All the doors and windows had alarms that sent notifications to Charlie’s cell if I tried to break out, and I didn’t know the code. I couldn’t make a daylight escape, even if I had some place to go and money to get there.
I could stretch my legs and snoop, but the house wasn’t big enough to do much walking, and Charlie’s house held no big secrets. No scraps of lace hidden in a secret drawer, no sex dungeons, no guns that I could see, either. Just a room filled with exercise equipment, my sparsely decorated guest room, and Charlie’s room, which looked lived-in, though just barely.
He kept whatever secrets he might have well hidden.
Hence the boredom. The mind-numbing boredom had me crawling up the walls even though I was over the worst of the withdrawal symptoms. I still wanted to get high, but my body was coming through the other side of the sickness, which only increased my desire to be far away from this city and all the shit that went along with it.
A noise sounded outside, and I shrugged it off at first, thinking maybe my brain was conjuring up drama for the sake of entertainment. But over the sound of me whipping up eggs to scramble, I heard a car door, and it wasn’t from the neighbors because everyone in this neighborhood worked during the day. My heart was already racing as I tip-toed across the living room and peeked out of the front blinds to see two men, both wearing Black Jacks patches on their leather vests, messing with one of the cars parked in Charlie’s driveway.
I froze as flames licked at the car from the inside seconds after the guys hopped on their bikes and rode away. Moments later, a loud explosion sounded, and I fell to the floor, curling up in the fetal position and unsure what to do.
Call the police. It wasn’t my first instinct, but it seemed like something people in this neighborhood would do when a car exploded. Charlie’s house had no landline anywhere, and I didn’t have any way to call the police. Or Charlie.
Without thinking, I pulled open the window to shout, hoping there was someone on the block who could come to my aid. I was met with a loud screeching alarm for my efforts.
The sound was so fucking loud, all I could do was cover my ears and hope it would go away. It didn’t. In fact, the damn thing seemed to get louder. It was so damn loud I couldn’t think straight except to go to the kitchen and grab a knife for protection.
Those Black Jacks patches were real. And I needed to be able to protect myself. I couldn’t count on Charlie to provide me with an actual weapon, but if they found a way inside, I wouldn’t die without a fight.
And they’d have to kill me because I wasn’t going back. Ever.
A door opened a few minutes, maybe it was an hour later, and I stood beside the wall and braced myself for whatever came next. Loud, heavy footsteps sounded on the hardwood floors. I held my breath and raised both hands high in the air, knife poised for a downward strike. I realized too late the footfalls sounded behind me and turned.
“No!” The word came out more like a battle cry, and with one hand, Charlie grabbed my wrists and slammed them against the wall until the knife fell to the ground, his gun pointed toward the floor.
“What the fuck, Savannah?”
I blinked and took a step back. “What the fuck, me?”
He nodded and shoved the gun back into the holster he kept attached to the back of his jeans. “Yeah, what the fuck? You trying to kill me?”
Seriously? That’s what he got from this scenario? “Think again, idiot. One of your cars just exploded out front, or didn’t you notice?”
My heart raced while I explained about his visitors. “They were wearing Black Jacks’ patches, Charlie. They must know I’m here and that was a message for you. It has to be.”
It was the only thing that made sense.
Charlie’s big, warm hands fell gently on my shoulders, and I didn’t flinch at his touch.
“They have no way of knowing what happened to you, Savannah. As far as they know, you’re dead or your old man is hiding you somewhere. Unless Tits said something, which I doubt ‘cause she’d be dead if she did.”
“How would you know if she’s dead?”
“This is my life, dealing with the fucking Jacks and their petty bullshit. They want Reckless Bastards territory, and they aren’t above everyday terrorism to make it happen.”
Everyday terrorism. It was exactly the perfect way to describe what had just happened. It was traumatizing, but not even as much as the past six months of my life. But it also made all the pieces of the puzzle click together. Why Charlie was being so nice and accommodating, and why he wouldn’t just put me on a bus like I requested.