Chapter 12
I wake up in a cold sweat, my entire body clammy. It’s the dream again. The same one. Jeremy. Always Jeremy. I hate him for what he did. He took his own pain away, but not before he upended my life first. A warm hand lands on my side, and Travis rolls in close, his breath warm on my cheek.
“You okay?” His voice is husky and sleepy, and it’s a comfort I didn’t know I needed.
“I’ll be fine,” I whisper. “It’s just a dream I have over and over again. Sometimes, it doesn’t happen often, and other times it feels like it never goes away.”
He doesn’t say anything at first, just watches me, his face just visible under the moonlight coming through the crack in the curtain.
He’s warm beside me, solid and safe, but my skin still feels sticky.
Finally, he lifts my hand and runs his thumb over the pulse at my wrist, like he can still feel the echo of it racing.
“Want to tell me what it’s about?”
“Are you sure you want the details?”
“Hit me,” he says. No hesitation.
“It’s weird, because it isn’t something I saw, but I just keep seeing him ending his life. Well, what I imagined that would look like.” My mouth goes dry. “It’s always the same, he just looks at me, dead in the eye and tells me it’s all my fault and then shoots himself. It’s horrible, I...”
My voice cuts off, scratchy and trembling.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know it was affecting you like that.”
I swallow. “I have gotten help, and I understand why they’re happening, but it doesn’t seem to stop it. When I get stressed, or things are hard, they come back.”
“You’re stressed because of me,” he says, not a question but a statement.
“No,” I whisper. “Trav, I would do this with you all over again.”
“I get that, and I fucking love you for it, but seeing me withdraw wasn’t easy. I know it wasn’t.”
He’s right.
“You want me to take you somewhere today? Maybe clear your mind.”
“Nah,” I say. “But I would like to just lay here and listen to you sing dumb country songs to make me feel better...”
“You know I don’t do country, Mischief.”
“For me?”
He grins, the flash of his teeth making me all warm and fuzzy inside. “Yeah. Fuck. For you, I’d do anything.”
He starts singing a song I haven’t heard before, but I love it all the same.
The way his voice dips and lowers, even when he’s not trying, he sounds incredible.
After a minute I shuffle closer, tangle a leg around his, and press my face into the side of his neck.
The nightmares can’t possibly stay too long when I am here, like this, with him.
We drift back to sleep and wake in the morning, tangled in each other, sunlight slicing stripes across the sheets.
Travis moves first, pressing his lips to mine before getting up and pulling on jeans, then heading to the kitchen to start coffee.
I peel myself out of bed, get changed, and go downstairs where Travis tells me we’re out of eggs.
“Ohh,” I pout. “I am desperate for pancakes.”
He grins. “Better run to the shop, baby. I’ll start the batter.”
I grin, grabbing my keys and heading outside.
My car waits in the drive, sitting right where I parked it last night. But as I get closer, something catches my eye on the hood. Spray paint. Red, the letters arched along the curve. BACK OFF, BITCH. I WILL ONLY TELL YOU ONCE.
I stop dead. My chest goes totally still, the world going silent except for one noisy bird up on the power line.
What the fuck is happening?
I back up, and it must be enough to get Travis concerned, because he’s suddenly there, by my side. “Baby, what’s wrong?”
“My car, Travis,” I say, pointing.
He looks over, and then his eyes widen. “What the fuck.”
I try to say something clever, but nothing comes out. My mouth feels full of cotton. I look at the writing, bright and sure, and all I can think is—who the hell hates me this much to leave a mark like that?
Travis squints at the street, then at the neighbors’ houses. “You got any idea who did that?”
“No,” I say, my voice tight. “Maybe it’s the same person sending you all those letters.”
He leans closer to the paint, takes a photo with his phone. “I don’t know who the fuck would do something like this. I honestly don’t.”
I don’t answer.
He circles the car once, scanning for more damage, then stops in front of me. “You want to call the cops?”
I shrug. “And tell them what?”
“That someone fucking vandalized your car.”
“There isn’t anything they can do,” I murmur, rubbing my arms, suddenly cold.
“Well, they might be able to check cameras.”
That’s true. “Yeah, we will. I just...I need to go to the store and get these eggs first. I need a minute.”
He doesn’t argue, just hooks a finger under my chin, forces me to meet his eyes. “You be careful, okay? Until I figure this out. I will come with you now.”
I don’t argue, because I want him to come with me.
We move through the store quickly and quietly, and when we get home, Reagan’s blue Jeep is in the driveway. She is leaning against the hood, sunglasses on, arms crossed. She doesn’t say anything at first. Just points at my car, then at me, then at my car again.
“What did you do?” She sounds impressed.
I try for a joke. “Guess I pissed off someone.”
She walks over, drags her fingers along the fresh paint, and then walks back to me. “You have a stalker,” she says, but in that delighted, fuck-yes-some-drama tone only she can manage.
“That’s not funny,” Travis mutters. “Because it’s probably true.”
Her brows go up. “Am I missing something?”
I tell her about the letters I found at Travis’s office.
“Oh, so you definitely have a stalker. Damn girl, you don’t muck around.”
I start to laugh, the sound barrelling raw out of me.
Reagan pulls me into a hug, strong and warm. I didn’t realize just how much I needed it. “We’ll sand it down and repaint. No one will ever know.” She leans in and whispers, “Unless you want to keep it so people know not to mess with you because they will think you’re crazy.”
I snort.
Travis rolls his eyes, but his shoulders drop a touch. “Let’s go eat.”
We do. Groceries in hand. Reagan looks at me, then at the eggs, and then claps.
“What are we making? Pancakes?” she says, like it’s a perfectly average morning.
This right here is why she’s my best friend.
This is how we do it. We pretend the world hasn’t gone absolutely fucking bananas, until maybe, for a second, it hasn’t.
I glance out the window as Reagan whisks the eggs. The paint is ugly and it’s loud. Reagan bumps her hip into mine and grins. “We’ll get this crazy, you know?”
“We?” I raise my brows.
She smirks. “Oh, hell yeah. She is messing with the wrong bitches.”
I laugh. “You’re not wrong.”
I look at Travis, who’s already got the frying pan going, and he juts his chin at me, a challenge and a promise all at once.
Yeah.
We’ll get her.
Sipping my coffee, I tip my head to the side, wondering what the commotion is outside.
Up until now, it has been a quiet morning.
I came to see Chief before helping Reagan move into her new apartment.
He has just gone to speak to Bill, and they left for a ride.
So, I expected full silence, but that isn’t what I hear.
The yard, empty, now fills with bodies. A lot of them.
Demon stands at the front, a grin on his face so big it makes me freeze, coffee mug in hand.
“Chief, get your fucking ass out here!”
The bellow slices through the quiet. I move without thought, dropping my coffee before rushing out the door and stumbling onto the porch. There are too many men, and too many guns, and the feeling that creeps into my stomach is enough to make me want to vomit. My heart slams against my ribs.
Chief rounds the corner, and when his eyes land on me, his face drains of color.
“Mischief, fucking get out of here. Now!” he roars.
My legs stiffen and suddenly I can’t move, even though I really need to.
Three of them detach from the group and surge forward.
Panic sears through me, and I bolt down the steps toward my car.
Freedom is a heartbeat away, until a hand clamps my arm.
I spin and lash out, scratching and clawing at everything I can get my hands on.
Whoever is holding me curses and lets me go.
Relief flickers, until someone else takes his place.
I kick, my feet hitting his shin, but his friends close in.
Demon is standing, laughing, like a fucking wild maniac.
He lifts a sleek pistol. I taste copper; I must have bitten down on my own tongue.
Dread grips me. My eyes dart to Chief, guns pointed at his head. If I run, he dies.
They’re making sure I know that.
I stop fighting. Someone shoves me to the ground, gravel biting through my jeans. “I want you dead, Chief,” Demon taunts. “But I want you to watch your daughter suffer unimaginable pain first.”
“Let her go,” Chief snarls, chest heaving.
Demon kicks me in the ribs with steel-toed boots and my scream rips through the air as his second boot smashes down. Dirt and blood mingle in my scream.
“Stop. Fucking stop.” Chief’s cry echoes through the air.
“Just one more,” Demon grins.
He drags me up by my hair, and my scalp bursts into fire as he slams his fist into my face. Stars erupt behind my eyelids.
“Fucking stop!”
Chief’s roar is so loud, it breaks me into a million pieces.
Demon pauses. “Hurts, doesn’t it, Chief? When someone fucking destroys what you love.”
Chief’s hand twitches, like he is more than willing to take a bullet if they stop. “Kill me,” he spits, “just don’t hurt her.”
“That wouldn’t be fun.”
My vision swirls as Demon tosses me on the ground like a rag doll. Two shots crack. I jerk, covering my face. Then I hear, “Mischief, stay down!”
I don’t know who yells it.
It sounds like Bill.
A thunderbolt of warmth explodes in my shoulder, sharp white agony.
I scream, my body convulsing. Chief’s roar rises above the chaos, then silence.
I manage to open my eyes, even though they’re filling with blood.
Chief slumps, crimson running down his shirt.
As his knees hit the ground, blood begins to pool beneath him.
“Daddy!” My voice is a rasp, broken.
Demon’s boot crushes into my shoulder, and I gag, vomiting bile and blood. He sneers down at me. “You’re next.”
Another shot echoes.
Demon’s body crumples beside me, blood spraying my skin. I blink against the pain, every nerve on fire. A trembling hand grips mine. Somehow, Chief has managed to drag himself over to me. He coughs, a terrible wet rasp, blood dribbling from his mouth.
“Baby...go, run...” he whispers.
His body goes still.
“Daddy!”
The scream bursts from me, raw and broken. I claw at his arms, soaked in his blood. He’s limp. I shake him, but he doesn’t move. My tears flood my face, hot and blinding. Sirens wail in the distance, too late. I collapse beside him, world spinning into darkness, every pulse a hammer blow.
Until nothing remains but black.