Chapter 6
6
S tormy spent the better part of the morning sitting at a small kitchen table. She’d tried working on her next book, but the thought of being out of a job kept interrupting her. Eventually, she’d given up and started working on her resume.
Now she sat staring at the screen of her laptop, the cursor blinking in the empty space as the uncertainty loomed larger, an invisible pressure pressing against her chest. She’d crafted the perfect resume—polished, showcasing her accomplishments with just the right touch of humility—but it felt as if she was throwing a penny in a wishing well.
Sighing, she leaned back in the chair, rubbing her eyes. The house felt quieter than usual, the sound of her own breath almost too loud. The coffee she’d brewed earlier had gone cold, and the faint bitterness of it clung to her tongue.
She glanced over at the clock—11:42 AM. Too early for a break, but she felt like one was inevitable. Maybe a walk. Clear her head, get the blood flowing. It was something. Anything.
Leaning back she tried stretching the muscles in her back. After sitting for hours her back was tight. Shoving out of the chair, she then padded across the wooden floor to get a drink of water. Stormy knew she needed to call Whiskey and let her know she was in town early. But she didn’t want to see her, not yet.
Stormy filled a glass of water, watching the clear liquid swirl in the light before she brought it to her lips. The coldness stung a little against the dryness in her throat, but it did little to quench the gnawing feeling inside her.
Texas Creek was supposed to be a fresh start, a quiet town where she could lie low, get her bearings, and try to piece her life back together. The small town was so different from the noise and chaos of California. No crowded streets or constant sirens, just open space and a slower pace of life.
The first few days in the Airbnb felt almost surreal. The tiny house was cozy—nothing extravagant. She found herself falling into a rhythm, waking up early to the sound of birds outside, cooking simple meals, and spending afternoons lost in books or journaling. It was peaceful, but it felt like a temporary peace, one that could easily shatter if she wasn’t careful.
Stormy hadn’t felt safe in a long time, though. Even now, she couldn’t escape the feeling of being watched. The hairs on the back of her neck would prickle sometimes—as if someone was just outside the window, standing too close. But whenever she’d glance out, there were only the empty streets.
She knew she couldn’t live like this forever. Constantly on edge, always expecting the worst. But she also knew she couldn’t go back to the life she had left behind. The violence with Paul, the mystery of the stalking—too many things didn’t add up.
Her ex had a temper, sure. He’d always been possessive. But the attack had been unexpected. That was something else entirely. The thought of him showing up in Texas Creek, too, made her stomach churn. She’d told the cops everything she knew about Paul, but they hadn’t been able to make any solid connections to it being him that was stalking her. And what could they really do? Not much. As far as they were concerned, he wasn’t guilty until they could prove otherwise.
It wasn’t just Paul that kept her up at night. It was the feeling the stalker, whoever they were, was out there, still playing their twisted game. Had they found her? Was being in Texas really an escape—or just a way for the nightmare to follow her wherever she went? Stormy wasn’t sure if it was the loneliness she hated more, or the fact it gave her too much time to think.
She needed to call Whiskey, needed to be honest, to reach out. But the thought of seeing her again, of facing the woman who’d always been so unflinchingly there for her, made her feel raw in a way she wasn’t ready for. Not with the bruises still fresh, the ones on her face and the ones buried deeper, the ones no makeup could cover.
The mirror in the hallway caught her eye as she crossed back through the kitchen. She avoided it. There was no point in looking at what she already knew: the purple under her left eye, the fading scrape on her chin, the split lip that, despite being covered with a dab of concealer, was still a painful reminder of everything she’d been trying to forget. She had gotten good at hiding the physical scars—hell, she’d even learned how to smile through them. But some things didn’t fade so easily.
Maybe she could just wait another day. Though each day felt like a little more distance between her and the person she used to be—before all of this . The woman who could handle things. Who could fix things. Who could count on herself. Whiskey would see through the mask, though. She always did.
Still, maybe it would be easier to put it off. Maybe a few more days to gather herself, to heal a little, before facing her friend. Maybe if she could convince herself that hiding out for just a bit longer wasn’t really running away.
But that wouldn’t work, would it? The call would have to come, eventually. Whiskey wouldn’t wait forever. With a reluctant sigh, she reached for her phone, her finger hovering over Whiskey’s name. Maybe I could just explain —but the thought of her friend’s inevitable questions made her stomach tighten. She’d have to tell the truth, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that conversation. The sound of Whiskey answering relaxed her. “Hello.”
“Bitch, where are you?” Stormy heard the baby in the background and smiled. Whiskey was a great mom.
“Who you calling a bitch, hooker?” Whiskey laughed, hearing Stormy’s voice as she continued feeding the baby.
Stormy chuckled. “I’m in town.” Her words were met with silence. She tried not sighing. She’d done that enough lately. “I wanted to settle in and get some work done before I called you.”
“How long, Stormy?”
Shit. She heard the accusatory tone in Whiskey’s voice. It was the voice of a mother disappointed in their child. “Two days.”
“Stormy.”
Sooner than later she’d have to tell Whiskey the truth. The truth being that she’d been in Texas Creek for almost a week. “A week.”
Whiskey walked out of the nursery straight into the office where Jackson was speaking with Monroe and Reeves behind closed doors. She couldn’t care less about what they were talking about. “Hold the baby,” she snapped at Jackson as she handed off Effie along with the baby’s bottle.
Holding up her finger to stop him from speaking, she walked out of the office before she went off on Stormy. The problem with her exit was she forgot to shut the door. “What do you mean you’ve been in town for a week and haven’t called me? Do not tell me it was because of work. That’s bullshit and we both know it. What did that asshole do to you that you don’t want me to see?”
She could hide nothing from Whiskey. The woman was like a bloodhound on an escaped convict. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“If you’re fine, meet me at La Familia.” Whiskey would see through the mask, though. She always did.
The thought of her friend’s inevitable questions made her stomach tighten. She’d have to tell the truth, and Stormy wasn’t sure she was ready for that conversation. And to go to the family restaurant would put her in a situation where she might see Reeves. “Not there. Anywhere but there, Whiskey.”
Whiskey stomped her foot, pissed at her best friend. “There or not at all.” Turning around, she saw Reeves looming over her. Shaking her head, Whiskey pointed a firm finger back towards the office. When Reeves remained, she snapped her fingers. She glared at Jackson until he told Reeves to get back into the office.
Stormy remembered how amazing the food was at the restaurant. She hadn’t had good Spanish food since she was there for Effie’s christening.
To be honest, anything Spanish was right up her alley. Men, wine, food, if Spanish was the term to describe it, she was all in. That was how she ended up falling for the youngest Salvador brother. Who could resist the allure of the Salvador brothers? Especially the youngest one. Reeves. His smile alone could convince her to abandon all her carefully laid-out plans. “Fine. I’ll meet you there, but do not tell your husband.”
Whiskey rolled her eyes. Did Stormy believe Jackson wouldn’t know where she was going? “I don’t have to. He knows me well enough to know where I’ll be.”
“Great.” Great! If Jackson knew she was in town, so did Monroe and Reeves. The last thing she wanted was for Reeves Salvador to see her looking less than perfect.
Her mind wandered back to the time when she’d first met him. The bar had been packed when she, Whiskey, and Parker had entered. The air had been heavy with the sounds of music and the smell of different perfumes mixed with colognes. And in the midst of it all, there had been Reeves—charming, magnetic, and completely impossible to forget.
“See you within the hour. And, Stormy, I want the truth. All of it.”
What would it hurt to see Whiskey? She knew how to navigate around the obvious bruises on her face. They could grab a bite to eat, then she’d come back and get some work done. “I’ll see you soon Whiskey.” Hanging up Stormy did not want to spend lunch listening to her best friend bitching about her poor choices in men.
With her mood deteriorating, Whiskey told Jackson she was heading to the restaurant to meet Stormy. She was more than ready to find out what was going on with her best friend. “Hang on.” She heard Jackson say, stopping her.
“Jackson, I’m headed to La Familia.” Nothing could go wrong if she was at the restaurant. Could it? Whiskey gathered up her daughter from her husband and waited for him to comment.
Stepping into the kitchen, she realized Jackson was hot on her heels. “Jackson, I think I can have lunch with Stormy without issues.”
“I don’t think that. But I can drive you and work at the restaurant while the two of you have lunch.”
Whiskey whirled around on her husband. Most of the time she loved feeling protected, but at some point, Jackson would have to give her some space. Giving him an irritated look, Whiskey realized he wasn’t budging. “Fine, but you work in the office and leave us alone.”
“That’s fine. If you ladies want to go shopping or anything other than visiting at the restaurant, you will take a bodyguard with you.” Before Whiskey could argue, he cut her off. “This is not negotiable.”
Heading into the bathroom, Stormy stared at herself in the mirror. There was not enough makeup to cover up the bruises on her face. “Honey, I hope whoever the asshole who did that to your pretty face gets his.” Yes, she hoped he got his, too.
Pulling up her long dark hair, she tied it up out of her way. Turning on the tap, she washed her face before putting on her makeup. Makeup, she knew wouldn’t hide anything. Knowing that she almost said screw it, but she wasn’t a woman that went out in public without her war paint on.
Taking her time, she made sure she looked her best before leaving the house. The last thing she wanted was to run into Reeves and have him see the fading bruises which could still be seen. Not that he’d care what had happened to her. A girl could dream, couldn’t she?
Staring at herself in the full-length mirror, Stormy saw how thin she looked. Her clothes hung off her. When had she lost her curvaceous figure? Stripping off the dress pants, she opted for leggings to go with her oversized sweater and tall boots. It didn’t improve her look. It did, however, not make it less obvious how sickly she looked.
Scooping up her keys, Stormy headed for the door where she could meet Whiskey at La Familia. It was time to come clean with everything that had been happening since they’d last seen each other. Maybe she should just pack her bags and go home with Whiskey. No, she would not unload her baggage on her best friend’s new family.
Reaching for the door, Stormy stopped, remembering she had a gift for the baby. Turning around, she hustled back to the bedroom. Searching the room, Stormy was starting to second guess she’d brought the bag inside. Opening the closet, she screamed.
Stumbling back, Stormy stared into the closet. There, hanging in front of her, was a life-size cutout that looked just like her. As she stood frozen with fear, a sound of dripping caught her attention. The image had its throat cut. The sound was coming from the cardboard as red paint cascaded down it, dripping onto the floor.
Pulling her phone from her pocket, she called Whiskey. “Whiskey,” her voice shook as she said her best friend’s name.
Hearing fear in Stormy’s voice, Whiskey rushed for the front office where Jackson and his brothers were closed in talking business. “What’s wrong?”
Stormy looked around terrified Paul was inside the house with her. “Paul’s been here, he…it’s me in the closet with my throat cut.”
“What?” Rushing back down the hallway, Whiskey shoved open the office door and immediately put the phone on speaker. “Stormy tell me what’s happening.”
“Paul’s been here. He put a life-size image of me in the closet with its throat cut.”
“Where are you?” Reeves asked as he moved towards the doorway. When Stormy didn’t answer, he pointed at Jackson. “Text me the address. I’m taking Marco and Dale with me.
“Stormy. Reeves is heading your way. Give me the address where you’re at.” When Whiskey got no response, she shouted, “Stormy!”
Stormy heard Whiskey shouting through the phone and snapped out her address. “Sorry, I’m at 456 Longview Drive.”
“Reeves is on his way. If you don’t feel safe inside, go get inside your car.” Whiskey watched as Jackson texted Reeves the address. “Tell Reeves to pack Stormy’s stuff. She’ll be staying here until her ex is apprehended.” Whiskey told her husband. Knowing Reeves, Paul wouldn’t be arrested. He’d deal with Paul his own way.
Rushing out of the bedroom, Stormy checked the doors, making sure they were locked. She didn’t know how Paul had gained access to the house. “I think I’m safe inside for now.”
“I’ll stay on the phone with you until he arrives.”
“You don’t have to. Just in case I have to call the cops.”
“Ok. But call me once you’re with Reeves. Stormy, did you hear me?”
“I heard you.” Hanging up, she went to the living room and sat down by the front door, waiting for Reeves.