by Hype, Jenn
His hand reared back. I couldn't let him hit her again. Her lip and nose were already dripping blood, her left eye swollen and her shirt torn.
Spinning into the room, I pointed my gun at the back of his head. One deep, steadying breath in, my finger twitched on the trigger.
"Let her go," I warned.
His meaty paw froze mid-air. He turned around slowly, but I saw his hand go to his waist. I didn't give him a chance to pull his gun. One shot took him down.
Kicking his gun away from him, I dropped to my knees to check on my mom. Her hands were zip tied behind her back and I reached for the scissors in the drawer next to her head.
"Sweetie, you have to get out of here," my mom said frantically. I was already shaking my head.
"Not without you, mom." I tried to lift her, but she cried out and resisted. That's when I saw the blood on her pants. "Mom, what happened!?" More blood continued to soak her clothes after she collapsed back to the ground.
"You're going to pay, you little bitch," the man yelled from behind me as I held dish towels against mom's leg. His voice was strained, his arms clutching his leg.
"Don't make me shoot your other knee cap, old man."
"Brooke," mom said my name like a warning.
"You fucked up with the boss. He'll be here any second. There's no way you're getting out of here alive."
Ignoring him, I asked mom if she could walk. I wasn't strong enough to carry her full weight, so when she shook her head no, a pang of helplessness gripped my chest.
"I'm not leaving you," I insisted before she could tell me to go again.
"You have to. I'll be fine, Brooke, but you need to get to safety," she said with a wince. She wouldn't be fine unless I got her to a hospital right away, but she didn't give me a chance to argue. "Listen, Brooke. You remember what you were given before you left for college. You need to use it, k?"
She was referring to the dog tags and address scribbled on a post-it note that Officer K gave me right before I drove off for college.
I nodded, but I had no intentions of just abandoning her. Grabbing the 9mm I'd kicked away from the man still groaning in pain over his gunshot wound, I checked the magazine. It was fully loaded and would hopefully help my mom hold off whoever else came before the cops got there. She'd gone to the range with me and Officer K a couple times and she was a pretty good shot.
"I'm going to go call 911. You shoot anyone that comes in, okay? Don't hesitate."
She smiled and kissed my cheek tenderly. It felt too much like a goodbye. I almost changed my mind and stayed there, but I kept moving. We would both be fine. Whoever was trying to hurt us would pay. I would make sure of it.
When I made it to my car, my phone was nowhere to be found. Digging around between the seats and under the floor mats, I just kept coming up empty. Shit. Had I dropped it back at the club?
"Dammit!" My fists pounded on the steering wheel. Pulling away, I drove about ten houses down before making a loop and heading back towards mom's. I parked a few houses down and shut my lights off. Until I figured out my next step, I wanted to keep an eye on the house in case someone came back.
Which they did. Not even a minute later a dark van pulled into the drive. Four men barreled out, sprinting into the house. Gunshots echoed through the air. I threw my car into drive, but before I hit the gas I saw two men carrying my mom out of the house. She was flailing, fighting them every step of the way, despite her injured leg. They shoved her into the van as two more men came out. One of them was propped up on the other, and that's when I realized one of them was the man I'd shot. That meant one more man was left inside.
One of the men that forced my mom into the van ran back into the house and came back a minute later, dragging a body by the hands. It was easy to see, even from my distance, that the man being dragged against the ground was dead.
Good for you, mom.
I tried to follow them, knowing if they spotted me I was screwed. No way did I stand a chance against four men. The distance between my car and theirs was too great and I lost sight of them at the first stoplight we hit. I debated going to the cops, but my mom had given me explicit instructions of where to go. Never once in the past had she indicated that she knew anything about the location of the address, but she must know something if she so adamantly insisted I go there.
I remembered the overnight bag I had in my trunk when I'd planned to stay over with mom a couple weekends ago and ended up changing my mind. After pulling over and trading my dressier clothes for jean shorts, a tank and my worn out Chucks, I pulled the dog tags Officer K gave me from my keychain. Unraveling the chain, I slipped them around my neck.
Once I hit the highway and could finally breathe again, I inhaled deeply, taking in as much air as my lungs could hold, before releasing it slowly. By the time my GPS informed me I'd reached my destination, the hour was late. Way too late to be visiting the residence of persons unknown. The house was really far off the road, which gave me no choice but to turn into the driveway, which was more of a dirt drive that was mostly overgrown than anything. It could have been the snail's pace I was driving at, but the distance from the main road to the house seemed to stretch on forever before the house finally came into view.
The adrenaline was wearing off and if I let myself, I could have so easily fallen apart right there in my car. Instead, I sat in the car, figuring out what the hell to do next. Not a single light was on inside the home, but despite it's outward appearance, it didn't seem abandoned. No broken windows or signs of vandalism, and while the house didn't look like it'd been occupied for some time, it also wasn't falling apart. The landscaping surrounding the structure was immaculate and the small porch was clear of debris. If the house was empty, it hadn't been for long.
Breaking in didn't seem wise... Ah, screw it. What the hell did I have to lose anyway?
I took note of the security camera tucked behind a beam on the roof of the porch. It was almost undetectable, and who knew if it was in working order, but it was definitely an expensive one. Anyone who didn't know what they were looking for wouldn't even notice it. But cameras meant someone could potentially be watching me, so I tried knocking for a few minutes first. After several minutes with no answer, I was confident the house was indeed empty.
Crouching down I inspected the lock on the door. Picking locks was something I'd learned from that bad crowd I hung out with as a way of rebellion, back when I was too young to realize how good I had it. Officer Knowles found out and said he wouldn't tell my mom if I agreed to never see those kids again. He never admonished me for the skill, instead helping me hone it, but enforced strongly the mindset that I could never use the skill for evil. And since Officer K had pretty much insisted I seek out this house if I were in danger, I figured he would understand. Trouble was, this lock wasn't your run of the mill deadbolt you could pick up at your local hardware store. The keypad on the front meant it was wired into the house. My chances of getting that lock to open for me were fucking nil.
The house most likely had an alarm system, which wasn't my area of expertise. If there was a way to disable it, I wouldn't have the first clue how to go about doing it. But if I set off an alarm, the company would probably call the owner. Hopefully whoever that was knew Officer K and would be cool with me just letting myself into their home.
After circling the house and finding the backdoor to be exactly the same as the front, and not noticing any easier way in, I found my way back to the front.
My hopes weren't high that I would be able to force my way in without having to bust a window or do some sort of damage to the house, but I was going to give the lock a try before resorting to that option. Officer Knowles told me to never carry a lock picking toolkit with me because it automatically makes you look guilty, so I'd made my own travel size version. To anyone else, it looked like a Swiss army knife, but inside I'd taken it apart and changed out the tools with a torsion wrench, hook pick, half diamond, snake rake and very small light.
> Generally it would take me less than five minutes with a torsion wrench to unlatch a run-of-the-mill deadbolt, but I honestly wasn't even sure if that's the tool I should use in this situation. I'd practiced picking locks enough to know the basics and be somewhat quick with the easy ones, but up until now, I'd never had to put that skill to the test. Doing it for real, knowing this was an actual crime, sent a spike of adrenaline coursing through my veins, making a criminal act feel less dirty and a lot more badass.
The tiny flashlight shone inside the keyhole only revealed what I already knew - which was nothing. Taking an educated guess, I singled out the wrench and shoved it into the lock and breathed out a relieved sigh when it didn't electrocute me. Hell, maybe that wasn't even a possibility, but like I said, I knew nothing about it.
After a few minutes of just wiggling the tool around, hoping to magically figure out what the hell I was doing, I heard a faint clicking sound before feeling the cylinder rotate and the bolt scrape against the steel tip of my torsion wrench as the lock disengaged. Pushing the door open at an agonizingly slow pace, I forced myself not to just shove it the rest of the way and jump inside yelling "Hiyah!" Patience was not only a virtue I lacked, but also loathed. Move first, think later. That was generally my motto. But if I was wrong and the house wasn't empty, and whoever was inside owned a gun and had no qualms with shooting an intruder, I'd be totally screwed.
Carefully, pausing every time the door inched forward to listen for noises inside, it wasn't until the door was full open that I realized I'd been holding my breath. A twinge of panic sparked to life before quickly dissipating when I realized no alarm was sounding. Naturally I worried about a silent alarm, but did that really matter? Either way I was hanging out until the police arrived.
By the time I checked every nook and cranny of the house to see if someone was inside it, it was obvious no alarm had alerted the police. They would have been here twenty minutes ago if that were the case. Another thing I noticed was how immaculately clean everything was. A light sheen of dust sat upon certain surfaces, but it couldn't have been more than a few days since the place was last cleaned. Another notable detail was the lack of personal items. No photographs, knick knacks or even a toothbrush.
Knowing I was alone and, at least for the immediate future, out of danger, I let my heart rate return to normal. I could practically feel the adrenaline once again draining out of me, taking every ounce of energy I had left with it. Minutes ago I would have told you it was going to be a sleepless night, but the stress of the long drive and the day's events was starting to take its toll on me. My stomach growled, my throat was parched and a beginnings of a migraine sent me rummaging for medicine.
The bathroom cabinet where I found the ibuprofen told me that whoever lived here was either weirdly O.C.D. or not here often. The only items I found were unopened packages of toothpaste, shampoo and other sundry items, and a brand new bottle of headache medicine. Tearing into the bottle and ripping off the aluminum seal, I tapped out four capsules into my hand before pulling a couple dollars out of my pocket and shoving it inside the box after putting the bottle back inside. My way of compensating the owner, because like hell was I going to add theft to my B&E.
Pulling a glass out of a kitchen cabinet, I ran the tap and choked down the pills with tepid water. Just as I put the glass to my lips for another drink, something outside moved, startling me. Okay, it didn't startle me - it scared the shit out of me. The glass slipped from my hands, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces all over the tiled floor.
"Motherfucker!"
Because not enough shitty things had gone wrong so far in the day, a shard of glass sliced my hand. Blood tinged my dark tank top. Since the day had been a clusterfuck of one bad thing after another, and going home to pack a bag wasn't an option, I didn't have anything else to wear. I yanked the top over my head and quickly shoved it under the faucet. If someone came home while I was here, I didn't think they'd react well to seeing someone covered in blood standing in their kitchen.
Enough of the blood washed away under the warm water that the dark grey cotton hid the rest. Only now it was too wet to put back on.
Sure. I could hang out in a house I broke into in just a bra and my shorts. Such a normal thing for me to do, it bordered on mundane.
Twenty minutes later the glass was cleaned up, my hand was properly bandaged thanks to a first aid kit under the sink, and I was so freaking exhausted I could barely see straight. Laying in a stranger's bed just felt too freaking weird, and since I didn't want to camp out in my car, I tossed myself down on the couch and pulled the blanket draped over the back of it over my body.
What now? Wait for someone to come home and hope they're cool with me just hanging out uninvited? Or better yet, hope they don't shoot me for trespassing? Even if whoever owned the house came home and were eager to help the half naked intruder, what the hell was I going to ask?
Oh, hey person. I was almost drugged and attacked at a bar tonight. Then I shot a man and was forced to abandon my severely injured mom. She told me to come to this address, which was given to me by my fill-in dad right before he died. So I thought, you know, maybe whoever lived here could help me figure out how the hell my life turned into a bad made-for-TV movie. Cool?
Yeah. That was sure to go over well.
Just before giving in to sleep, I'd settled it. A quick nap and then I was headed to the police station to talk to people who could actually help me. But right now, I just needed to rest my eyes. Just for a little bit.
Chapter Three
Who Dat Is?
Grant
"We've got motion detected at Wilson."
Trent's voice was almost robotic as he launched into the details of what happened at the Wilson house so far. I sat up straighter in my seat, my hands gripping the wheel of my 2016 Audi S8 Plus - my baby - and steeled myself for whatever shitstorm Trent was about to unleash on me.
"According to the registration info from the plates, the car that just pulled up out front is a 2006 BMW 330Xi Sedan, owned by a Brooke Jackson, twenty-eight years old," Trent continued to prattle off the information he'd uncovered from his DMV search as I turned my car around in the middle of the street and headed back in the direction of Wilson. "From what I can tell by the name search, she's just a regular civilian with no criminal background. It's possible she stumbled upon the house on accident."
"I highly doubt that. Can you see her on the security cameras?"
"Yeah, she looked directly into the front-entry camera when she walked up. Almost like she knew exactly where it was positioned. She knocked and then circled the house, almost like she was scoping out the place. Now she's crouched down, checking out the lock on the front door."
"Who knocks before breaking into a house? And surely she's not planning to try and break in knowing there's a camera watching her."
"Apparently she is. She just pulled her keys out of her pocket, and the angle of her body isn't good enough to say for certain, but it looks like it's some sort of lock picking tool. At least I assume it is, since she's shoving it into the lock."
"I'm five minutes out. Let her in the house."
"What? Why?" I overlooked the annoyance in Trent's voice. We were all a little on edge with not having heard from Jack, our trusty and dependable leader, in over twenty-four hours.
"If she were a professional she wouldn't even be attempting to pick that lock. Better to let her think she got in on her own than to let her get away without finding out why she was there to begin with. Disable the alarm and the lock. I'm pulling up the feed on my phone now."
I hit the end button before he could answer, immediately pulling up the app that streamed video from our cameras. Selecting Wilson, then choosing the front-entry camera, the image popped up immediately.
Whoever she was, she was small. Too small to be breaking into a dark house by herself. Especially when unarmed. And she was definitely unarmed. The tight fitting racerback tee accented toned shoulders and slim ar
ms. Squatting in front of the door, her shorts rode up high enough for me to see the underside of her ass cheeks. It was possible she had a small knife tucked away in the ankle of her high top Chucks, but I seriously doubted she was carrying a blade.
She gained entry right as I reached the drive to the house. I turned off my headlights and slowed to a crawl, not wanting her to know she had company in case she tried to run. The car rolled to a stop behind hers, ensuring her getaway would not be a quick one if she attempted it. I switched to the camera pointed at the living room. Her not knowing she was being watched made me feel like an asshole, but then I remembered that she had broken into - or at least thought she broke into - a house that didn't belong to her. A house she had no business being inside of.
She walked with slow and deliberate movements, checking every nook and cranny of the tiny house. Not once did she flip on a light or take inventory of any items that occupied the space, which meant she wasn't a common criminal looking to loot an empty house. She was making sure she was alone.
Cameras were set up to view almost every angle of the house. The only privacy being the bathroom, but the camera in the hall still gave me enough of an image to see her flipping the light on and searching the medicine cabinet in the guest bath. My curiosity shot up about twelve notches when I saw her place money in the box of medicine she'd just taken. So instead of stealing, she was leaving money? What the hell was going on?
When the glass slipped from her hands and shattered on the ground, I had to grip my fingers tighter on the steering wheel to keep from jumping out and running in to help her. I lost the battle when I saw blood dripping from her hand. By the time I reached the backdoor, she was already trying to clean the blood off her shirt, clearly not injured badly enough for me to go storming in there. Taking two large, slow steps backward, I put myself back into the shadows and out of sight just as she was tearing off her shirt and putting it under the water.