“Sasha, leave. Now.”
“Don’t you even want to know why I’m here?” She stops about ten feet from me.
“No. leave.”
She yells over the rain, “I have a really good reason.”
“I don’t fucking care. Leave.”
“You heard him, skank. Get to steppin’.” She may be seven months pregnant, but Sasha is smart to take a step back.
“No. Elijah, I just thought that I would warn you. I ran into Chris earlier while I was out shopping and he said something about Reagan and today. I just thought you should know.”
Hold the fuck on! “Stop!” She stops her pursuit back to her car and turns back to me with a satisfied smirk on her face. Damon, Devon, and Mickey all take a step toward her. Sam is on the phone on the upper deck. Sasha is wanted for accessory to murder, so I assume she is calling the cops.
But my sights are set a little closer to home. Reagan isn’t outside. I take off into the house just as they all start to yell at Sasha and she starts to yell back.
“Reagan!” I start to run frantically through the house, yelling for her and looking in every room. The dark pit in my stomach comes back with a vengeance. I’m slipping all over the place because of all the water that is dripping off of me.
“Reagan! Answer me, angel!” The front door is open. I head out there. My heart is racing now. I can hear sirens in the distance. Kate’s Tahoe door is open. I send up a prayer hoping for some kind of a Hail Mary.
There’s a gift bag sitting on the driver’s seat. Oh God, if something happened to her because she was doing something for me… “Reagan!” I spin in a circle, trying to see something, anything that would tell me she is okay. Instead, I see a white cloth lying on the ground and an empty syringe.
There are drag marks leading from them, to a spot that doesn’t look as wet as everywhere else. “Oh God. No. No, no, no, no. Please.” My hands delve into my hair as the cops come into view around the bend where the lake starts, over by Kate and Mickey’s house. Removing my fingers from my hair, I throw my arms down to my sides. With my fists balled up, I throw my head back and roar into the rainy sky, “No!”
“Reagan!”
* * * to be continued * * *
About the Author
B. A. Cubbage grew up in a small town on the west side of Iowa. She travels wherever her loving husband’s military career takes them and their two small, dirty, sticky, very loud, and loveable boys.
Cubbage loves to read all sorts of different genres but mainly romance novels as she is a hopeless romantic herself. She decided to give it a go one day; now she can't seem to stop. Whether it’s diving into someone else’s world or making up her own, books are her favorite place to spend time.
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