Still Not Into You: An Enemies to Lovers Romance

by Snow, Nicole

  There’s more, too. Gabe talking about going in, getting a closer look.

  Then another message, this one more urgent. More terrifying.

  I’m going to find her, sugar. I’m going inside.

  That was half an hour ago from the timestamp.

  And now?

  Nothing.

  Nothing else.

  My throat knots up. God, no.

  No, I can’t lose Joannie and Gabe all in one fell swoop. I feel like I’ve lost Jim, too, because if we’re right, then the Jim I knew and trusted never even existed. Just a mask over a monster.

  Fingers trembling, I hit Gabe’s contact and lift the phone to my ear, listening to it ring again and again and again. Nothing again.

  Nothing but the voicemail, Gabe’s voice drawling cheerfully, “Hey, it’s Gabe. Probably forgot my phone somewhere, but I’ll get back at ya. You know what to do at the beep.”

  I suck in several shaky breaths before I can say anything to that canned recording, then manage, “Gabe! I got your messages. I’m coming back. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t get hurt. I’ll be there in...” Crap, how long is it from San Francisco to Redding? “Give me three hours, if the cops don’t catch me going over the limit. Stay put, wherever you are. I believe you. I’m coming.”

  I hang up, then send a text, fingers swiping rapidly across the screen. If you’re in a place where you can’t answer the phone, just send me back a text. Even one emoji. Anything. Let me know you’re okay.

  I wait. And wait. Then wait some more, keyed up and counting the seconds and losing my mind between every breath. My phone doesn’t ring. Doesn’t buzz.

  I wait a whole ninety-four seconds before I’m on my feet again, dragging my jeans on, stuffing my feet into my boots, throwing everything into my duffel and heading out to my car. I don’t even bother to settle up with the motel. I just leave a few crisp hundreds I brought as extra cash on the table next to the bed. I don’t care. I’ll call them and sort it out later.

  Gabe, that noble stubborn guard dog bastard, might be in trouble because of me. For me.

  Because he wouldn’t give up on trying to help me, even when I told him to shove his help right up his ass.

  I don’t care if he never wants to speak to me again, after how shitty I’ve been to him.

  I just need him to be okay.

  I need him not to pay the price for what I've missed all along.

  As I hit the highway, foot on the gas, gun in the glove compartment, I break my own policy and try calling Gabe again and again, even when I almost ride right up on the bumper of a semi.

  I don’t know why I’m so convinced something awful has happened, but my pulse is going wild and there’s a battle readiness in me I haven’t felt in years.

  That’s the thing with being military, you defend what’s yours.

  Somewhere along the way, I started thinking of Gabe as mine.

  After one last pleading voicemail, I give up on trying to ring Gabe and just focus on driving. I’m not sure what else I can do without being there.

  I’m not even sure what I’m going to do when I get there, other than bust Jim Appleroth’s door down with the fucking crowbar in my trunk. If I find Joannie in his house, he’ll be lucky if that crowbar doesn’t go straight for his head.

  I can’t even imagine why he would take her. For a moment, the worst possibility crosses my mind, but I can’t even consider that.

  I can’t look at it head-on, so my mind chases other paths.

  Is it because of his lost daughter? Has he been planning this ever since Joannie was born, coveting her as his own, working his way in closer and closer to our family until he saw his chance? Or was it a crime of opportunity, an impulse that, once he acted, he had to follow through?

  One thing’s for certain: he took advantage of my trust, and that’s not my fault.

  Of course, I wouldn’t have been on the alert had I picked up on him in the vicinity subconsciously. He’d spent half my life building trust with me, replacing my father as a calming, supportive male figure in my life, cultivating Nika until she thought he could do no wrong.

  He abused that trust, abused the natural sense of safety I felt around him, and that’s not my fault.

  All the blame and self-loathing and recrimination I’ve wanted to aim at myself for months explodes outward, directed at Jim. I’d sob with the sheer betrayal if I wasn’t so fucking angry.

  This car isn’t moving fast enough. I check my mirrors for lights and speed traps, then edge it a few more miles over the speed limit. I need to be there now – but I can’t let my anger make me rash, or I’ll endanger Gabe and my beloved niece.

  I shouldn’t go in without backup, but I can’t tell my Grandma or Monika just yet.

  I’m not even sure they’ll believe me. The police would be preemptive, too, and could get me arrested for making a false call if it turns out we’re wrong or Jim manages to throw them. There’s only one person I can turn to.

  Landon.

  My boss is one of the most steadfast people on the rapidly shrinking list of people I can trust.

  I wedge my phone into a safe spot on the dash, and steering one-handed, manage to jab at his number and put it on speaker. I don’t realize it’s after midnight until he picks up, his voice sleepy, ragged around a yawn.

  “‘lo?”

  “Landon? It’s Sky.”

  “Yeah, I have caller ID.” His voice is already sharpening, alert. Like there’s this wordless communication between us that tells him if I’m calling at this time of night, it must be for a dire reason. I hear rustles, murmuring, then the other voice drawing away; he must be leaving the bed to keep from disturbing Kenna. And right off the bat, he asks, “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. For right now,” I say. “But I might need backup. I think I got a hard lead on Joannie, and it’s not Harmon.”

  “What?” He almost barks it. “Who is it? Where are you?”

  “I’m about thirty minutes outside of San Francisco and closing in fast. I don’t have time to explain, and it’s complicated. If I give you the address, can you just meet me there in an hour if I don’t check in?” I take a shaky breath. “I don’t think anything will happen, but...”

  “But you want to be safe,” he finishes for me.

  “Exactly.”

  I can almost see him rubbing his temples. “I’m on it, Pixie. I’ll scramble a team.”

  I don’t even want to bite his head off for the Pixie comment. All I feel right now is a rush of relief that someone in this world is still reliable, and still everything he made himself out to be. “Thanks,” I murmur.

  “You know you can call me any time. But what about Gabe? Where the hell is he?”

  “I...I don’t know, boss.” I try to keep the fear out of my voice, but I can’t help how it cracks.

  How the hell are people so short-sighted? We only realize how much someone means to us when we’re afraid of losing them.

  “He figured out some of the same things I did and went to check it out...and now he’s not answering his phone or texts.”

  Landon swears profusely. “That goddamn lunk. I hope he didn’t dive in over his head.”

  “Yeah,” I exhale roughly. “Me too. But I’ll be there soon. If he’s in trouble, I’m on it.”

  There’s a pause, strange and quiet, and then, “You really care about him, don’t you?”

  Guilty.

  I bark out a miserable, nerve-wracked laugh. “Not sure how it happened, but yeah.” I swallow thickly. “And if anyone’s hurt him, they’re gonna have to deal with me.”

  “Well, they’d better have the sense to be damn scared, then.” The warmth in Landon’s voice is the equivalent of a companionable nudge. “Go get your niece, Pixie. And go get your man. I got your back.”

  “Thanks, boss,” I manage, my throat increasingly tight, then reach over and end the call before hitting the gas.

  Joannie. Gabe. I’m on my way.

  And nothing – n
ot Jim Appleroth, not Hell, or high water – will stop me from getting to you.

  18

  Don't Turn Back Now (Gabe)

  I’m not quite sure how one second I was peering in a basement-level window and the next I’m waking up with my skull throbbing and my entire body feeling like a thousand tons of granite.

  I thought I’d been careful.

  Thought I’d sussed that creepy cardigan-wearing motherfucker out, when I’d seen him moving through the house and shutting off the lights till the windows went dark, before his silhouette disappeared toward the back.

  I figured he was down for the count. I waited a little just in case, then went creeping around like a frigging cat burglar. At least as much as a man my size can creep.

  I hadn’t realized there was a lower level to the house. Not till I caught sight of those little half-windows they attach to underground basements. They're the kind where all you can see from the inside is a hint of sunlight and people's feet moving back and forth.

  I didn’t even hear him come up behind me.

  Didn’t know he was there.

  There was just a sudden sting in my throat like a mosquito drilling deep. When I went to slap at it, I briefly felt a hint of plastic and metal.

  No time to realize it wasn't a mosquito at all before my body turned to jelly and my legs just didn’t want to hold me up.

  I hit the ground hard, but the bone-shaking impact was distant, dream-like, this pain that wasn't pain.

  The thud somehow reverberated through my whole body like I was a drumskin hit by a mallet. I saw a hazy figure standing over me, wavering in and out of my blurring vision.

  Then nothing.

  Just pitch black darkness, till I’m waking up in a room so murky I almost can’t tell the difference between having my eyes closed and having them open.

  Open, though, hurts a hell of a lot more.

  I’m not sure what the bastard slipped me. It’s got my entire nervous system twisted sideways so just breathing feels like bench-pressing twice my own body mass. My eyelids are mammoth iron slugs that don’t want to stay open no matter how much I struggle.

  I’m groggy as hell, but not so groggy I can’t take in my surroundings.

  I’m in a small room with only one dim lamp covered by a drape, unfinished concrete floor and exposed beam walls, little tiny slits for windows looking out on tufts of grass and a sliver of night.

  There’s a little furniture scattered around, the kind of patchy stuff you don’t put out for company to sit on.

  And a crib in the corner farthest from the light, a baby monitor on the table next to it and soft, sweet burbles rising from within.

  Joannie.

  I manage to roll on my back, every movement harder than hell, but I freeze when there's a flicker of motion from the shadows.

  Jim Appleroth emerges from where the darkness shrouded him.

  His kindly, weathered face is the perfect picture of parental concern as he leans over the crib, clucking softly with little worried noises. What’s creepy is, there’s nothing sinister about him.

  Nothing strange. He might be the girl's own grandpa by the way he looks.

  He’s still the same soft, older man, but that kindly older man is reaching in to pick up a baby that isn’t his and bouncing her gently, murmuring to her in a little baby-whisper sing-song.

  I only catch words like “daddy” and “my little girl,” but fuck, it’s enough to make my skin twitch and crawl like insect feelers over my body. Even worse is how trustingly Joannie reaches for him, tugging at his hair and batting at his face.

  My brain explodes in pure horror.

  It's fucking evil. If he gets away with her, Joannie will grow up never knowing the kind of man behind the mask this monster wears.

  She’ll call him Daddy. Eventually, she'll forget about Monika and Eva and Sky, and never know that this crazy demon left behind a heartbroken family so he could fulfill some fucked-up fantasy he has no right to.

  I strain to get up, but my body won’t obey. Every muscle bucks the orders in my head.

  Jim sighs softly, propping Joannie on his hip, and turns toward me. There’s no villainous transformation. No mask dropping away.

  Just that unsettling thoughtful calm. Like all of this is ordinary, and he ain’t stark raving nuts.

  Hell, he almost sounds apologetic, as he produces another needle from his pocket and looks me over.

  “I’m so sorry about this, Mr. Barin,” he says mildly. “Your timing is truly awful, you see. If you’d come just one day later – one day! – tomorrow afternoon, even...” He sighs, shaking his head, his shoulders drooping as he flicks the cap off the syringe. “It can’t be helped, really. And you’re such a nice boy. So good for young Skylar. Such a shame.”

  I don’t know what turns my stomach more.

  The cloying, condescending way he says nice boy, or Sky’s sweet name on his lips.

  I try to heave myself up again and just can’t do it. I can’t make it happen, but my limbs are slowly responding more and more as I strain.

  “Give her back, asshole!” I manage through my teeth, my tongue thick, words slurred. “Sh-she...she ain’t yours.”

  “Isn’t she? She’s my little girl.” He nuzzles Joannie’s soft, dark curls, making her coo and giggle.

  With a caring fatherly smile, he kisses her brow, then lays her carefully back in the cradle.

  Then he’s up again, striding toward me, movements slow and casual, as if he knows he’s got all the time in the world. “I do apologize for having to be so brusque, young man, but moving day’s tomorrow, and I’ve a million things left to do. And you’ve just added one more chore to my list.”

  He sinks down to one knee over me. The tip of the needle catches the light, glimmering with a liquid drop of whatever he intends to inject into me. “It’s difficult finding an adequate place to dispose of a body.”

  It’s the cold, gut-sick realization that he means to kill me that finally gets my body to move. Adrenaline surges through me like an injection, giving me enough strength to heave my body up in one desperate bid.

  All I got going for me is my weight and gravity, so I use both, throwing myself at his legs and trying to tackle him like it’s the fourth down and I gotta sack the quarterback. I put everything into it, because I know it’s my only chance.

  And that old man sidesteps me as neatly as if he’s stepping around a puddle, not even putting any effort into it.

  I hit the floor, my own bulk bringing me down, crashing into the cement like a falling tree.

  It’s gravity against me now, and it’s working hard to keep me pinned. He helps it out a little by dropping to one knee next to me and planting a hand in the middle of my back. It’s long, his palm chill, ice branding into me. He’s barely holding me, but I can’t move, weak as a child with the drugs in my system, only my heart strong in its frantic, racing beats.

  Bitter fucking irony. I'm big and strong enough to tear this snake's head off, and my own damn body won't let it happen.

  Jim clucks his tongue again. Spiders go wild under my skin.

  “This is so inconvenient,” he says. “Honestly, why must you be so large? I’ve no idea where I’ll be able to hide you.”

  “Go to hell,” I grit out, straining against the feathery pressure of his hand, hating how my traitor body stopped answering my demands a long time ago.

  “Watch your language in front of the baby, young man,” Appleroth says, pressing down harder.

  Joannie’s laughing. She’s laughing because she doesn’t understand.

  Laughing like it's some kind of game, and I’ve never heard anything more chilling as I feel Jim Appleroth’s close body heat permeate my skin, his shadow falling over me longer and longer, and something in me bristles with a sixth sense that knows the needle's coming closer and closer and closer.

  Then I feel it – the sharp tip just barely touching the side of my throat.

  “You have to understand,” Jim s
ays softly, woefully, as if I’m supposed to feel sorry for him. “I don’t enjoy this. I'm not insane. But no one will ever take my baby girl away from me again.” He actually caresses my hair. If I had more control over my body, I’d flinch away. “It’ll only hurt a moment, son. Promise. Then you won’t ever have to suffer again.”

  Suffer? I'm gonna show you, old man.

  I gather myself for one last-ditch attempt. There’s a sting against my throat. It's getting harder to form coherent thoughts, everything in my brain's almost as syrupy and sluggish and hard as it is to keep moving.

  And then a noise from upstairs, a heavy clatter and the sound of footsteps.

  I remember how to breathe as the needle draws away from my throat. Jim goes tense, looking up, as a voice echoes quietly from upstairs, calling out in a tentative hush, trying to sound friendly and calm.

  “Jim? Jim, you home?”

  Sky.

  I want to scream a warning. I want to tell her to run, that Joannie’s here but Jim’s dangerous, but I can’t.

  Not when he shoots me a slit-eyed look and presses the needle to the side of my throat once more. He knows exactly what I’m thinking.

  “Not one word,” he warns softly, then clucks his tongue again, shaking his head. “Complications upon complications,” he whispers.

  Then he rises to his feet with a bland smile, his eyes blank and just a little manic. “Be happy, dear Romeo. You and her, you're meant to be. Now you’ll get to die together.”

  19

  Don't Lose Your Nerve (Skylar)

  When I pass Gabe’s truck parked a few blocks away from Grandma's house, my blood runs so cold it practically crystallizes.

  I slow my Buick and reverse to pull up alongside his Dodge. Part of me hopes I’ll look in and see him conked out on the seat, his phone dead or muted.

  But the truck’s dark and empty, and even the smallest hope that he just left his phone behind where he couldn’t answer it gets dashed by a quick search of the interior.