HERO: An Unfit Hero Novel

by Faiman, Hayley

  As soon as the lock clicks into place, a voice from the dark living room speaks.

  “Hello, daughter,” he purrs. I open my mouth, but before I can get a sound out, a second voice fills the room. “You didn’t tell me how fat she got,” the second voice states.

  My father. My uncle. The two men who made my life a living hell. The only saving grace is that Emily isn’t here. She’s doing so well, I would hate for her to revert. I’m not even sure if I’m strong enough to handle what is bound to happen.

  My phone is tucked in my purse, there’s no way I can discretely call Ford or Louis. Nobody will be coming by anytime soon, and I don’t go into work until tomorrow night. A full twenty-four hours and nobody will even realize I’ve been missing. These two could completely destroy me in a quarter of that amount of time.

  “How did you get in?” I demand.

  They both bark out a laugh. “Not like this place is a fortress. No alarm, easy windows, easier doors,” my uncle yawns. “Where’s Emily?” he asks in the next breath.

  I shake my head. “Away. Far away,” I breathe.

  He stands slowly. I ignore the fact that he looks like he hasn’t showered in days. I focus on the evil glint in his eye. He has plans, ones that he’ll use on me, even if he means for them to be for Emily.

  Me? I’ll accept whatever he gives me, as long as he doesn’t go after her. She’s had enough.

  I’m stronger. I can take more.

  At least that’s what I tell myself.

  “You’ll tell me, by the time I’m done with you, you’ll tell me,” he sneers.

  I snort, my false bravado loud and in charge. “I didn’t think grown women were your style?” My eyes flick over to my father, then back to my uncle. “Either of you.”

  My uncle’s eyes narrow on me, obviously not excited to be called out on his perversion. I don’t care though. He needs to be called out; a spade is a goddamn spade.

  “Watch yourself,” my father warns.

  Shaking my head, I shrug one shoulder, trying to stall them from whatever their evil plans are. If I can get out of here, if I can just get free, I can outrun both of them. I know that I can.

  Their bodies are frail, weak from years of booze and drugs. They’re both skinnier than I am, but if they get ahold of me, I know they’re still stronger as a pair and could hold me down, or tie me up.

  I don’t move, knowing that any sudden movement could send them into a frenzy and that could make things a million times worse than they already are, and honestly, they’re pretty bleak right now. Clearing my throat, I lift my chin in a show of defiance.

  “Just an observation. You two sexually abused your children, I didn’t think grown women were your thing,” I say, repeating my earlier words, just a bit more detailed.

  My father makes a low whistled noise. “Pretty sure, had your little boyfriend not walked in on us, I would have proven you wrong just the other day,” he points out.

  I don’t shudder in disgust, or close my eyes with the volatile memory. Instead, I remain motionless and my face expressionless. I will never give either of these assholes the satisfaction of knowing they got to me, not ever. Pressing my lips together, I wait for Tweedledee or Tweedledum to say something else.

  The longer I wait them out, the more opportunity I have to escape.

  All I need is a second, just a chance.

  FORD

  I load up in my Gator and decide to take a cruise around the perimeter of my property. I’m missing some of my livestock and I know a few heifers were getting close to their delivery dates. Starting the engine, I head out toward the property line that I share with Wyatt first. I’ve been keeping a decently close eye on his place, but I haven’t had a chance the past couple of days to really scope shit out.

  As soon as I reach my horse fence, I stop. There, tucked behind two large oak trees is a pickup truck. I’ve never seen it before, and it looks as if it was purposely hidden there. Climbing over the fence, I slowly make my way toward the pickup. It’s blue in color, older, rundown.

  If this were just anyone’s property, I’d just assume it was a rusted-out truck that someone left behind. However, I know the owners before Wyatt didn’t have this here, and I know for damn sure this isn’t Wyatt’s. He hasn’t even been here since he bought the place.

  Opening the door, I notice it’s got wrappers from candy and fast food. There are empty cans of energy drinks and then I see it. There are a couple needles in the middle of the bench seat, a lighter, and a fucked up spoon.

  “Christ,” I curse.

  Lifting my head, I look over at the house, then back in the front seat. This has to be Exeter’s father, and he isn’t alone. As much as I want to storm in there, I can’t be stupid about it. Wouldn’t do any good to have me and her held hostage.

  Instead, I back away from the pickup and head toward my Gator. I don’t waste a moment, pulling my phone out of my pocket, I call Louis. He answers quickly. I demand that he gathers whatever guns he has and meet me at my place. He doesn’t ask questions. Instead he ends the call.

  Speeding toward home, I make a mental note to keep at least my handgun with me at all times. I’m usually fairly close to home, so it’s not such a big deal, but this time is not a normal, or usual, situation and I should have been more prepared.

  Once I’m in front of my house, I shift the Gator into park, turn it off and run toward the house. I don’t keep my guns locked up like I should. Today, I’m grateful for that. Grabbing two handguns and my ArmaLite rifle, I toss it over my shoulder before turning around to head outside.

  Louis is standing next to the Gator looking much like me. He has two handguns in his shoulder holster, and a hunting 30.06 rifle slung over his shoulder.

  “That the highest power you got?” I ask, lifting my chin toward the rifle.

  He shrugs. “All my good shit is locked in the safe, like yours should be,” he points out.

  “Touché,” I chuckle.

  Climbing into the Gator, I start the engine, then as I speed toward the back part of the property, I tell him why we’re armed and loaded. He curses a few dozen times as we pull up to the fence line. I feel the same fucking way.

  “You call Robby?” he asks.

  I feel stupid, really fucking stupid. Calling the sheriff hadn’t even crossed my mind, all I could think about was saving Exeter. Louis grins, shaking his head as he brings the phone to his ear.

  “Robby?” I blink, obviously he has his personal number, and I’ve lived here my whole life and don’t even have that. “We got that situation here, Wyatt’s place. Blue truck, drug paraphernalia, hidden from the house. Think she was ambushed. No promises,” he snaps then ends the call.

  “What?” I ask.

  “He wants us to sit tight, wait for him.”

  “Like hell,” I bark.

  Louis chuckles. “I agree. You take the back, I take the front?” he asks.

  I lift my chin in agreement but pause. “When the hell did you become some military strategist?” I ask.

  He smirks. “I’m not, but I was playing Call of Duty before you called, and fuck me, but I’m still all amped up from that game.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I moan.

  We don’t say anything else. We split up and I close my eyes in a silent prayer that we don’t die, and that Exeter comes out completely unharmed. That girl deserves to have some good in her life. Wyatt’s in love with her and fuck, he deserves his own slice of happiness.

  Slowly, I open up the sliding glass door. It doesn’t make much noise, but every sound that it does make causes me to freeze. I can hear voices. Two males, and then Exeter, but I can’t make out any actual words. It feels like deja vu from when Channing was taken.

  These fucking assholes that just can’t leave women alone, what the goddamn shit is wrong with them?

  “You’ll be begging by the time we’re done with you, girl,” a raspy, ragged voice, growls.

  I hear the hitch in Exeter’s breath,
then there’s a sound of tearing fabric. Then a thud, and another, before a couple of grunts. I count to three, then take a step into the room just as Louis does the same. Both of us have our guns drawn, but we didn’t fucking need them.

  Exeter is standing in front of those assholes, a lamp in one hand, both men on the ground.

  “What the hell?” I ask.

  Exeter lifts her head, her wild eyes finding mine. Her shirt is torn down the middle, hanging open and her bra exposed. Her body begins to shake.

  “I had to,” she whimpers.

  One of the men groans. Making my way over to her, I use the butt of my handgun and hit him on the head harder than I need to, then I hit the other douchebag just for good measure. Louis gathers a whimpering Exeter in his arms and holds her against his chest.

  A loud knock bangs on the door and I roll my eyes. Robby, he’s always a goddamn day late and a dollar short. Although, I can’t talk shit this time because Exeter took care of business her damn self. Lifting my gaze to hers, I lift my chin.

  “You did really fucking good, Exeter,” I murmur.

  “Thanks, Ford,” she breathes back.

  The room immediately fills with Robby and his backup. The asshole twins are cuffed and drug away. Their truck towed and Exeter sits down to tell Robby everything, and I mean everything, including what they did to her and Emily as little girls.

  Including the fact that he had messed with her car, the fucker was too stupid to actually cause it to stop running though. My stomach twists, it turns and I almost wretch from her recollection of her past.

  Fucking shit, she lived a goddamn nightmare. She deserves everything good that could ever come her way, everything.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  WYATT

  My foreman makes his way up to me, a smile wide on his face. Home. I can already read his expression. We’re going home. I’ve lost track of how many weeks we’ve actually been gone. Lifting my hand, I flick him two fingers before I slide my fingers through my hair. It’s mid-afternoon, it’s humid as fuck, and we’re all mentally and physically exhausted.

  This has probably been one of the worst storms I’ve been to. Not because of the damage inflicted, though it is pretty fucking bad. I haven’t slept in a bed, I’ve had one warm meal, McDonald’s, and I miss my girl.

  “Heading out in the morning. Probably take us three days to get home,” my foreman announces.

  I hear Rylan’s relieved exhale somewhere behind me, but my blood rushes through my ears in excitement.

  Fuck. Home. Exeter. My woman. Home.

  “Finish this callout, then we should be done,” he states.

  I watch him turn around and head toward his truck. Wrapping my hand around the back of my neck, I let out a breath of relief. Fucking shit.

  “Christ, I thought we’d be here forever,” Rylan grunts.

  “It’s only been a few weeks,” I murmur, knowing without a doubt that I’m full of shit. I feel the same way that he does, but admitting it aloud is different.

  He snorts. “Long enough.”

  I nod my head in agreement.

  Long.

  Enough.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket, just as I bend down to strap my hooks onto my boots. I haven’t climbed this many poles on the job in years. This storm has definitely been a challenge in more ways than just one. Closing my eyes, I let out a sigh as I finish fastening my hooks.

  Reaching for my phone, I notice that it’s Ford. I decide to call him back later, if it’s important, he’ll leave me a message. He’s been checking in every other day, I assume that’s what this is, another check-in.

  He hasn’t had anything new to report, and I know that today Exeter went to visit Emily with her grandmother. She already texted me that she’d made it back from there and was headed home.

  I know she’s fine.

  I spend the rest of the afternoon and into the evening working. My phone rings a few more times, but I can’t answer. Something slithers into the back of my mind. Something ugly. My heart starts to race in my chest and my concentration fails me.

  Thankfully, when my hooks slip out of the pole, my safety strap is secured, and I don’t fall to my death. My body jerks backward with my loss of balance. Rylan yells my name from below, but it sounds muffled as I stare ahead of me. The creosote soaked pole stares ahead of me, taunting me.

  “Get down,” my foreman yells.

  I glance down at the ground, the men standing around. My eyes find Rylan’s and I focus on my cousin. He looks pale and really fucking worried, maybe even a little sick at the sight of me almost falling to my death. Safety. My anal safety precautions are the only thing that saved me.

  Slowly, I make my way down the pole. I curse Exeter the entire way. Worry. The phone calls that kept buzzing in my pocket, the dread that something had happened filled me and I fucking panicked. It’s her fucking fault.

  “You okay?” Rylan asks, rushing up to me once I’ve reached the ground.

  I unhook from the pole and step away, taking off my hard hat, I toss it to the dirt. Closing my eyes, I inhale a deep breath before I release it. Shoving my hand into my pocket, I pull out my phone. Tossing the device toward Rylan who catches it easily.

  “Whoever keeps calling me, tell them to leave me the fuck alone,” I growl.

  Rylan’s head jerks back, his eyes widening, and he lifts his chin. I watch as he walks away from me, his gait long and quick, then he freezes, and his entire spine stiffens. Slowly, he turns around, the phone still to his ear. He nods his head a few times, his eyes finding mine. I shake my head once, not wishing to know.

  Turning my back to him, I breathe, in and out, in and out. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Dropping my head, I look at my boots, my hooks still attached. I don’t see them. Instead, I see Exeter’s face. Her dark hair, her light eyes, her full lips, her small smile.

  “Wyatt.”

  Rylan’s drawl pulls me out of my thoughts. He’s in front of me, how that happened, I don’t know. I was too focused on thoughts of my woman. Lifting my head, I look up at him. He looks sad, his mouth turned down, even his goddamn eyes look sad.

  Gulping, I swallow the lump that has immediately formed in my throat. I don’t want to hear what he has to say. I already know it’s bad. Whatever it is.

  “That was your mama,” Rylan begins. “She and your dad are with her now…” His words trail off, at least the sound of his voice does, because his lips are still moving but I can’t hear a goddamn thing. There is nothing but blood roaring in my ears.

  “Did you hear me?” he asks.

  Shaking my head, I clear my throat. “I can’t. Whatever happened, she’s got my parents? Ford, Louis?”

  “Wyatt,” he snaps. “She was—”

  I hold my hand up so that I don’t have to hear his words. I know that whatever he has to say, it’s going to be really fucking bad.

  “I need to focus on my job, I can’t think about that. I’ll see her when I get home,” I bark.

  Rylan opens his mouth, then closes it again, his lips forming a thin line. “Don’t make a mistake here. I made one with Channing when we were still finding our footing, you tried to help me, and I’m going to do the same.”

  Shaking my head, I take a step back.

  “Call her,” he demands, shoving my phone forward.

  “I can’t,” I whisper.

  “You can. She’s okay, Wyatt. She’s breathing, she’s okay.”

  Without another thought, like a fucking idiot, my hand reaches for the phone and as soon as my fingers curl around the device my knees buckle and my ass lands in the goddamn dirt. I stare at the blank screen, Rylan hovers above me, but I don’t go to my contacts right away. I feel, goddammit, I feel fucking weak.

  EXETER

  I’m in the living room of Wyatt’s childhood home, surrounded by his parents, my MawMaw, Ford, Louis, and Channing. I frown when I see all of the people around me, and yet, I don’t want any of them here. The only person that I want isn’t here,
he’s hundreds of miles away, working.

  Everyone has been on their phones all afternoon, calling him probably. I know that I found his name in my contacts once, I touched the send button, the phone rang several times, then went unanswered. He’s busy. He’s working, and he can’t do anything anyway. Closing my eyes, I inhale deeply before letting the breath out.

  My father has been arrested, my uncle as well. I debate calling Emily to let her know where her father is and assure her that she doesn’t have to worry about him, but honestly, I don’t want to say a word. I want to protect her; I want to keep her in the dark so that she can continue to heal.

  I feel my phone vibrate in my hand and my breath hitches, looking down I see his name on the screen. Wyatt. Sliding my thumb across, I answer the call. My heart begins to slam against my chest, unsure of what he will say, of what I will say.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. He sounds different, his voice distant and almost detached in even those three little words.

  Clearing my throat, I nod as if he can see me. “I’m okay,” I finally whisper.

  He doesn’t say anything right away. “Good,” he grunts.

  I wait. He waits. Silence surrounds us.

  I can feel everybody in the room watching me.

  My eyes focus on my feet, waiting for Wyatt to say something else—anything else. The silence is deafening, and everything feels weird. My stomach clenches as the sensation of dread practically rains down on me. Something is really fucking wrong.

  “Gotta go,” he says, trying to go.

  “Wyatt,” I call softly.

  The line is silent, but I can hear his breathing. “Talk to me,” I gently beg.

  “About?”

  His voice turns cold, almost indifferent. A chill runs through my body, my spine straightening at the tone in his voice. There is something really, really wrong.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, voicing my concern.

  “Almost died,” he simply states.