Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
PIPER
Ivy & Piper’s Guide to Life Rule Number Seventeen:
Always share your location.
T he bakery was silent except for the steady thump of my fists against the stainless steel worktable. With every resounding smack, puffs of flour rose, swirling through the air like tiny snowflakes. They clung to my sweaty face and coated every surface in a powdery white layer.
Early morning shifts like this one were usually my favorite. I liked the stillness and having the entire bakery to myself, at least for a few hours.
There was a sort of alchemy to turning flour, sugar, and yeast into elaborate pastries and sweetbreads. One I’d mastered over the years. Maybe that was why I’d always been drawn to baking—it was the one aspect of my life that offered consistency and guaranteed results.
But this time, the rhythmic push and pull against the dough wasn’t enough to silence my mind. It had been almost a week since I’d discovered the note in my locker. It wasn’t the first time an anonymous person had left me gifts, but it was the first time they’d left a message .
Someone wanted me to know they were watching me, cataloging my habits down to my menstrual cycle. The invasion of privacy made my skin crawl, and no matter how hard I tried to shake off the paranoia, it stuck to me like the flour dusting my arms.
Thinking about it made my stomach churn. I’d lied to Dane when he asked about it, afraid he’d overreact. Initially, I planned to tell him everything, but after his run-in with my boss, I was afraid he’d force me to quit my job or, worse, go after Derek even though his handwriting and the writing on the note were completely different.
Lying had seemed like the lesser of two evils at the time, but now, the distance between us had grown into a living, breathing thing.
From the outside, everything looked perfect. I came home to a clean house. He cooked dinner every night and had taken over bath and bedtime duty with Avery, but the heat between us had gone ice cold. I often found him watching me with guarded eyes, almost like he was waiting for me to crack, to confess.
At night, he’d taken to sleeping on the couch, if he slept at all. More often than not, he’d disappear after dinner on his motorcycle, citing club business in a way that wasn’t open for discussion.
The weight of my lie pressed down on me, making it hard to breathe. I wanted to come clean and bridge the gap between us, but every time I opened my mouth, the words died on my tongue.
I was already losing him. What would he do when he found out I lied? That I’d kept something so important from him?
He’d leave. This time for good.
My palms dampened with sweat, making the dough beneath my fingers sticky. I kneaded harder, trying to channel my fear and frustration into something productive. When it began to tear beneath my knuckles, I forced myself to set the overworked dough aside to rest before moving on to the next one.
A noise from the back hallway yanked me from my spiraling thoughts. My hands froze mid-knead, flour-covered fingers splayed against the half-formed dough. The clock on the wall read 4:17 AM—far too early for anyone else to be arriving.
I knew the sounds of this old building—the creak of settling wood, the low hum of the walk-in, the whir of the commercial mixer—but this? This sent a chill up my spine and prickled the skin along my arms. Suddenly, the bakery felt too large…too empty.
My heart slammed against my ribs as I strained to listen. The silence stretched on, broken only by the hum of the refrigerators. Maybe it was just my imagination, fueled by lack of sleep and mounting anxiety. But then I heard it again. A soft scraping sound echoed in the pre-dawn quiet like someone trying to move quietly and failing.
Fear clawed its way up my throat, threatening to burst out in a scream. I forced it back down and glanced frantically around the kitchen, searching for anything I could use as a weapon. The gleam of a chef’s knife caught my eye, but it may as well have been miles away on the opposite side of the room.
My revolver. My revolver was in my purse on the back counter. Before I could move toward it, two figures stormed through the kitchen doors, their faces obscured by black ski masks. My body tensed, ready to flee, but there was nowhere to go. They had me cornered.
“Don’t even think about it,” the shorter of the two snarled, following my gaze to my phone.
I froze, my muscles rigid with fear. The taller one stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as he studied my face.
“Shit, man,” he said with a dark chuckle. “It’s Ghost’s Ol’ Lady. Well, well, well. This just got a whole lot more interesting.”
My mind reeled. How did these men know Dane? The questions swirled in my head, but terror clogged my throat and choked off any words I might have spoken.
“Let’s go.” The shorter one gestured toward the doors with his gun. “Now.”
They herded me toward Derek’s office, keeping their weapons pressed against the back of my neck. My legs felt like jelly, threatening to give out with each step.
One shoved me roughly from behind, sending me stumbling into the office. My hip collided with the sharp corner of Derek’s desk, and I fell to my knees with a muffled cry.
“Open the safe,” the shorter one demanded, jabbing the barrel of his gun against my temple .
“I-I don’t know the combination,” I stammered through chattering teeth.
He laughed, the harsh sound sending shivers down my spine. “Don’t lie to us, sweetheart. We know you’re the manager. Open it. Now.”
I bobbed my chin in a frantic nod and knelt in front of the safe, my heart pounding so violently I thought it might burst from my chest.
“Tick-tock,” the taller one taunted. I could almost hear the smirk in his tone, the perverse pleasure he took from my fear.
My hands trembled violently as I entered the combination, and the keypad blurred before my eyes. Instead of clicking open, the safe gave a series of beeps, indicating I’d entered the wrong code.
I tried again, my dough-covered fingers slipping on the dial. “I’m sorry. I can try?—”
The taller man yanked my head back so forcefully that he tore off my skull cap and a chunk of hair, wrenching a sharp cry of pain from my throat. He pressed the cold barrel of his gun against my trembling lips, tracing them with sickening deliberation.
“One more chance, sweetheart,” he growled, his breath hot against my ear. “Or I’ll give you something else to do with that pretty mouth of yours.”
Despite the bile rising in my throat and the tears streaming down my face, I managed to steady my shaking hands enough to enter the correct code. The soft click of it opening seemed deafening in the tense silence.
They shoved me aside and began greedily scooping stacks of bills into a duffel bag while I stumbled back, my legs threatening to give out. Once they had the money, they would leave.
But the taller man wasn’t done. Instead of leaving with his prize, he shoved me against the wall, using his body to pin me in place.
“Maybe we should send Ghost and his Silent Phoenix boys a message before we go,” he said, his eyes raking over me.
“I did what you asked me to do,” I said, panic surging through me. “J-just take what you want and go.”
The shorter man shifted uneasily. “Come on, man. We’re just supposed to scare her. Let’s grab the cash and go before someone catches us. ”
“You go,” the taller one snapped, tearing my chef coat open with a vicious yank and scattering the buttons across the floor. “I’m not done with her yet.”
His retreating footsteps echoed through the bakery, followed by the slam of the back door. Then silence descended, broken only by my ragged sobs.
I was alone with a monster.
Dane’s world had come crashing into mine, and I was suddenly the currency in a game I never wanted to play.
“No, please don’t do this,” I begged, thrashing against him as he forced my sports bra up over my breasts.
Images of Avery flashed before my eyes. What if I didn’t make it home to her?
“Please. I have a baby.” My broken pleas fell on deaf ears, his eyes utterly void of empathy.
“I have a baby,” he parroted in a high-pitched voice, tracing the column of my throat with the gun before dragging it down to my breasts. He pressed the barrel against my nipple, pushing the tight bud down like a button, and let it spring free before moving to the other side.
“Please let me go,” I said through chest-heaving sobs.
He changed tactics and began scraping the barrel over my nipples, flicking them up and down like someone would a light switch. “Be a good girl, and I’ll let you go after.”
Black spots danced at the edges of my vision, my breaths coming in short, shallow bursts because I knew as well as he did I wasn’t leaving this room alive.
I’d go to my death with pastry dough wedged beneath my fingernails and his hot, rancid breath filling my nostrils.
He jammed the gun into my breast just beneath my heart before fumbling with his pants. The metallic clink of the buckle coming undone echoed in my ears like a death knell.
“Ghost is gonna feel this one.”
Something snapped inside me. Fueled by fear and desperation, a primal rage surged through my body. I wouldn’t let this happen.
I clawed at his eyes, my nails raking across the exposed skin. He roared in pain and fury before backhanding me so hard my head snapped to the side. The force of the blow left me reeling, my vision exploding in a burst of white-hot pain. My legs buckled beneath me, and I crumpled to the floor.
He was on top of me in an instant, pinning my arms beneath his knees. I thrashed wildly, but he outweighed me by at least a hundred pounds.
“Shouldn’t have done that, bitch.” He licked a wet stripe up my throat. “Even Ghost won’t be able to put you back together when I’m done with you.”
Beads of sweat trickled down my temple to mingle with my tears. I squeezed my eyes shut, willing this to be nothing more than a horrible nightmare. But the acrid stench of his sweat and the feel of his hands on me was all too real.
“No!” I screamed, my voice raw and desperate. “Please, don’t?—”
A deafening bang drowned out my screams, followed by a warm spray across my face. For a split second, I thought I’d been shot. But then my attacker’s body collapsed on top of me.
I shoved him off with a strangled cry, my ears still ringing from the gunshot. Blood and gray matter pooled beneath his masked head, his empty eyes fixed on nothing.
Derek stood in the doorway, his face ashen and the gun trembling in his outstretched hands.
“I didn’t mean to kill him,” he mumbled, his eyes wide with shock. “You were screaming. I just wanted him to stop. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
The full weight of what had just occurred crashed over me, and I scrambled backward, my hands slipping in the sticky red puddle spreading out from his body. My back hit the wall, and I curled in on myself, violent sobs racking my body. The coppery scent of blood filled my nostrils, mixing sickeningly with the lingering smell of yeast and sugar.
Time seemed to stretch and warp, each second an eternity. The ringing in my ears faded, replaced by the pounding of my own heartbeat and Derek’s ragged breathing.
“We have to call the police,” I managed through chattering teeth.
He continued staring blankly at the floor as if he hadn’t heard me. I tugged my bra down and fumbled with the torn edges of my coat, struggling to hold it closed as I unsteadily made my way over to where he stood, holding his gun on the man’s body. His index finger hovered over the trigger in a way I didn’t trust.
With shaking hands, I carefully pried it from his fingers and laid it on the desk before turning back to him. “Give me your phone.”
He fumbled for his phone and unlocked it before passing it over. “You were screaming. I didn’t mean to kill him.”
“I know. You did the right thing,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. My fingers left bloody smears on the screen as I dialed 911.
The police arrived in a flurry of flashing lights and barked orders. I huddled in the corner, arms wrapped tightly around myself as they swarmed the bakery. Their voices blurred together, an endless barrage of questions I couldn’t begin to process.
“Ma’am, are you injured? Can you tell us what happened?”
I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My throat felt raw as if I’d been screaming for hours instead of minutes. Maybe I had been.
A female officer knelt beside me, her face swimming in and out of focus. “Can you tell me your name?”
“P-Piper,” I managed to choke out. “My full name is Amelia Piper Kelly, but I go by Piper.”
“Okay, Piper. We’re going to get you checked out by the paramedics, all right?”
I nodded numbly, allowing her to help me to my feet. My legs wobbled, threatening to give out with each step.
As we passed the body on the floor, now covered by a white sheet, bile rose in my throat. I barely made it to the trash can before retching violently. The acidic burn of the vomit mingled with the metallic tang of blood in my mouth.
The officer kept her hands on my shoulders as I emptied the meager contents of my stomach before guiding me out of the bakery and into a waiting ambulance. The brisk morning air hit my face, and I shivered violently before clutching the edges of my jacket a little tighter.
The paramedics peppered me with questions, shining lights in my eyes and probing at the bruise blooming on my cheek. I hugged my knees to my chest, rocking slightly as I tried to make sense of what had happened. The world felt hazy and distant, as if I was watching everything unfold from behind thick glass.
All I could focus on was the sticky feeling of my attacker’s blood drying on my skin and the knowledge that those men had known Dane.
They knew about me, about my connection to him.
And they had used that knowledge to target me.