by Holly Hall
My shoulders drop, and all the warnings and precautions swarm in my head like bees. “I just know that, if I take this, it’s more than just for target practice. It makes all of this real.”
Dane tucks the last handgun into its case and turns to me, taking my hands in his. “It is real. Just as real as these finger marks on your wrists and the rest of the bruises on your body.” To prove his point, he grazes the tender bite mark on my shoulder. “And those were only a message. The next move will be action. I mean to avoid all that before it starts, but I won’t leave you unprotected. We can practice again, every day if you want. I don’t want you to ever again feel defenseless.”
Though delivered in a firm, matter-of-fact tone, his words ease some of my apprehension. I don’t have to think long to remember how it felt being pinned to that wall, helpless, with no way out. There’s no telling if a gun would’ve helped in that situation, but, knowing what I do now, having one close by might help me sleep easier.
Seeing that I’ve reached some sort of acceptance, Dane swings the bag onto his shoulder and takes my hand, and we begin our journey back to the house. Once we reach the driveway, he stores everything in his truck except for the .38. He hands that one to me, zipped away in its case.
“Keep this with you from now on. All right?”
I murmur my assent, following him into the unfinished kitchen. “So what do we do next? Just wait and see what happens?” Target practice might’ve distracted me for an hour or so, but a rising sense of panic clouds my thoughts when I remember why we even had to do it in the first place. Knowing as little as I do about whom we’re up against, it feels as though we’re fighting some invisible foe, already at a disadvantage. I try to remind myself that Dane knows Trey better than anyone. He is not as in the dark as I feel.
“No. Whatever this is, it ends here. This is it,” he announces with finality, leaning on the counter.
This is a Dane I never imagined seeing. No-nonsense. Cold. Calculative. More like the rumors. I never thought I’d say this, but I have faith in this Dane.
“When I leave here, and I will, whatever bad blood between Trey and I will be gone. I won’t be carrying anything from this life into the next.”
I trace my toe through the dust, mulling over those heavy words. I hope with everything I have that his next life doesn’t involve pearly gates and a choir of angels. I hope it involves somewhere safe. Somewhere with me.
Dane rubs his thumb over my furrowed brows and frowns back at me. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. Do you have so little faith in me?”
“No. I have all the faith in the world in you.” I just hope it’s not the impulsive, reckless kind of faith.
“Good. You know I’m not alone, right? I have a few people on my side, too.”
“You do?”
“Yes. You don’t go through the things I did and not form some alliances. Someone still owes me a favor, and there’s no better time to cash in on it.”
TWENTY-THREE
Since the attack, Dane won’t allow me to spend a night alone in my house. Not that I’d want to, but he insists against it, and I’m not going to complain about spending more time with him. He placed an industrial-strength-looking deadbolt on both my doors and became a permanent fixture in my everyday life. Because our cover, if we ever had one, has been blown, he’s no longer worried about his vehicle being seen outside. In fact, I think he wants whoever is watching to know that he’s ready and waiting and he won’t be leaving me unguarded.
I’m not sure how to feel about it.
On one hand, it would be near impossible to go on living within these walls if he weren’t here. It’s like everything I felt that night stained the rooms with something I can’t un-see.
Sheer panic in the kitchen.
Desolation on the floor of my living room.
Terror in the bathroom.
Shock in my bedroom.
My entire home feels tainted by their malevolence.
On the other hand, I feel the tension rising each hour Dane is with me. I know Trey notices his absence at home, and although Dane won’t admit it, I can sense that he’s more wound up after resigning from the shop. He just couldn’t work alongside Trey knowing that he meant to harm me, and it’s clear by the clipped way he speaks about it that he would’ve confronted Trey and risked retaliation if they’d spent another second in such close quarters. Dane’s been checking around with his old contacts to see if they know anything, and that alone fills me with persistent panic, but he won’t act on any information he finds unless he has a definitive way to keep me out of the path of destruction.
To top off everything, I’m still on suspension from work, and I’m not exactly in the loop on new developments regarding the robbery case. After taking away my security and my job, it frightens me to think what might be next. I try not to dwell on those things, and I would go stir-crazy if it weren’t for Lynn. She’s accepted my mediocre assistance whole-heartedly, so I mostly keep busy with her while Dane’s gone during the day for work. Thank God I made one friend here. I tell her about the break-in, but I don’t mention anything else. Of course, she has a lot to say when I tell her I’ve been suspended indefinitely because of my missing keys.
Things mostly return to normal, or as normal as they can get when you basically lose your job, have a near-death experience, and acquire a live-in boyfriend all in two days. I broke down and bought a TV, and we’ve been quite successful at distracting each other from the current state of things with movies, cooking, and sex. I guess each of us has found an escape in the other, and what a pleasant escape he’s turned out to be.
I return to Clarksville one day, for the first time since I was interviewed at the police station, to stock up on groceries. As I’m walking up and down the aisles, I scan the faces of the people shopping. I don’t know what I’m searching for. Someone with cold, greedy eyes and scales tattooed on his arm? And what am I really going to do if I come face to face with the man who threatened my life? Drop my shit and burn rubber, probably, I never said I was brave.
“You know you’re being followed, right?”
I literally drop my shit when that statement startles me from my thoughts. My head whips around, toward the voice, to find a strange man bending to pick up one of the cans I dropped. The other is rolling off down the aisle, but I hardly notice. Black ink snakes out from beneath his shirt, and the sight of that alone makes my heart thump mercilessly. I stare at him, frozen in place, and when he reaches out to hand me the soup, I only breathe when I see there are no scales on his arms. Instead, a naked woman, brazenly tattooed on his forearm, stares back at me. Definitely not anything I could mistakenly identify as reptilian.
“I’m sorry,” I say, thinking I’ve misconstrued his words on account of my suspicion. “Wh-what did you say?”
He reaches across me to set the can on the shelf, using our closeness as an opportunity to say, “White guy, about six-foot, drives a white work truck. He followed you in from the parking lot.”
I nervously lick my lips and glance over my shoulder, but there’s only a woman and her baby on this aisle. Then my eyes snap back to him.
“How would you even know that?”
He’s scanning the shelves in front of me, picking up boxes at random and looking at them, but his eyes don’t move. He’s not reading anything.
“Because I’ve been following you, too.” He quirks an eyebrow, and when I swallow hard, a corner of his mouth curves up. “Dane asked me to keep an eye on things.”
I follow his lead and grab the can I dropped, placing it in my basket before glancing up. A black orb protrudes from the ceiling, a camera, but I can’t make out any of the reflections in it. I feel my grasp on control slipping.
“Well, what the hell do you suggest I do?” I ask, my pulse beginning to race.
“I’ll try to get in his way in the parking lot. Just check out normally and go home. If you see the truck, lose him. Make a few turns. Whatever you have to do. I don’
t think they’ll run you off the road in broad daylight, but you never know with these fools.”
Run me off the road? I wasn’t aware we were even at that level. Breaking and entering, sure. Threats, okay. But, this? Fucking murder?
He must see the fear in my eyes because he nods curtly. “If you can’t lose them, call Dane. He’s got you, okay? You’re with him now. I’ll keep an eye out.” The stranger thumbs his nose with a sniff, selects a can of chicken and rice, and walks away.
I release a shaky breath, the shopping list clutched in my hand now seeming like a silly prop. I should continue shopping. That’s what he said, right? I shouldn’t act suspicious.
I pick my items carelessly, hardly glancing at the labels before I toss them in the basket. I’ve broken out into a cold sweat, and the hairs on the back of my neck seem to stand on end. A quick scan of the meat section tells me nothing. There’s a balding, middle-aged man comparing two packs of bacon, a woman in an electric cart driving precariously close to the other shoppers’ ankles, and two men in standard construction garb loading up on packages of hamburger patties. They don’t look like Trey’s type of companions, but, why would they? Criminal doesn’t have a type.
Giving up on my shopping trip, I wheel my cart to the checkout lanes and toss my selections onto the belt. I pretend to flip through a magazine while gazing just slightly above the pages, keeping an eye out for lingerers. But there’s no one. Then, just as I’m loading my bagged groceries into the cart, something catches my eye. A man searches through the gum a few lanes over, but there’s a split second when his eyes connect with mine.
And I know.
Time seems to stop, and the temperature drops a few degrees. That steely, unflinching stare. Even in the bright lights of the supermarket, there’s no mistaking it. He’s the man from my house. The one who pressed up against my back and groped me like he’d deserved it. The one who said he’d be back if I called for help.
I’m momentarily light-headed, and I think, for just a moment, that I may lose my lunch. But I smile and thank the man who rang up my groceries, then turn my cart in the opposite direction. Instinct tells me to ditch my purchases and run, but I can’t do that. I can’t tip him off that I know who he is, if our eye contact didn’t give that up already.
A car swerves around me when I dart across the road, and I wave apologetically before making a beeline for my SUV. After I load my groceries and park my basket, I toss my handbag into the front seat and fumble with my keys. There’s no white work truck in sight, but I don’t take that to mean I’m safe. When I reverse and glance in my rearview mirror, though, I see it.
Idling.
Waiting.
The man from inside, with sunglasses on and a buzz haircut, sits behind the wheel, poised as if he’s waiting to park. I know he isn’t.
I throw my gear shifter in drive and mentally prepare for my escape, when the squeal of tires behind me makes my heart seize. My foot is ready to punch the gas, until I see something else in my rearview mirror: a silver truck backing suddenly out of the spot across the lane, right into the other man’s path. He skids to a stop just short of the white truck, and I see my pursuer throw his hands up in the air while the other driver holds his palms up like he’s innocent. It’s the man from the soup aisle. Taking that as my cue, I stomp the gas and pull out of the parking lot, squealing out the back way and heading north, out of town. It’s not the way I usually go, but that’s exactly what I’m aiming for.
I push the button on my center console, flipping the lid open. The glint of steel is a welcome, and at the same time frightening, sight. My pistol is loaded and ready, Dane having stored it in that exact place in case something like this was to happen. I thought he was being over-cautious. The sight of it doesn’t loosen the knot of unease in my stomach.
I drive in what I think is the right direction, the streets changing smoothly from commercial to residential. It won’t be long before the homes run out and I’ll be thoroughly lost. When I look in all of my mirrors and see no sign of the white truck, I turn back and slowly circumnavigate the roads back toward town.
Fortunately, I’m spit out near the highway that heads west, and I hop onto it, breathing a sigh of relief with every mile that passes white truck-free. But as the panic subsides, something else slips into its place. That man. That . . . I grip my steering wheel, like it’ll be easier to keep myself together the tighter I hold onto it. All the air seems to leave my car, and my hands shake. And even though it’s not the safest choice, I root through my purse with one hand and grab my phone to call Dane.
“Hell—”
“I was followed,” I interrupt him. “To the store. The guy you had watching me told me. It was the man from the house. He was the one who—” My throat constricts, and I swallow hard to ensure I can still breathe.
“Breathe, Raven. Are you still being followed?”
“No. I don’t think so. The other guy, he stopped them. I made it out and took the long way out of town to make sure.”
“Where are you now?”
“On the highway, passing the dairy.”
“Okay.” Dane is silent for a moment. Thinking. “What did he look like—the guy following you?”
“Buzzed hair. Evil eyes. And that tattoo I told you about.” I try to come up with more details, but the eyes are what I remember most. They’re burned into the backs of my eyelids, so they’re all I see when I blink.
“It’s who I thought it was. Look, try to stay calm, and head toward the old house.” I hear strain in his voice and know that he’s worried. Steady Dane, worried. The thought fills me with dread.
“I’m coming,” I whisper.
I’m almost to the turn-off for the house when I see a maroon truck up ahead, parked on the side of the road, perpendicular to the highway. Dane. I pass him, and he waits a few seconds before pulling out behind me. Every turn I make, he repeats, and we pull into the driveway together.
“I don’t think they followed you here,” he says, just as I rush to him and crumple in his arms. My limbs are shaking like it’s freezing out. Dane just takes it all in stride and holds me. He doesn’t shush me, or push me to answer his questions, he just envelopes me in the kind of strength I don’t have right now.
I finally pull back and shake my head, clearing my thoughts. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect to see him again. Especially like that, right in the middle of the store.”
Dane’s expression is tight, his brows cinched together. “Thank God it was in the middle of that store and not anywhere else. We’ll have to be more careful. If they caught you off guard . . .” His voice falters, and I squeeze his forearms.
“Your friend helped. He gave me the heads-up, and he held up the other guy in the parking lot.”
“Vicente Santos, Jamie’s brother. He was a good friend of mine, once. Good to have in this situation,” Dane says, but his look of concern doesn’t wane.
“He did a good job.” I squeeze my arms around him to convey my gratitude. And although things are far from normal, I gesture toward my car so we can bring in the groceries. Perhaps pretending will distract us from our worries for a little while.
When Dane returns from picking up Gulliver from his place, and some of the necessities from my house, he opens a bottle of wine and pours me a healthy glass. I bring it with me to the back porch and sit in one of two camp chairs, listening as the sound of cicadas rises and falls through the trees. At another time, it would be peaceful here. Maybe even homey.
“What are you thinking about?” Dane asks after I finish half of my glass in silence.
“Just . . . everything. I’m just worried.”
He scoffs. “About which part? I know there’s a lot.”
“Yes, but, it’s not what you think. I’m thinking about this mess, sure, but also us. I wonder why I haven’t tucked tail and run yet. Why I haven’t given up on you when I gave up on my husband. I know how it sounds, and I’m not saying you’re not worth this, I just can’t help bu
t think . . . I don’t know. Maybe, in the middle of all the chaos, my judgment became skewed. You know this situation is a little outlandish.” I huff out a breath. “I’m not saying it right. I’m not blaming this,” I gesture between the two of us, “on you. I just wonder if I’m justifying all this in my mind because of all the other shit I’ve been through.” I fiddle with the stem of my wine glass, organizing my thoughts. They seem hopelessly jumbled, even in my own mind, and I witnessed my story firsthand.
Sensing my inner debate, Dane waits, running his thumb along the perspiring glass of his beer bottle.
I clear my throat, where it seems my words have knotted. “I can’t help but wonder if I was bound for this path, somehow. If I deserve it.”
“I don’t think so,” Dane says, his voice gravelly.
“You didn’t know me then.”
“I don’t care. You couldn’t have done anything to deserve this.” He looks off, a little stern. A little forlorn.
I grip the arms of my chair, frustrated that he’s not understanding. “I’ve made this a hundred times more complicated for you! I’ve worked hard to change, but maybe I’m still as self-destructive and selfish as my family always said I was. I’m impulsive, with no regard for anyone else’s feelings.” The alcohol must be loosening me up because I would’ve never admitted those things to Dane otherwise. I’m not even sure I’ve ever said them aloud.
“I’m sure your family doesn’t think that.”
“They do. They were fed up with me at seventeen, and they’re fed up with me now. If I did have to leave here, I’d have nowhere to go. They believe I ruined my marriage, the only good thing I had going for me in their eyes.” I motion with my hands, sloshing my wine. Seeing the red stain the slats of worn wood, I quiet down. I wonder how close it is to the color of blood. The sight of it makes me sick all over again.
