Chapter Two
KAT
“That is the last thing I’m buying this kid, I swear,” I muttered to myself as I finished wrapping another present. I carried it over to our tree, shaking my head as I fought to find a place for it underneath.
There were only the two of us.
And other than the tiny present I’d been given by a patient at work—which I knew was a box of chocolates—every single gift was for my twelve-year-old son, Dylan.
My nurse’s salary wasn’t exactly conducive to me becoming a billionaire, so a lot of the gifts were inexpensive items like candy, socks, and deodorant—because teenage boy. But there were also a few I’d been saving for since last Christmas, and I honestly couldn’t wait to see his face when he opened them.
Hopefully it would make this year feel a little more like Christmas.
It was usually just my mom and us. We used to drive eight hours to be with her for a week or so, but two years earlier, she’d uprooted everything and moved a few minutes down the road.
I thought it was because she’d been offered a new job, or maybe she had a new man she wouldn’t talk about. But in January that year, she’d told us it was because she wanted to spend as much time with us as possible before the cancer really got a foothold.
By April she was gone.
And this Christmas was going to feel that little bit lonelier without her.
A cold chill began to swirl around me and I knew I needed to get rid of it before it settled into my bones, so I grabbed my bag and headed down the hall to my bedroom. My bag had everything in it, from my phone and charger to gym clothes and keys, and I needed to make sure that everything was charged and sweaty clothes were washed before my shift the next day.
But first, I was going to have a long hot shower.
I tossed the bag onto my bed and headed straight for my bathroom, pulling my shirt up over my head and tossing it onto the vanity.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
For a second I wondered if I was hearing things and paused, holding my breath.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
This time the knocks were harder and definitely coming from my front door.
“Dammit,” I cursed, glancing longingly at the shower before letting out a heavy sigh and reaching for my shirt again, pulling it back over my head. I hurried back down the hall to the living room, catching the clock out of the corner of my eye as I passed by.
It was after nine at night.
Not a common time for me to get visitors.
The thought made me pause at the door, my hand hovering above the lock. “Who is it?” I called, trying to sound confident and keep my voice from wavering.
“Kat, it’s Eve,” a soft but shaky voice called back. “Please, I need help.”
Eve lived across the street, and she and I had gotten reasonably close since we’d moved in a little over a year ago. The panic in her voice had me quickly flicking over the lock and reaching for the door handle, yanking it open. Only, instead of just her standing on the other, there was a man with his arm draped around her shoulders, her tiny body obviously struggling to hold him up.
“What the…”
“Please, help. I can’t hold him,” she pleaded, looking up at me, her eyes sparkling with tears.
I almost tripped over the entranceway as I hurried to get out. I lifted the man’s arm over my shoulder so I could take some of his weight as we maneuvered him through the doorway and into my living room. We managed to get him onto my couch, where I saw the problem the second he was laid out on his back.
“Oh my God,” I exclaimed, snatching a cloth from the counter and pressing it hard against what looked like a stab wound in his stomach. I looked up at Eve, my eyes wide. “What the hell? Who is this?”
I wasn’t sure she’d heard me, though.
She merely stood there, holding her trembling hands out in front of her, staring at the blood that coated them.
“Eve!” I yelled, finally drawing her attention.
“He’s uh…” She stumbled over her words, shock taking over. “He’s my brother, Karl. He hangs out with this street gang. Showed up a few minutes ago, freaking out, bleeding.”
“He needs a hospital. Hold this. I’ll run and get my phone.”
Her head moved up and down like a bobblehead on a car dashboard, and she dropped to her knees beside me, taking the already-drenched cloth and pressing hard against the wound. Karl groaned, but so far, he was still alive and breathing. I wondered whether he’d actually gotten fucking lucky, and whatever he’d been stabbed with hadn’t hit anything vital.
I leaped to my feet and rushed down the hall into my bedroom, where I dug through my purse and pulled out my cell. I’d been working as a nurse for over four years, yet, my hands shook as I dialed 911. I guess this was a little different. A hospital was made to save people who were bleeding, suffering, and dying. That was its purpose, and that alone gave me confidence, as I knew I had everything at my fingertips to keep that person alive.
My house didn’t have those things.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“Hi, I need—”
“Ah, Karl,” a male voice boomed, and I knew it was in my house. “I figured you’d run to your little sister.” The voice taunted.
“Get out!” Eve screamed. “Look what you did. He might die.”
“Maybe he shouldn’t have stolen from me then.”
“Hello? Ma’am?” The lady on the phone questioned, but I was too scared to make a sound. Dylan’s room was straight across the hall, and with the light from the hallway, I could see him sitting up in his bed, his eyes wide and hands gripping the blankets.
Absolutely petrified.
That was when the momma bear instincts kicked in. Nothing else mattered. Not the guy bleeding on my couch or even the neighbor with whom I had formed a close friendship. In that moment, all I could think about was getting my son the hell out of there and getting us somewhere safe.
I grabbed my purse off the bed and tucked my phone into my pocket, holding my breath as I stuck my head out into the hall, looking back at the living room to make sure no one could see me. Noting that it was clear, I tiptoed quickly across to Dylan’s room and waved him toward me as I hurried over to the window.
My body was tingling, the result of my heart pumping blood to important body parts because it was aware the fight or flight response was about to kick in.
And while ‘flight’ was in full effect, I needed to be prepared to ‘fight’ because every little movement or noise I made felt amplified. Thankfully, so far, whoever the man standing in my living room was, he was too busy ranting and raving about what happened when people messed with him. His booming voice covered the sound of me pushing the curtain to the side and unlatching the window.
“Mom…”
“Shh.” I pushed the window open, gritting my teeth, knowing every sound could alert them to our presence. “Quick. Climb out.” I gave Dylan a boost, helping him out of the window and onto the grass outside.
I passed him my purse, climbed up onto the ledge, and folded my body through the tight space. The stones in the garden below the window clinked and scraped, but I wasted no time, grabbing Dylan’s hand and then leaned down to his level. “We’re gonna run to the car,” I whispered, trying not to get distracted by the pure fear shining back at me.
My kid was strong. Last year, he broke his arm while he was skateboarding, and he didn’t shed a single tear or complain.
But this was different.
It was the unpredictability that was scary.
We didn’t know who those people were or what they were capable of.
“Okay,” he said quietly, standing a little straighter and nodding his head.
The car was parked in front of the garage, and we were on the opposite side of the house, so we had to run past the front door to get there. I had no idea whether the front door was still open or if someone was watching.
“We get in the car, we lock the doors, and we get out of here,” I explained, holding out my hand.
He slipped his into mine, and I squeezed it tightly.
“One. Two. Three. Go!”
We ran, rounding the side of the house and across the front lawn. Neither of us wore shoes, and the dew that had settled on the grass almost made me lose my footing. Light beamed out across the lawn, letting me know the front door was still open, but I didn’t dare glance inside.
I simply needed to focus on getting us the hell out of there.
I grabbed the driver’s door handle, and Dylan reached for the rear door. We both pulled at the same time.
Footsteps pounded against the concrete path behind me. “Hey, bitch! Where do you think you’re going.”
Don’t stop.
I threw myself into the car and reached for the door. A hand slipped into the crack before I could completely shut the door.
But that didn’t stop me.
I pulled hard and smashed the fingers between the door and the frame.
The person connected to them roared loudly and withdrew far enough for me to close the door and flick the auto lock, locking all the car doors. I fumbled with the keys as Dylan climbed through the center and into the front seat.
“Mom, we need to go,” he urged.
“I know, I know.” I finally managed to jam the key into the ignition and turned it. The engine came to life. “Put your belt on.”
“Fucking whore,” the man roared, pounding his fist on the window and making me jump. “Get out, bitch.”
I turned to look.
Just a glance.
He had shaggy black hair that whipped around his face as he screamed at me through the glass. I could see tattoos, a lot of them. Across his eyebrow and cheek, on his temple, and almost completely covering his arms, disappearing up under his short-sleeved Rolling Stones T-shirt.
I finally got the car into reverse and pressed hard against the accelerator, jolting both Dylan and my bodies as we sped backward. One of my tires bumped over the curb as we flew out onto the street, and we barely paused so I could put it into drive.
The man chased after us, still screaming, as we sped off down the street. “I’ll be fucking waiting, bitch. You’ve gotta come back sometime.”
I looked into the rearview mirror and saw him standing in the middle of our usually quiet suburban street, under one of the street lights. I turned the corner at the intersection and kept driving. Another corner, then another.
Even when we got a few miles away and passed several police cars, lights and sirens screaming, I still kept driving.
“Where are we going?” Dylan asked as he watched them speed by. “To the police station?”
It was a pretty good suggestion.
And we probably would have been safe there, with cops all around us.
Until we had to go home.
I’ll be fucking waiting, bitch.
You’ve gotta come back sometime.
The words played over in my mind.
If the police didn’t catch him, or he got out on bail—what would we do then?
“No,” I answered finally, pulling out onto the interstate and trying not to look at my hands as they gripped the wheel. I didn’t want to think about the blood still smeared on my hands and up my arms. “We’re going to go ask a friend for help.”
Someone had once promised me that no matter what happened between us, he would always have my back. I had no doubt he would protect Dylan and me using whatever means necessary.
And even though I knew it would probably be hard to see him again after eight years, my hurt feelings were far less important than my son’s safety.