6. Maggie
6
Maggie
I t’s late by the time we pull up to the curb outside my building. The road is gloomy, poorly lit by the streetlight on the corner. The windows of the neighboring houses gone dark, everyone already in bed.
Archer was quiet on the short drive over here, and I wonder if I misread that spark I felt earlier. When I went to leave and he didn’t stop me, I knew I must have imagined it.
I mean, it’s not like how it is in the books. You know the ones where the hero is so struck by the main characters beauty, he instantly falls in love, and they live happily ever after?
What a ridiculous notion—love at first sight. We all know it’s not real. It’s obviously just lust. And I can assure you, no one is lusting after me tonight. I literally have vomit stuck to the front of my dress.
I shouldn’t care anyways. Wasn’t I just saying earlier how I’m not interested in dating or men in general? I shouldn’t have felt disappointment when he let me just walk away— but for some reason I did.
But then…he did that thing, where he chased after me through the crowd, offered to drive me home, even gave me his jacket when he saw I was cold, and my God it smells so good —also strangely familiar.
Now, it seems he’s back to being ice man. Oh well…It’s not like this was going to go anywhere anyway. He is obviously way out of my league and plus, like I said, I’m not looking for anyone right now. Not that he would date me anyway.
Why am I even thinking about this right now? I was attacked and almost kidnapped tonight. I mean, talk about inappropriate.
Yeah…on that note I think it’s time for me to go. Shrugging off his jacket, I grab my purse from the floorboard.
“Right—so thanks again for everything. I’ll be going now,” I tell him.
When I look over at him, though, I realize he’s not even looking at me. Instead, he’s staring over my shoulder looking out the window behind me. His eyes are like cold steel, hard and unblinking.
A shiver crawls up my spine, and my heart pounds in my chest. Slowly and without attracting attention, I reach out with a shaky hand for the door handle. My muscles are coiled as I prepare to spring from the car as soon as it’s open.
“Don’t,” he says as he reaches behind him and pulls something from his waistband. “I need you to stay in the car.” The light from the streetlamp glares off something shiny and metallic in his hand and I realize he has a gun.
Stay in the car… Like hell I will!
Properly panicking now, I scramble to open the door only to find it locked.
Great—way to go Maggie. Now you’re trapped in the car with a psychopath who has a freaking gun. Oh God! If I die who’s going to be there for Jane? Take her to her doctor’s visits? Who’s going to make sure she eats and showers when she’s so weak, she can barely get out of bed?
Please—not now. I don’t want to die, not like this.
I screw my eyes shut, bracing myself for the shot that never comes. Instead, I feel a warm hand on my face, his thumb as it gently caresses my cheek. I peek open one eye, only to find him mere inches from my face.
“Hey… It’s okay—breathe. I’m not going to hurt you. I promise. But I need you to listen to me and stay in the car. Okay?”
I exhale a shaky breath. “Okay.”
I have no clue what is going on right now, but I’m not wanting to argue with the man who has a gun so…what choice do I really have?
He pulls back somewhat reluctantly, his eyes finding mine one last time before he gets out, leaving me all alone—in a locked car.
Fuck this! I don’t care what I said. I’m getting the hell out of here.
I climb over the center console into the driver’s seat before exiting through the driver’s side door. I round the front of the car and come to an abrupt halt. The sight before me catches me completely off guard.
Archer has his gun raised out in front of him as he slowly makes his way towards the steps to my apartment. Black swirling tattoos peak out from under his rolled-up sleeves, and I can’t help but notice the way his muscular forearms flex in the porch light.
While deliciously fascinating, that is not what has me stopping in my tracks. It’s the fact that the door to my flat is cracked open, and I realize someone has broken in.
I let out a strangled noise, and Archer’s head jerks my way, eyes narrowed, disapproval written in the scowl on his face. Yeah…he does not look happy.
“I thought I told you to stay in the car,” he grits out through clenched teeth.
“Well…you did, but?—”
“Maggie, go back and wait in the car,” he orders.
Excuse me—who does this man think he is, bossing me around like that?
Okay…yes. He did save my life tonight. But I am a grown woman. If I want to go into my own apartment, I will, and no one can stop me.
Squaring my shoulders, I march straight up to him, looking him dead in his eyes. “No.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering a curse under his breath, and I almost feel bad for the guy. Almost.
I’m not sure where this rebellious streak is coming from. I’m not normally like this, but it’s too late to turn back now .
“Maggie. Please—go back to the car,” he tries again, softer this time.
The people pleaser in me demands to give in, but there is something about knowing this man saw me at my lowest point that makes me want to prove I am not some weak, scared little girl to be pushed around.
“No. It’s clear someone broke into my apartment. I’m not just gonna sit in the car. I deserve to know how bad it is, and what all they took.”
Grabbing me lightly by the arm, he pulls me back over towards the car. He runs his hand through his hair, seemingly agitated, before letting out a deep exhale.
“Yes. It does appear someone broke in, but did you stop to consider that that someone might still be in there?” he speaks to me slowly, explaining it like I am a child or something, and I can feel my cheeks heat. Damn him for making me feel stupid.
Okay. So I will admit, I didn’t stop to consider that. The thought that there might still be some criminal lurking inside my home terrifies me.
Yet, despite all that, I still refuse to back down. I can’t. It goes against my nature to just sit idly by when someone else could be walking into a potentially dangerous situation.
Plus, if I am being completely honest with myself, as crazy and irrational as it might be, I feel safer with him than by myself.
Looking down at the ground, I tell him, “Please…don’t make me. I—I really don’t want to be out here alone. ”
It comes out so softly, I’m not entirely sure he hears me, but when I finally find the courage to look up at him, I see that something in his face has softened.
“Okay,” he relents. “You can come. But I need you to stay close behind me, and if I tell you to run, Maggie—you run. No hesitation. No questions asked. You got me?”
I nod my understanding, and he turns, positioning me firmly at his back. I reach out, fingers brushing over the soft, starchy fabric of his shirt as I latch onto the waistband of his pants. I swear I feel him shiver under my touch, but then again, that could just be the trembling of my own hands.
Slowly, we make our way down the short walkway and up the steps, coming to a stop on the front porch. From here, I can see that the doorframe has been splintered, as if someone kicked it in.
I can’t help but wonder what would have happened if I had decided to stay in tonight instead of going out with my friends. I would have been here all alone. There’s no telling what they would have done.
I shake my head to clear those thoughts, noticing Archer has turned to face me.
“Wait right here while I make sure it’s clear.” I open my mouth to protest, feeling too exposed to stand out here alone. “I promise I won’t be but a few minutes, but I need to make sure it’s safe,” he pleads, and I have no choice but to relent.
True to his word, he isn’t gone more than five minutes before he comes back out, gun safely tucked away again out of sight .
I probably should be concerned with the fact that he wears a gun, but Savannah isn’t exactly the safest city, and in the south, a lot of people do the whole concealed carry thing.
Also, I am far too distracted by the absolute wreck that was once my home.
I stand frozen in the entryway to my apartment, trying take it all in. The place has been thoroughly ransacked. My eyes roam over the small space as I assess the damage.
It doesn’t appear that anything is missing. It’s not like I have much of value anyway, so there isn’t a whole lot to take, but my TV and jewelry box remain untouched. There are clothes and shoes strewn across the floor, broken glasses and dishes in the kitchen.
What hurts the most, though, is my bookshelf. It has been knocked over on its side, and all my books are now scattered about the floor, their covers bent or torn, some with pages ripped out or their spines broken.
I bend down, rummaging through the wreckage, and find a few that might be salvageable, but most are ruined. My nose burns and my chest aches as I try to make it make sense.
It looks like someone threw a massive temper tantrum but didn’t actually take anything— maybe what they wanted wasn’t home? A shudder rocks through my body at that thought.
Archer comes to stand beside me, the toes of his glossy black dress shoes blurring through my unshed tears .
“Wh—why would someone do this?” I ask, choking back a sob.
His hands reach for me, and I allow him to pull me to my feet as he cradles me tightly in his arms. I sink in to him, resting my head against his firm chest, soaking up the warmth emanating from his body.
“Shh…” he breathes into my hair as he rubs soothing circles with his palm on my back, and that is the start of my undoing.
I fall apart in his embrace, the fear and the stress from the past few hours finally catching up to me. And even though I know my tears and snot are ruining what feels like an expensive shirt, he never once complains. He just continues to hold me, allowing me to cry it out.
Once the tears have dried up and I have regained some semblance of control, I pull away, wiping my face with the backs of my hands. I’m sure I look a mess right now, with my face all red and puffy, but if I do, Archer doesn’t show it. Instead, he studies me cautiously, as if waiting to see if I’m going to break down again.
“You okay?” he asks, and I give a jerky nod.
“Yeah. It’s all good,” I say with a double thumbs up. He raises his eyebrows, the corners of his lips twitching.
I mentally smack myself on the forehead for being so awkward. I’ll just chalk that one up to stress.
My chest hollowing, I let out a long sigh before answering truthfully, “No. I’m not. I don’t understand why anyone would do this,” I say, shaking my head. “Do you think it’s the same guy from earlier?”
He stands there, face grim, lips formed in a tight line, and that’s all the answer I need. “But that’s good, right? Cause that would mean they already caught the guy. So that means I’m safe?”
He gives me a blank look, and I wonder why he isn’t saying anything. What I am missing?
My stomach lurches as the pieces finally come together and realization dawns on me. Oh God—that would mean… I clutch my stomach as nausea rolls through me.
“He knew where I lived,” I say, giving voice to my thoughts. “So—this wasn’t just some random attack.” He shakes his head. “So…I was targeted by someone. But why?”
“That, I don’t have an answer for.”
“I don’t understand,” I say, sounding like a broken record, but I can’t for the life of me comprehend why someone would do this to me .
“Do you know anyone who might want to hurt you? Any one you might have upset recently or made angry?” he asks, and I shake my head. I honestly have no clue.
I don’t have any enemies. Hell, I barely have any friends. My life consists of work, home and helping Jane when she needs me. That’s it.
The only person I would even consider my enemy would be my ex, Chad. Although, if social media is correct, he just got engaged—to the woman he cheated on me with, no less—so I’m sure to him, I am nothing more than an afterthought.
So, no. I can’t think of anyone who would be angry with me enough to do something like this.
I avoid confrontation at all costs. Afraid it will bring me too close to the dark entity that lurks under my skin. Terrified that if I let all those emotions free—all the pain and hurt I keep bottled up—I will actually have to deal with them, and I’m not ready to face my demons. Not yet, anyways.
Probably not the healthiest way to cope, but it has worked for me so far.
I go out of my way to be nice to people, sometimes to the point of sacrificing my own happiness. Also probably not healthy, but when you fear rejection as strongly as I do, you find it hard to speak up for yourself.
“Has anything happened lately? Anything strange or unusual?” he continues, staring at me intently, like he is searching for something. For what, I don’t know.
I swallow hard at the feel of rough, calloused hands on my thighs, images of crooked tobacco-stained teeth, and blood…so much blood. I gulp, shaking my head.
No—that was a dream. A nightmare. It wasn’t real. But let’s just pretend for a second it was real. If it was, then that man would be dead. There is no way he could be involved.
But wait… Wasn’t there someone else there in the dream? A hazy image of a dark figure with a skull for a face appears in my mind.
Nothing about that makes sense, though, and trying to explain that to a virtual stranger would make me sound completely deranged. So, I do what any rational person would do in this situation. I lie.
“No. Nothing.”
He eyes narrow slightly before morphing back to that stoic blank mask I am quickly learning must be his default setting. He turns away, and I let out a heavy breath, a sour taste in my mouth. I feel as if that was a test of some kind, and I failed.
He paces back and forth a few steps before turning back to face me.
“Pack a bag,” he orders.
My head draws back, startled by the abrupt change in his demeanor. This man is really starting to give me whiplash with these mood swings.
“ Excuse me? Pack a bag for what?” I ask in confusion.
“Because you cannot stay here.”
“Umm…and why not? This is my apartment. Where the hell else would I go?” I reply, knowing I sound like a petulant child, but can’t seem to care at the moment. I don’t know what it is about this infuriating man that brings out this side of me.
In my mind I know he’s probably right. Of course, he is. I really shouldn’t stay here, but after the events of tonight, I find myself not in the mood to be ordered about, and arguing with him feels better than succumbing to the despair that threatens to overwhelm me at any moment.
“Oh wait—let me guess…home with you?” I say sarcastically, crossing my arms over my chest, and I don’t miss the way his eyes dart down to my cleavage before slowly crawling their way back up to meet mine. My traitorous body warms under the heated weight of his gaze and an unwelcome tingling sensation in my stomach makes it hard for me to hold on to my anger .
“Yes,” he says simply before walking to the door.
“Wait! What?” I say, chasing after him. The shock over his words douses over me like a bucket of ice. He stops on the threshold.
“Yes. You will come home with me—unless you have somewhere else safe I can drive you to at…” he looks down at his watch, “three o’clock in the morning.”
I start to protest. Where does he get off? Of course I have somewhere to go. Does he think I have no family? No friends? I open my mouth, ready to give him a piece of my mind, but before I can get any of that out, he holds up a hand and continues.
“Do keep in mind that if someone is truly after you, you will only be bringing danger to their doorsteps as well.”
“And you’re not worried about that?” I ask, but he just gives me a dark look that has a shiver rolling down my spine.
“Trust me… I can handle myself.”
I clamp my jaw shut, mulling over his words. If what he says is true and someone is after me, what other options do I really have? I don’t want to see anyone hurt, not because of me.
I think of Jane, of how I know she can never know about this. There is no way I would ever risk her like that.
So that would leave one of my friends.
Natya lives at home with her mom and her two younger brothers. With her fierce protective nature, I know she would welcome me, no questions asked, but I could never put her family in danger like that .
Susannah and Gael share an on-campus apartment with two other roommates. I could stay there—at least they would have security—but the idea of sleeping on a couch with four other roommates sounds less than appealing.
“But wait—that guy is in police custody, right? So, how can he hurt anyone if he’s already in jail?” I say, thinking I have found an alternative solution. He looks away for a moment, as if considering, and I think I’ve got him.
“No, he wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone else…” he says, and I give a silent cheer. Take that, Mr. Know-It-All.
But my heart sinks when he continues, “… if it was the same man, that is. But what if it’s not? What if there is more than one? Are you really willing to risk that?”
He gives me a pointed look before walking out the door.
I collapse onto one of the wooden barstools. I can see him through the front window to where he waits outside on the porch. He has his phone to his ear, talking to someone in a hushed voice. I can’t make out what he is saying, but hopefully it’s the police letting them know about the break in.
I chew on my bottom lip as I carefully weigh my options. On the one hand, if what Archer says is true and there is someone out there—or several someones—I don’t want to put anyone else in harm’s way for me.
It’s clear Archer knows how to handle himself, but…I don’t really know him. He seems like a decent guy—after all, he did save my life tonight. He also comforted me while I ruined his nice shirt, so he can’t be that bad .
But then again, people said that about Bundy, and look at how well it turned out for those women.
Although…he has had plenty of opportunities to hurt me if he wanted to, which he hasn’t. It could be because he wants to get me somewhere quiet before he carves me up into pieces, but I don’t think so. Maybe I’m being stupid and na?ve, but I don’t think he would. For some unknown reason, I trust him.
Making up my mind, I set about packing my things. I may be making a huge mistake, but at this point, what other choice do I have?