911. What’s your emergency?”
I peek out the window, but there’s no one. Weird that I never heard a car leaving.
“Twenty-Nine Sand Lake Road,” I rush to spit out the address. “My ex-boyfriend is—
Before I finish the sentence, there’s a rattle, then a pounding at the back door. Seconds later a terrifying crashing and splintering of wood.
My back hits the wall and I slide along it until I’m tucked against the door of the entryway closet. Slowly, I peer around the corner as the back door bounces off the wall and Chad storms into the kitchen.
Shit. I pull back before he sees me and stand rock still.
My eyes focus on the door three feet in front of me.
Front door—outside?
My flight response is screaming yes, run for safety!
The part of me that’s too terrified to move wants to duck into the closet door at my back and hide. My hand automatically reaches behind me, silently twisting the knob, opening the door a fraction of an inch.
Keeping my options open.
Ominous footsteps creep through the house. The place isn’t that big. I’ll be face-to-face with him any second now.
Move!
“Hello? Miss? Are you there?” the 911
operator’s voice shouts from my phone.
Well, I guess hiding is no longer an option.
The footsteps rush closer. I sprint for the front door, snagging my keys off the entryway table as I go.
I wrench the knob and hurl myself through the open door, running onto the porch without looking back.
Behind me, Chad snarls.
Too close.
My feet pound down the first and second steps. Skipping over the rest of the steps, I land hard in the grass.
Don’t look back. Keep moving.
I’ll never make it.
“Help!” I scream, fumbling my keys in my hand.
“Shh, what are you shouting for?” Chad says behind me.
“How’d you get out of jail? There’s a restraining order!” I shout, praying the 911 operator is still on the line and catches every word.
The alarm on my car chirps as I hit the key fob. I jam the phone in my pocket and yank the car door so hard I break my thumbnail. My body’s between the car and the door when Chad grabs the top of the door, slamming it into me. My hip and thigh take the brunt of the impact. For once I’m glad I’m a little fleshy in those areas. It hurts, but I keep squirming into the car. My butt hits the seat and I kick my feet, pushing Chad back. “Get away from me!” I scream.
I try to jam my keys in the ignition, but my hands are shaking so bad, I don’t make it on the first try.
And that’s the only chance I have.
Chad wrenches the door open, reaches in, and grabs my hair, yanking me out of the car. I fall to my knees and as he reaches down to grab at me, I swing my keys at his face.
He recoils as the metal scrapes his cheek, but I don’t carry many and they’re not that heavy. The impact isn’t enough to stop him. He slaps them out of my hand and they land in the grass with a muted jingle.
“I just wanted to talk to you. Why are you so hysterical?” he asks as if he didn’t just slam a car door into my body and try to rip my hair out by the roots.
“You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I can’t stay away from you. You know that.” He crouches down in the grass next to me and lightly slaps my cheek.
Playfully, you know, the way a cat slaps a mouse around right before he eats it.
Playtime’s over. He wraps his fist in my hair and his arm around my neck, pulling me off the ground with him.
Go limp.
I imagine my body boneless and try to get loose, but he tightens his hold.
I kick, sputter, and claw the whole time he drags me up the stairs. At the front door, I grab onto the doorframe and use what little strength I have to hang on.
He laughs and releases my hair, painfully prying my fingers loose.
Inside, he lets me go and slams the door shut. I back into the living room and he stalks toward me without saying a word.
Somehow that’s more frightening. Chad’s usually full of words. Especially when he’s pissed.
“Why are you doing this?” A question I’ve asked so many times before.
“What am I doing, Bree? I just wanted to have a normal conversation with you. You’re the one acting hysterical.” That familiar manipulative tone fires me up again. How many damn times did he try to convince me I was the crazy one? That I somehow deserved being hit or punched. How many of our friends did he try to gain sympathy from by telling them he loved me so much, he put up with my over-emotional behavior?
Too many.
“There’s nothing to talk about. We’re done.”
His expression darkens. “Don’t say that.”
He rushes forward and I dart to the right, heading for the kitchen, but he catches me easily, wrapping his hands around my upper arms and pushing me backwards until my back hits the wall.
“I’m sorry, okay? Is that what you want? Tell me you’re not leaving.”
“I’m already gone.”
“It’s your cop friend, right? The one who came to rough me up?”
My wide eyes meet his crazy ones. Liam did that?
It gives me the courage to push back, struggle harder. “No, Chad. You did it. You almost killed me! I’m done.”
“You were planning to leave me!” he roars in my face.
I cringe and turn my head. “You hurt me. Over and over.” There’s no reasoning with him. I shouldn’t even bother. But the alternative is worse.
“Bree,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my cheek. My shoulder draws up, squirming to get away from him.
“Not so fast, baby,” he says against my ear, spinning me around.
My back hits his chest and an “uh” leaves my lips. He locks one arm over my chest and the other around my middle.
Oh God. I recognize the smell of him. The feel of his body. Hard. Terrifying. Breathing heavy.
“Let me go!” I scream.
“Feisty today. I like that, babe.” His arms tighten around me like a damn python. “Feel that? I had lots of time to work out and think about you.” He runs his nose along my neck, inhaling heavily. “You smell so good. I missed you.”
His lips pull and suck at the skin below my ear and bile rises, burning the back of my throat.
“Let go.” My nose twitches and my eyes water. I will not cry or beg.
Still bear-hugging me, he tries walking us to the couch. In a rush I remember a move from Sully’s class. As Chad shuffles forward, I pick up my foot and slam it into his instep.
“Fuck!” he shouts.
Finally, his grip loosens. Frantic, I jab my elbow back into his chest. I turn and punch forward with the heel of my hand, catching him on the chin. I’d been aiming for his fucking nose, but I’ll take it.
Chad’s not used to me fighting back. He circles me. Eyeing me with caution now.
That’s right, motherfucker.
Desperately, my eyes search the living room for anything I can use as a weapon.
“You’re trying to hurt me today, baby.” He lunges, grabbing my wrist and yanking me closer. I push forward instead of away and almost slip out of the hold, but he grabs my other arm right above the elbow, shaking me like a rag doll. “You want it rough? That what you want?”
He pushes me onto the couch and when I try to launch myself off, he uses his body to pin me to the cushion, straddling my lap.
I push and shove, wiggling and sliding my way out from underneath him, going limp and melting onto the floor.
Before I get my feet under me, he tackles me back down. Pain explodes through my skull as it thumps against the hardwood.
We grapple, me slapping at him and trying to get my feet up to kick him. Him trying to pin my arms down. He manages to trap my legs underneath him.
Soft spots.
As soon as I go for his eyes, he ducks and grabs my wrists.
“You think those cute little self-defense moves can stop me?”
With one hand, he pins my wrists above my head. His other palm comes flying at my cheek. This time it’s not playful slaps he delivers.
One. Pain explodes over my cheek.
Two. Flashes of red burst behind my eyes.
It’s jarring, but only a fraction of what he’s capable of. My back arches and I wriggle my legs, my hips, my butt, anything to get out from underneath his heavy body. But his weight presses me into the floor and at a certain point all my squirming only seems to turn him on more.
His free hand wraps around my neck, holding me down.
“Look what you’re making me do,” he snarls.
“Don’t.” I choke out the word.
Can’t breathe.
Desperate, hot, frustrated tears leak from the corners of my eyes, dripping into my hair.
Helpless and held down, my mind recalls other fights we’ve had.
Never like this.
This time, he’s really going to kill me.
My terrified heartbeat pounds in my ear. Help, help, help.
He eases up the pressure around my neck and I suck and choke in enough air to clear my head.
“Kee
p fighting me, Bree.” His voice grates over my nerves. “You know it only gets me harder.”
Oh, how I knew.
I screw my eyes shut, unable to stand staring at him any longer. Once, I thought Chad was beautiful. Now, I know better. He’s the fucking devil.
“Does lawman know what a dirty fucking whore you are?” He releases my hands and palms my breast, squeezing hard, pinching my nipple through my shirt. “Has he figured out all the dirty things that turn you on?”
He tightens the hand around my throat again.
I can’t breathe.
The edges of my vision darken.
This is it.
Thank God. I don’t want to be conscious when he rapes me this time.
“Please,” I beg with the last bits of air I have before his fingers tighten around my windpipe and cut off my air for good.
“I love you so much, Bree.” He whimpers the words and squeezes his eyes shut. “Why do you make me feel like this?”
This isn’t love.
My hands tingle, but they’re free.
Free.
My arms are lead weights as I raise them and slip them between Chad’s arms, exploding outward like Sully showed me.
I don’t have enough power or energy to knock him totally back, but he releases my throat. Coughing and gagging, I roll to the side and throw my elbow back, hoping to catch his face.
There’s a satisfying crunch and I wriggle out from under him, kicking as I go. My foot hits something hard, his chin or his head, I don’t know.
I kick again.
There’s a thump.
Don’t look back. Just move.
I’m still struggling to get air in my lungs, but I stagger to my feet.
The back door’s straight ahead and wide open.
But so far away.
Run.
The closet where my brother keeps the shotgun is to my right.
Escape or shotgun?
CHAPTER THIRTY
On the way to my apartment, the radio chirps and Brady turns the volume up. “911 Domestic Dispute. 29 Sand Lake Road. Female caller states…”
No.
Blood roars through my ears, drowning everything else out.
“That’s Vince’s house!” Brady shouts.
“Why is she there?” She should be safely tucked away in my apartment.
Bullets & Bonfires Page 24
