Chapter 5
Chapter Five
DELPHI
It goes silent when he leaves, but I don’t move. Lying there, staring at the wall, feels about as productive as it’s going to get.
Sometime later, I hear the sound of a bike approaching. My room is on the opposite side of the house, so I can’t see the road from here. If the window wasn’t open a crack, I might not have even heard it.
I climb out of bed and crack the door open before creeping down the hallway to the room on the opposite side of the house.
I turn the handle and push my way inside, pausing when one of the floorboards creaks underfoot.
When I don’t hear anyone approaching, I hurry inside and walk over to the window.
A biker that I don’t recognize sits astride his bike.
His jacket says “prospect” across the back, which makes sense.
The kid looks like he’s barely old enough to ride a bike, let alone join an MC.
I watch him until I see Kruger join him.
He’s wearing his cut now, which was absent before.
They talk for a minute before Kruger heads to the garage and reemerges with his bike.
As he pulls away, leaving the prospect to watch the house, I feel an urge flicker to life.
Now is the time to leave. There is nothing he can do once I’m gone.
And honestly, I’m in no frame of mind to be around a man who veers from Jekyll to Hyde at the flip of a switch.
I turn and survey the room. It’s not a bedroom like I assumed, but a small office.
And when I say small, I mean it’s big enough for a desk, a bookcase, and what looks like a gun safe.
I’m not sure if this room was designed with an office in mind, or if it is meant to be a nursery, but once the baby moved from a crib to a real bed, things would be a struggle.
Not wanting to waste time, I head back to my room. In my haste, I trip over something peeking out from the side of the desk. I hit the ground, my cast taking the brunt of my weight, making me cry out. I blink back tears as I take a few deep breaths, and eventually the pain ebbs.
Realizing the thing I tripped over is my bag, I grab it and look through it.
My clothes are missing, which I expected, since they’re hanging in the closet.
However, my iPad, charger, wallet, keys, and Kindle are still there.
I hug the bag to myself, feeling relieved.
It’s bad enough not having a phone because it got broken during the blast, but not having access to the outside world or books is something I wouldn’t be able to handle for long.
I get to my feet and hurry to my room, grabbing a couple of outfits that will be comfortable and easy to move around in with a cast. I throw in some underwear, flip-flops, and meager toiletries before pulling on a hoodie and sneakers.
I walk downstairs as quietly as I can, feeling like an anvil is pressing on my chest as I head to the kitchen. I rummage through the drawers, knowing he came this way for painkillers earlier. Bingo, there they are, still in the bag the pharmacy gave him.
I blow out another breath and pull out my iPad, opening the maps app to find my location.
A quick Google search leads me to the nearest cab service that accepts online bookings.
I book them to come and wait at the end of the road in twenty minutes, hoping that will give me enough time to sneak out and make it there.
I use my name, but an address much farther down, and pay in advance so they know I’m not a hoax.
Once that’s done, I put the iPad back in my bag with the pills.
I look around for anything else I might need and my eyes land on the knife block.
I reach for the small paring knife and slide it into the front pocket of my hoodie.
I don’t take anything bigger—I’ll likely only hurt myself with it, given my current state.
But I need something, just in case. Feeling a little braver now with a blade in my pocket, I head to the back door and smile when I find the key in it.
“Well, that makes things easier.”
I let myself out into the backyard. There is nothing remarkable about it. The lawn is neat, and there are a table and chairs for outdoor dining, but that’s it. There is no color anywhere, as if someone didn’t know what to do, so they did nothing.
I creep around the side of the building and unlock the gate.
Thankfully, it doesn’t face the front of the house, but the side of the house where the garage is.
I move until I’m at the edge of the building and peek around it.
The prospect is facing away from me. He has a cigarette in one hand and his cell phone in the other.
I don’t know if he’s texting someone or watching something, but the fact that he’s distracted only helps me here.
I wait for a second, in case he’s lulling me into a false sense of security.
Once I’m sure he really doesn’t know I’m here, I ease myself out of my hiding spot and move behind the garage.
When I reach the edge of that, I peek out at the prospect.
He still hasn’t noticed me. I creep down the footpath, holding my breath until I reach the corner, and swiftly turn.
The second I’m out of sight, I let out my breath in one relief-filled sigh.
Not wanting to push my luck, I hurry to the end of the path and wait.
Those five minutes feel like five lifetimes until the cab pulls up and the driver confirms it’s me.
Once I’m in and my seatbelt is on, he pulls away from the curb and moves down the road, taking the turn I just snuck away from.
As we move toward the prospect, I turn away.
If he looks in, he won’t know it’s me. Not that I have any idea if he knows what I look like.
After we’ve passed him, I lean back and let my eyes drift closed for a minute.
The second I do, I feel eyes on me. It’s unnerving to say the least.
I open my eyes and find the cab driver staring at me in the rearview mirror. If it weren’t for the slightly concerned expression, I’d be creeped out.
“You okay, miss?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure? You don’t look so good.”
I snort. “Tell me you’re single without telling me you’re single.”
He grins, making him look much younger than the early sixties I pegged him as.
“Trust me, if you’d seen me a few weeks ago, you’d know I look good, considering.”
He’s quiet for a second, as if he’s contemplating his next words.
“My sister never left her husband. She stayed with him for twenty years, gave him two kids, and took every punch, slap, and kick he would give her. She refused to leave, and I felt fucking helpless, you know? There are only so many times I can beat the shit out of her husband before the cops decide I’m the problem.
So I took a step back, hoping that if I gave her room to breathe, she’d finally see things more clearly.
Now she’s dead, and her husband is already out of jail and living with his latest girlfriend as if my sister never existed. ”
Okay, wow, that was a lot. And I have no clue why he laid it all on me.
Though I do seem to have a weird confessional effect on people.
I can never go to a grocery store or a laundromat without finding myself listening to someone who randomly comes up to me and starts spilling their life story.
Makes me wonder if I missed my calling as a therapist. It isn’t until his eyes drift to the scar on my forehead that I realize he thinks I might be a victim of domestic violence.
“My husband is dead. Has been now for many years. He was good to me. The best. Never raised his voice or his hand. He loved me like I’d never been loved before. If he saw this—” I touch the scar gently “—he’d have lost his ever-loving mind.”
I don’t tell him that it was all a lie. That even now, I don’t know if the love he poured into me was a placebo or poison.
I know it wasn’t real, that the man I lay beside was akin to a sleeper cell spy, just waiting for Bear to call him up and activate him.
The irony isn’t lost on me that the scars I’m wearing are from an explosion that nearly killed me, after I survived years of lying beside a ticking time bomb.
I shake those thoughts away before remembering why shaking my head is not a good idea right now.
“I was in a fight of sorts, though.”
“With what, a car?”
“A grenade.”
His mouth drops open when he realizes I’m being serious. I see the exact second a lightbulb goes off above his head.
“I heard about that. I honestly thought it was one of those bullshit stories that started out as something lame before it took on a life of its own. You know, like an urban legend. That shit really happened?”
“Well now, I’m not sure exactly what you heard, but I did have an up close encounter with a grenade. Not gonna lie, I won’t be recommending the experience to anyone.”
“They said you saved a bunch of people.”
“I don’t know who they are, but they’re exaggerating.”
He looks at me, studying my face as if it holds all the answers to his questions. I fight the urge to squirm under his scrutiny.
“Way I heard it, you were in that pawnshop in town, right? Lots of shops and businesses down there. A lot of people could have been hurt. So yeah, maybe they’re exaggerating, but perhaps you’re downplaying it.”
I bite my lip and look away. I get what he’s saying, but I’m nobody’s hero. It sounds all noble when you’re willing to give up your life to save someone else. And yeah, I did that. And I’d do it again. But is it still a sacrifice if I’m not afraid to die?
He doesn’t say anything else—doesn’t pepper me with the questions I see in his eyes. He lets me be as he drives me to the address I gave for the motel. He pulls into a parking space close to the entrance before turning to face me.
“You got someone looking out for you?”
“Of course. Everyone has someone.”