Claiming the Enemy: Dustin (Porter Brothers Trilogy 3)

Jessie didn’t let her attitude hinder her from getting acquainted. She dealt with attitudes every day.

“Any luck with the house hunting?”

“Not yet. Everything I’ve seen so far is too large or too small. I need to find something soon, or I’m going to have to sign another lease for the apartment, which I really don’t want to do. I want my washer and dryer, so I don’t have to resort to washing my clothes during the middle of the night just to get a free washer.”

“Friday nights are the best. Sunday mornings aren’t bad either. I could talk to Ned and see if I can get you more time. I watch his son at my daycare. I can talk to him on Monday if you want.”

“I would appreciate it.”

“Just being neighborly with a fellow Friday night washing machine buddy.” Making light of the favor, Jessie then asked, “But could you do me a favor in return?”

Tori’s face went aloof again since the friendly gesture came with strings.

“Until you find a place, do you mind not looking so gorgeous when you’re washing clothes? You’re giving me a complex in my old T-shirt and ratty sweatpants.”

Tori’s amusement had her giving her a once-over before confessing, “Mine are in the load I just washed.”

“Damn, nice and pretty.” Jessie shook her head in mock sadness. “I’ll never get a man with you in competition. You sure you want to stay in town? Usually, people are leaving Treepoint, not moving in.”

Her amusement deepened. “I’m sure.”

“Then you want to come over sometime? I make a killer glass of iced tea.”

“I’d like that.”

Jessie stood up when she heard the dinging signaling her clothes were done. “Stop over anytime. I’m usually home after seven on weekdays and after one on weekends.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. It was nice meeting you.”

“You, too, Tori.”

Jessie picked up her basket, carrying it to the dryer and humming since she was alone again. Reaching inside the machine for a lone bra that was refusing to budge, she heard someone come inside the room. Pulling her head out of the dryer, she figured Tori had forgotten something. It took her a second to process the familiar face of the terror-stricken woman who was frantically looking around the laundry room wasn’t Tori, and that she was trying to hide from someone.

“What’s wrong …?”

Jessie’s mouth snapped closed in alarm as a man ran inside, his furious gaze switching from the woman too terrified to move to narrowing his eyes on her.

Primal instinct warned her that she wouldn’t be getting out the room unscratched.

“I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t care. I just want to leave,” she told him, angry at herself that she left her phone in her apartment. She was determined to knock on the first door she came to, to call Knox.

Jessie felt a wave of terror that she had never felt in her whole life when he lifted the aluminum chair, allowing the door to close.

She hadn’t been raised a Hayes to wait for the first punch. Running toward the door, Jessie tried to use her shoulder to give herself enough room to get out. However, she had underestimated the furiosity of the man who had closed them in. It was a mistake she wouldn’t be given time to regret as the chair was swung at her head.

Jessie screamed, trying to dodge it, but she couldn’t. When she felt it hit her in the side of the head, a blinding pain had her falling limply to the floor.

Forcing herself to roll over despite the pain, she desperately raised her hands as she saw the chair coming down on her. The agonizing pain of being hit again left her defenseless, succumbing to the enveloping darkness that eagerly waited to embrace her.

Jessie heard the plaintive cry again, dragging her reluctantly awake.

“I’m coming.” The voice that came out of her mouth didn’t sound like hers.

Confused as to who was crying, Jessie tried to make herself rise. Had she nodded off during the children’s naptime?

Hearing the whimpers again, Jessie tried to get her feet under her, becoming scared when they couldn’t hold her up. Frowning, she tried to raise her eyes to see who needed her attention and why she couldn’t get strength in her legs. She was bewildered when she couldn’t raise her lids, yet she could feel the sun beating down on her.

She brought her hands to her eyes, puzzled at the thick clump preventing her from seeing who was crying.

“Hush, baby, I’m coming,” she soothed, wincing at the rawness in her voice.

She brushed at the clump sealing her lashes closed. She needed a wet cloth …

The crying increased, making her desperate to see who was making the pathetic sounds of misery. Not knowing what else to do, she lowered her hand to her T-shirt, tugging upward to spit on it. The dribble she produced wasn’t much, and it sent a burning sensation through her throat.