“Sure. Why?”
“Because I need you to get me something,” I said. “Some information.”
His expression crossed with confusion. He looked absolutely intrigued. “Okaaaaaay.”
“Actually,” I added, caressing his sexy stubbled face. “I need two things…”
Fifty-Two
SAMMARA
My hand shook as I punched the keycode. Three beeps sounded in quick, rapid succession. For a heart-stopping moment, nothing happened.
Then the gate lifted…
This is it. You’re committed.
Carefully, I guided the big truck around the tight turn. I wasn’t used to such a wide vehicle. The steering wheel turned easily enough though, and I straightened out as the gate closed behind me.
No, I thought to myself. Now you’re committed.
The truck idled. My breath caught in my throat. Three rows of storage units stretched out before me, all looking the same. I glanced down at the map… and chose the one in the middle.
A minute later there I was, stopped between units 356 and 357. Dim orange overheads spilled their light over the asphalt. The big, corrugated steel doors loomed like gaping mouths, all in a row.
I grabbed the bolt-cutters. My heart was pounding.
This stuff is yours, I reminded myself. It belongs to YOU.
I got out, summoning my courage. Even better, summoning my anger. Getting pissed off at Dawn had finally landed me here. Standing before a pair of strange storage units at 2a.m., somewhere out in Woodbay.
Cutting through the lock was surprisingly easy. The bolt-cutters were top of the line. I did both doors, then leaned them up against my box truck before rolling the back open.
Should I use the extendable ramp?
Shit. I wasn’t sure how to work it. The pieces I wanted were small, mostly. I figured I could get them in on my own. Then again, the truck was high. Much higher than it looked when I rented it.
You screwed up, Sammara. You really should’ve planned this better.
The anger at myself wasn’t helping. I channeled it into rolling open the doors to the storage units, as quietly as possible. I half-expected interior lights to blink on… but wasn’t all that surprised when they didn’t.
“You’re too fucking cheap Dawn,” I sighed, reaching back for my flashlight. “Always were.”
I thumbed the button and broke into a smile. There it was — all of it — every last piece. I saw the hope chest my father had given me, and had to choke down the lump of rage that formed in my throat.
She’d shoved it all in haphazardly rather than arrange it in any kind of order. But that was Dawn for you. Laziness was kind of her thing.
I stared at my favorite vintage table, the matching chairs. The crystal lamps I’d scored that paired perfectly with the big oval mirror, jammed into the corner. Some of it was covered properly. Most of it wasn’t. It was overwhelming. There was just so much that was mine.
You can’t take everything, I reminded myself. Just take the stuff you can’t live without.
I got to work, grabbing the most essential pieces first. The ones I’d loved and adored before I even met Dawn, the pieces — like the hope chest — that were undeniably mine.
After that, I went in size order. Small stuff, then medium, and eventually even some large. It was an ass-backwards way to load a truck, really. And it showed. In my quest to make sure I got as much as possible, I was rapidly running out of room.
Maybe I could make two trips?
No, it was out of the question. The unit I’d rented was too far away. It would be practically dawn by the time I went there, unloaded, and got back here. A funny play on words, actually.