For my own safety, I put a few more inches of necessary breathing room between us while I still have the mental capacity to remember how much he hurt me.
“C’mon, Piper. Don’t be like that.”
My faux-casual posture belies the racing of my heart. “And how would you rather I be?”
“Pretty much any way but this.”
I bark out an incredulous laugh, which feels just as hollow as the rest of me, and turn away from him. “Right.”
There is a beat of silence, and then his front presses against my back, his heat warms my chilled skin, and his hands cage me between his body and the railing. The scruff of beard abrades my neck, and I shiver in response.
I’m disgusted with my own reaction, but at the same time, I’m grateful for the sense of control I finally feel. I can control what happens next. With the rest of my life spiraling, at least I have this. When he realizes I’m not rejecting his advances, he presses a soft kiss on the line of my neck.
I shouldn’t want this. I should push him away. He’s the one who hurt me and abused my trust. But even though I know it’s wrong, I lift a hand to guide his mouth to mine. For the first time in too long, all the stress and pain melt away. I loved this man. I trusted him. I desperately want to bring back that feeling.
I’m comforted by the familiar taste of him, the way he knows how to nibble and deepen the kiss at just the right moments. I should hate him for what he did, but right now it feels like his kiss is giving me the first moment of sanity I’ve had in way too long.
“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispers against my lips.
He shifts us around until we are in a darkened corner of the deck. Behind me, the walls vibrate from the bass and below us, the sidewalk is packed with red-rope hopefuls. Their chatter floats upward as Gavin lifts my leg to press into me at just the right angle.
He breaks the kiss and cups my face. “I need to talk to you. Come home with me? Come back to me.”
I put my hands to his chest, unsure of my answer. It would be so easy to say yes, but I should say no. I’m saved from making a choice when my phone rings.
I tear away from him and jerk my phone from my pocket. It rings a few more times before my clumsy fingers can navigate the touch screen. “Thank God you called.” I take a few steps away, shame flowing over me like a heat wave. “I was about to do something you’d probably kill me for.”
“Piper,” Paige, says, “Please tell me it doesn’t have to do with that son-of-a-bitch.”
“It may.” I signal to him that I’m heading inside. “Would you mind coming to the bar on Second?”
He shakes his head and tries to follow, but I dodge his grasp. It’s too loud and there are way too many people, so I head to the hallway leading to the bathrooms.
“I’m already on my way. Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be there in five.”
The bathroom is blessedly empty. I pocket my phone and splash my face with water, then rip off a couple paper towels to blot away the moisture. When I step back out, Gavin is there waiting. I glance at him, but keep walking when I see the anger twisted in his features. Is he really that pissed that I wouldn’t just take him back after what I walked in on him doing? I don’t know, and I don’t really care. I take a seat at the bar, order another beer, and wait for Paige. Somehow, I always feel steadier when she’s there. The sun to my moon.
“That one’s for you.” I point to the identical glass and stool next to me when she shows up. “Consider it my peace offering before you read me the riot act.”
“Smart move. Plying me with alcohol always works.”
“I—”
“No.” She covers my mouth with her hand. “You don’t even have to explain. You forget that I live with you. Just shut up and drink. We’re going to forget all about this and chalk it up to a weak moment.”
“You’re the best.”
“You know it.”
“Would it have been so bad?”
“If you’d slept with him again?”
“Yes.”
She takes a contemplative sip of her beer. “This could be me being overprotective, but I think so. You deserve better. You deserve a man that worships you and puts you first. I don’t think he could ever be that kind of person. What can I say? I have impossible standards.”
“At least you have some.”
“This is also true.”
Truth be told, Gavin is the most recent in a long line of self-centered jerks I’ve dated. As much as I hate to admit it, Paige is right.
We finish our drinks, and I convince her to go out on the dance floor with me for a while. It’s not often she can tear herself away from the books for a night out, so I take advantage of the time we have. A part of me knows once college is over, the best friend I’ve had my whole life will be one step closer to living on her own. So when she tugs her arm and signals she’s going to go, I force myself not to protest. We have to cut the cord sometime. I mean, it’s not like we can spend our whole lives living together, sharing everything. We’re both going to have to get used to the idea that we’ll be apart for the first time in our lives.
She nudges my arm. “Don’t worry about it. You order another drink. Dance your ass off for a while. Then you’ll come home, sleep it off, and I’ll wake you up at the ass crack of dawn to do Pilates at the rec center or something.”
“You aren’t staying?”
“I can’t. I have a project due tomorrow.” She sends a pained look at the door, and I immediately sober a bit. “Are you going to be okay by yourself? You know you can always come hang out with me.”
“Thanks, but I think I’ll follow your suggestion.” The last thing I want to do is interrupt more of her night. One of us needs to make our parents proud. “Are you sure you don’t want me to walk you home?”
“I’m sure. And please call me when you get home so I know that you made it okay.”
“I will.”
She stands, and I give her a one-armed hug. “Thanks again for coming,” I whisper.
“Anytime.” She gives me a big smile and then is swallowed by the crush of college students.
An hour later, I’m walking the five blocks from the bar to the apartment complex where Paige and I have lived for the past year. I did follow her instructions, mostly. After she left, I downed two more glasses of beer and a couple shots, and I managed to grab a dance or two before deciding it was time to call it a night. My heart just wasn’t in it anymore.
The streets are deserted, most students safely inside their builder-grade houses and tidy worlds. It’s way past midnight, and not even the meager glow from the street lights penetrates the darkness that envelops the porches of our two-story walk-up.
Paige normally leaves the porch light on because, despite what she says, she’s the most maternal, responsible person I know. So, it’s a bit odd that it’s turned off.
A figure in the space between our house and the next catches my attention. I squint against the darkness, but whoever it is disappears into the shadows. Immediately, I think about Carly. About how alone and vulnerable I am out on the street. Too much beer has my vision hazy, and I struggle to pull my phone from my pocket, just in case. It takes four tries before I’m able to wrestle it out, and by then, my eyes are half-closed.
God, why didn’t I just go home with Paige when she asked?
The first whispers of unease filter through my boozed brain as I make it to the place where I’d seen the shadow. I glance around again, hoping to find someone out on the street, but there’s no one. Lights flicker in the windows of the neighboring buildings, but the street is otherwise devoid of any sign of life. With my phone poised in my hand like a threat, I inch closer to our dark apartment, my steps now hesitant, and my heart thudding heavily in my chest. I can barely see through the shadows that engulf the alley, but I can feel it in my bones that something isn’t right.
My thoughts are fevered and grow more so the closer I get to the yawning opening. I peer into the blackness as I
pass, but find nothing out of the ordinary.
“You really need some sleep,” I tell myself. It’s probably just a stray cat or something.
After a couple deep breaths to clear my head, I clomp up the stairs and manage to get the key out of my pocket much more easily than I did my phone. I’m walking in the doorway, already dreaming about a twelve-hour hibernation, when a hand closes over my mouth and drags me backward. Instinctively, I try to scream, but it doesn't make it past the barrier. An arm clamps around my waist, trapping my arms against my side.
I fight a full body shiver when the person behind me leans closer. So close that I can feel the scrape of stubble on my neck and smell the sweat and an earthy cologne clinging to his skin. “Don’t scream.”
Piper
My heart drops to my stomach, and my first thought is of Paige. The last hug we shared at the bar and how the last thing I saw was her head bobbing through the crowd. Did she make it home before he got here? Please, let her be safe.
My second is of Carly.
I struggle to make my brain fight through the exhaustion, the residual effects of too much beer, and fear. He maneuvers me through the front door, and by the time my brain catches up, we’re already heading down the hallway toward Paige’s room. I try to kick my legs to throw him off balance, but he’s too strong. The arm around my waist constricts to the point of cutting off all my air. The fingers on my mouth flex, and I can feel the tender flesh bruising. As we near Paige’s room, the dread in my stomach sharpens. By now I’m crying and struggling against his hold even more violently, twisting one way and then the other.
A strong metallic smell reaches my nose when we get to her partially closed door. Through the opening, I spot thick drops of blood framing a hand on the floor. My entire body goes slack at the sight, and I struggle to catch my breath to no avail.
No, just no, no.
He nudges the door with a shoulder, and I clamp my eyes shut. I can’t look, I won’t. Inside my head, I’m screaming her name, but I can’t seem to get my voice around the knot in my throat. He drags me into her room, where the scent of blood mixes with musk of sweat and sharp bite terror. I’m sobbing, and my brain is racing wildly to figure out a way to get the fuck out of there. To find help. To rescue Paige, even though a part of me already knows it’s pointless.
We’re two steps in, and I can feel my chances to escape getting smaller and smaller the longer he has me trapped in his arms. He releases the hand on my mouth, and I finally find my voice. I scream as long and as hard as I can. So hard that I feel my throat tear from the force of it. It breaks, and I heave a deep breath to scream again.
I scream until I can’t scream anymore.
He whips me around, his face mostly obscured in shadows, and I flinch instinctively when he raises an arm. The room is dark, but the street lights shine through the window, outlining his body. I don’t move fast enough to dodge the blow. The back of his knuckles connect with my cheekbone with such force that I’m knocked to my knees and land roughly on my hands. My wrist gives under the pressure and awkward angle, causing pain to streak up my arm. He jerks me off the ground, and I slip on the slick residue that coats the floor and tumble into him.
He’s reaching behind him in the direction of the bed—for what I’m too terrified to even imagine. The pain in my wrist is blinding, and I can feel the bones grinding together as I struggle to break free of his hold.
He hefts me across the room and onto her bed, and I can see the bat—a leftover from Paige’s softball days—in his hands more clearly than I’ve ever seen anything in my life. In the light from outside, I can see the dark smears on its thickest part. I remember the autopsy report I’d found online about Carly. How she’d been beaten, and my insides turn to ice.
I’m grateful because the light isn’t strong enough to illuminate whatever horror is on the bedroom floor. Thinking about what happened to Paige in unconscionable. Seeing it would break me.
He props the bat by the bed and studies me, the pause before the pain. I close my eyes, unable to watch what comes next. It takes me a minute to realize I’m talking, begging for him to please, please, please, please stop. No. Nonono. Mindless. Thoughtless. Complete and utter terror.
What’s more terrifying than the bat, is his rapt focus. He hasn't said anything, not one word since he attacked me on the porch. Like I’m not human. Like I’m just a thing he’s playing with. Less than a person. Not worthy of his words.
Anger floods over me in a hot rush, and I’m surprised it doesn’t simply steam right out of my ears. As he twists his torso to reach for a section of rope sticking out of his back pocket, I snag the handle of the bat and swing. There’s no time to aim, no time to second-guess myself.
The bat arcs through the air and connects with his shoulder. It’s not enough to seriously injure him, but it’s enough to distract him, if only momentarily. He shouts in pain and jerks backward. I take advantage of it and surge forward, hoping the combination of the hit and the shift in balance are on my side. His hand comes up to grapple for something to counter his weight and his fingers snag in my hair. Whole chunks come away with his fingers as he falls backward and tumbles to the ground.
It takes every ounce of strength that I have to open my eyes. I can barely see through the tears and the sting of mascara, but I manage to clamber to my feet. I scoot by the bed as fast as my feet can carry me and inch around the periphery of the room. The man, who is dressed in black, gets back up to his feet. I don’t look down because I can’t. I won’t. I block that out, too.
My sobs have subsided, and I look around wildly for something, anything, I can use to fucking hurt this guy with so I can escape. I grab the first heavy-looking thing next to me—a metal bookend. As he moves to open the door, I raise the bookend in an arc above me, my wrist screaming in pain. By the force of sheer will, I manage to bring it down as fast and as hard as I possibly can across his head. The resulting, wet-sounding thump makes me cringe, but I force myself not to give in to the fear and panic.
He crumples in front of me but isn’t unconscious like I’d hoped.
By now, my wrist is throbbing fiercely, but I gather my strength and use both hands to throw the bookend at the assailant who is scrambling to his feet and picking up the discarded bat as he advances. The bookend bounces off his back, and he momentarily loses his footing but rights himself before I have a chance to move. The man turns and body checks me. I fall back back, landing on the floor in a pool of blood and knocking my head against the corner of Paige’s dresser.
Head throbbing and thoughts muddled, it takes precious seconds for me to regain my footing. In that time, he raises the bat above his head and swings, the bat whistling through the air. I duck on instinct and feel the air ruffle my hair. Unable to connect the hit, he spins, and I rush across the room to shove him the rest of the way out of the open door. He lurches to his feet just as I fling the bedroom door shut. He throws his weight against the door once, and I grunt. As he reaches a hand through the door, I take the opportunity to slam it shut, closing it on his fingers, once, twice, three times in rapid succession. The sound of someone’s pain has never been so satisfying.
He shouts and pulls the hand back. I throw the door closed and use sweaty, bloody fingers to flip the lock. I fumble and flounder for my phone and manage to pull it from my pocket. It takes me precious moments, and I’m crying in frustration and fear by the time I’m able to activate the touch screen and dial.
“9-1-1 what is your emergency?”
“She’s dead!” I shout. “He killed her!”
“Ma’am, are you saying there was a homicide?”
“He’s still here. He’s trying to kill me, too.”
“We’re going to send help. Can you tell me your address?”
I choke on my frantic gulps of air and scream when the door jerks behind me. The ringing in my ears drowns out my voice as I relay my address and phone number in case they need to call me back.
“You’re doin
g just fine. Can you tell me your name?”
“Piper. My name is Piper. Just please help us.”
“They’re on their way. Can you tell me if you’re hurt, Piper?”
“My hand—I think he broke it. But Paige, my sister. I think,” my voice breaks with a sob, but I force myself to continue, “I think she’s dead.”
“Is the person who attacked you still there?”
Another shove comes at the door and a scream tears from my lips. “Yes,” I say to the operator. “I locked him out of the room, but he’s here. He’s trying to get in.” Tears pour down my cheeks. “Please.” I don’t know if I’m talking to her, to him, or to God, but I say the word so many times it becomes one long chant.
“We’ve got officers and paramedics en route. Stay inside the room until they call for you.”
“I will,” I tell her.
Then, I close my eyes because the adrenaline gives way to shock, and it’s the only way I blot out the reality.
There, surrounded by the scent of my sister’s favorite perfume and blood—her blood—that stains my skin, I finally succumb to mindless panic.
The sound of my name being called in a familiar voice shocks me out of the stupor. “Piper!”
I twist around, realizing I slumped on the floor against the door at some point. It’s still dark out, and I have no idea how much time has passed. It can’t be long because the police haven’t arrived. Still clutching the phone in my hand, I get back to my feet, but I’m too scared to open the door and check to see who is outside.
“Piper!” The person yells again, this time the voice sounds closer and is followed by the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass. I press my ear to the bedroom door and hear the thunder of footsteps coming down the hall. “Piper, where are you?”
Recognizing the voice, my hand reaches for the doorknob. “Gavin?”
“Thank God,” he says through the door, his voice muffled. “I heard you screaming. Open the door, baby. Are you okay?”
First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 58