11. Chapter 11
TIERNEY
Pain lanced through my side, stealing my breath, nearly bringing me to my knees.
I hissed, sucking in as much air as I could before dropping the pillow that had become my constant companion these last three days, to the bed.
“Twenty-eight.” I gritted out, ghosting my fingers across the handle of my newly polished knife.
I made it home from Rossdale’s the other night, my body on the edge of collapse.
Even the heavy dose of adrenaline which had carried me across the county was spent.
Anger and the need for revenge burned within me, fueling every step—pushing me farther than my stubborn determination could have on its own.
Not even three steps inside the door, my body collapsed, the last of me spent. My only consolation; I was home .
Fourteen hours later, I awoke. My body was still crumpled in the same position it had been when it hit the floor.
I dragged myself to the kitchen and heated myself a cup of bone broth, careful not to load up on heavy foods until I understood the extent of my injuries.
The near-scalding liquid burned going down, but I relished it. Whether it was the sharp, stabbing pain or the heat of the broth, the pain was a reminder that I survived. Someone had come for me—hard, and I was still standing.
Somewhere between scaling his fence and damn near crawling up my front steps, I came to understand that a broken rib might be the least of my worries.
In the three days since, I had come to two conclusions. One: Whoever tried to kill me was a dead man. Now whether they knew it or not, that wasn’t my problem. And Two: There was a good possibility. Scratch that. Probability. Ahren Rossdale saved my life.
I still wasn’t sure how I felt about that last one.
When I woke, finding myself drugged and paralyzed with him sitting beside me, only to wake later and find myself wearing only his shirt—I panicked and assumed the worst.
Now that I’d had some time to reflect on it, that was the only part of my body that wasn’t sore. Not to mention, it just didn’t add up.
I read online about the mysterious fire at Balder’s Grove, and the three bodies discovered there, burned beyond recognition; no doubt Rossdale’s handiwork.
I might have been able to chalk it up as a clean-up job by the person who ordered the hit on me if he hadn’t taken the time to retrieve my knives and clean the blood and debris from them .
No. I hadn’t worked out all the pieces of the puzzle that was Ahren Rossdale, but the picture they formed so far said he wasn’t likely to hurt me—for now, anyway.
That just left me with the question of who tried to kill me.
Whoever it was left me vulnerable. Unable to breathe or even do the lightest of household tasks without excruciating pain.
Hell, I actually found myself longing for some of Rossdale’s pain killers last night—that might just be even more unforgivable.
During a particularly arduous trip to the bathroom that first night, I decided I would repay every moment of pain with one slice from my favorite knife. The most recent sneeze brought the count to twenty-eight.
“Why didn’t I think of that sooner?” I murmured to the empty room.
Flipping my laptop open, I reached for the cable and plugged in my phone. My fingers flew across the keys, running scan after scan of my phone and every program it held.
After exhausting every program at my disposal, the only intrusion I was able to find was someone reading my text messages nearly ten days ago. Nothing was installed, copied, or deleted.
“Rossdale maybe?”
Even as the words left my mouth, they confused me and still, it was the most likely explanation. Was he looking for answers, too? Why?
Dropping back against the headboard, I released a frustrated sigh, wincing as my broken rib protested the heavy breath.
By now, Balder’s Grove was little more than charcoal and ash. It was doubtful I would be able to find any clues there as to who set this whole thing into motion .
My eyes dropped to my phone, still cradled in my hand, and it hit me. There was one lead I could follow. It was only five forty-five. Plenty of time to get dressed and grab a quick bite to eat.
A familiar calm settled over me as I slipped into work mode and tucked the anger away, reminding myself to stay detached. It was harder this time. Usually, I could remind myself, it’s just business. But this time—this time it was entirely personal.
My fingers closed around the edges of the first-aid kit, pulling it from its spot tucked away near the towels and laying it next to the sink. A small smirk found its way onto my lips when I completed the small task without the slightest tremble in my hands.
Reaching for the compression bandage, I fixed my eyes on the mirror. I wrapped my ribcage as tightly as I could stand it. I wouldn’t be taking a deep breath anytime soon, but the tight wrap should help lessen at least some of the pain.
The slinky black tank slid into place, covering the bandage, and I pulled my black cargo pants up and slipped my boots on.
I steeled my spine, taking the deepest breath I dared, then lifted my fingers to my hair, sliding and twisting with practiced ease as I wove it into my favorite fishtail braid, shifting it slightly so the end naturally draped over my shoulder.
With the bandage, the pain was manageable, my eyes only betraying my discomfort for a fraction of a heartbeat before settling back into the unfuckwithable mask I wore.
The familiar motion of my knives sliding into their sheaths cleared away another layer of unease, settling the last bit of nerves that had cropped up.
What I planned to do tonight wasn’t just forbidden. It could very well make me an enemy to everyone in my field, painting an even bigger target on my back. It wasn’t like I had a lot of options, though .
I knew enough to know the relief I felt, the safety I felt within these walls, was only an illusion. Hadn’t I killed scores of people in their own safe places?
No, for me to be able to breathe freely, truly free and not looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life, I needed to end this. I needed answers.
Which meant it was time to hunt.