Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 171(@200wpm)___ 137(@250wpm)___ 114(@300wpm)
“Who’s there?” I called out, not sure what I expected to happen but really hoping I was being paranoid. Sometimes, going to the prison was more than a little scary, so it was certainly possible I was imagining things. “Hello?”
Just as I was about to relax, a large figure stepped part way out of the shadows, enough for me to see the imposing figure in dark jeans, a dark, long-sleeved shirt, and black leather gloves. I couldn’t see his face or any identifying marks, but surely there couldn’t be many men as large as this guy.
“You’re not to go past the fuckin’ fence in the backyard. If you do, you won’t fuckin’ live to get back inside the fuckin’ fence.” When I said nothing, he shifted his weight and I shied away instinctively. “Understand, girl?” I nodded, but he clenched his fists in anger. “Bitch, say you understand,” he snarled.
“I-I under-understand.”
“Don’t leave this fuckin’ house until Monday. Go inside and don’t leave. Don’t get your fuckin’ mail. Don’t answer your door if anyone comes the fuck over. Understand?”
I nodded again before finding my voice. “Yes. I understand.”
Then he stepped into the shadows and disappeared.
For several long seconds I stood frozen in place, unable to make myself move. My heart pounded so hard I could feel my throat throb as well. Was I hallucinating? Had I imagined the entire encounter?
But the faint scent of sweat and stale cigarette smoke lingering on the soft breeze confirmed I hadn’t dreamed the encounter. Someone had been waiting for me outside my house. Warning me not to go past the fence. I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t want to stay here, but it sounded like it might be safer to do what he said. One thing was for damn sure, I wasn’t going past the fucking fence. I had no one to help me, and after my experience with the police when I was with Paul, I couldn’t make myself call 9-1-1 for help. At least I’d had cuts and bruises to prove Paul had been hitting me. How was I going to prove someone had been outside my house threatening me?
When I finally spurred myself into action, I unlocked the door with trembling hands and nearly tripped over my grocery sack I’d set next to the door. Thank God, it was only one large sack. I was able to loop it over my arm while I stumbled inside and shut the door, pushed the deadbolt closed, and turned the lock on the knob.
I dropped the sack before rushing through my house and turning on every light in the place. I checked in every closet and cabinet, every hidden nook and cranny I knew about.
I hurried to check the front and back doors. Both remained deadbolted and the knob locks were engaged. There were no broken windows or anything indicating someone had been in my house, but I was still officially freaked the fuck out. I wasn’t sure how safe I felt here but, unless I called the cops, I was stuck for now.
Pulling out my phone, I pulled up the app controlling my lights. If the guy had someone watching the house, the last thing I wanted was for them to know which room I was in. So I shut them all out at once and crouched in the corner by the stove, a cast-iron skillet in my white-knuckled grip.
The kitchen floor was cold against my bare legs as I huddled there, trembling. Part of me wanted to crawl into a closet, but I couldn’t make myself move from my spot. Every creak of the house settling sent fresh waves of panic through me.
I’d survived Paul. I’d started building a new life. And now this?
My phone glowed in the darkness as I stared at it. The screen dimmed, then went black. I tapped the screen awake again and pulled up my contact list. My mother. My father. Right. No help there.
Xavier.
No. No way. Not again. The man had literally sacrificed his freedom to help me once. I couldn’t ask him -- or his friends -- to do anything more for me. Especially since this could really get someone hurt. I’d hurt Xavier enough. I didn’t need to destroy his family as well as his life.
My stomach clenched painfully. I needed a different option, but who could I call? My only friend in town was a barista I’d talked to three times. Even if I had a friend nearby, I didn’t know anyone who would know what to do in a situation like this.
The number Xavier had given me burned in my memory. He’d been insistent. “Anything at all you need.” Could I really call? Wouldn’t that mean I was using him yet again?
Outside, a branch scraped against the window. I nearly dropped the skillet as I jerked toward the sound. My heart hammered wildly in my chest, and I could feel sweat erupt over my skin as I fought to catch my breath.