Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I inhale and exhale several times, reassuring myself that I am safe for the moment. I am behind secured doors, I have the ability to call for help grasped tight in my hand, and I have a can of Mace that I’m not afraid to use. Spray first—ask questions later.
“You’re okay, Mila. You’re okay.” I tell myself over and over again, out loud, so that my own psyche knows I mean it.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been able to talk myself off the ledge and eventually, my heartbeat settles. Still, that feeling lingers—a slithering unease, the paranoia creeping into my bones.
Why did I think coming here was a good idea?
Why did I think Penn—of all people—might be able to help me?
Maybe it was because, back then, when everything started unraveling, he tried to look out for me in his own way.
He tried to warn me. “Don’t do it, Mila. It’ll only pull you into something you can’t undo.”
Maybe it was because I thought, deep down, he’d understand what it felt like to be marked by something you couldn’t escape. He was targeted same as me, all those years ago.
Or maybe it was because I needed to warn him that he might also be in danger. Surely, if they want me, they want him too.
Either way, he shut me down before I could get a word out. And maybe that was my answer.
Penn wasn’t going to help me.
That left me with only one real option because I needed to protect myself. Threatening text messages and emails weren’t enough for the police to help me. I know this, because I tried.
I swipe to my contacts, my thumb hesitating for half a second before I press the name.
The phone rings once.
Twice.
A female answers. “Jillian Towne.”
I stare at the floor, my pulse thudding in my ears. I can still back out. I can still pretend none of this is happening.
But then I think about the messages. The threats. The fear that’s been trailing me like a shadow for months. Penn’s refusal to talk to me.
And I know what I have to do.
I pause for courage. And then I speak. “It’s Mila Brennan. I’m ready to go forward.”
There’s a pause before she replies, “Are you sure? Because things could get worse for you once I publish.”
It would be stupid not to put some brainpower on that. She’s not wrong. I told most everything to this reporter, figuring it would be the last-ditch effort to keep myself safe. If I go public, my stalker can’t afford to make a move. But when I open this can of worms, it’s going to be like a bomb going off. The people it will impact—my mother, my father, my brother.
Maybe Penn.
“I got another text tonight,” I murmur into the phone.
“What did it say?”
I can hear her genuine concern. I’ve sat down with Jillian once in person and we’ve talked many times on the phone. She was intrigued by my story but she had no clue it existed. I reached out to her when the threats started a few weeks ago. She’s been sitting on its publication, worried if this would protect me or put me in further harm’s way. She’s merely been waiting for me to give her the go-ahead.
“It said, It’s almost time,” I reply, a frisson of fear running through me.
She digests that and comes to the same conclusion I came to already. “He gets out of prison next week.”
“I know.” I pause, not for dramatic effect, but because my mouth is dry. “It’s almost time.”
“Mila… I don’t know if I can get it published before then. I still have a few more things I need to go over with you, then I have to do a whole lot of polishing before I can run it by my editor. I don’t know if we have enough time to get it out there so that there’s a sufficient spotlight on you for protection.”
That is not good news. I thought she had enough. I thought she was ready, because now that Penn won’t talk to me, I have no choice but to do this. “Just do the best you can to push it.”
“And you won’t go back to the police?” she asks hesitantly. I don’t know if she wants that tidbit for the sake of journalism or if she’s worried about me.
“They can’t help. Or at least that’s what they’ve said on more than one occasion.” I think about Penn and I’m not ready to give up on him yet. I’ll go to his house and force him to talk to me, but I can’t count on it. “I think the article coming out is my best chance to stay safe.”
“Okay, I’ll push my editor hard on it. You got some time now to talk? I have a few more questions.”