Bullets & Bonfires

Chuckling, I pick up my phone and dial Bree’s number, eager to hear her voice.

I’m greeted with her voicemail instead.

Dammit. I’ve asked her to keep her phone on in case of an emergency multiple times.

Immediately, I call back and still get her voicemail.

Frustrated, I set the phone down. How much shit will Brady give me if I say I want to swing by my apartment?

Do I really care what he thinks?

I ring Bree a few more times with the same result.

“Damn, I’m glad you stayed in the car,” Brady says, flinging himself into the passenger seat. “She’s a tough one.”

Glancing down at his empty hands, I give him a light punch on the arm. “Where’s my coffee, jerk? No wonder she keeps turning you down. You waste her time and don’t buy anything.”

Brady’s eyes widen. “Fuck. Should I go back inside?”

“No,” I answer, the smile fading from my lips. “I need to stop by my place real quick.”

As he opens his mouth—to rib me, I assume—my phone rings. At first I’m relieved, figuring it’s Bree. But I don’t recognize the number.

“Hollister.”

“Hey, Liam. It’s Howard. The dude you wanted me to keep tabs on? He got sprung early this morning.”

“What the fuck? How?”

“They got some sort of emergency bail hearing in front of another judge. Parents posted bail. He has to wear an ankle monitor and stay at their house, though.”

Motherfucker.

“Why didn’t anyone call us?” Bree certainly would’ve called me if she’d been told Chad was loose.

“Don’t know. Sorry. I just got in. Called you as soon as I saw it.”

“Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“What’s wrong?” Brady asks after I throw my phone on the dash.

I can’t believe they let that asshole out of jail. Thank fuck I moved Bree into my apartment. To my knowledge Chad has no idea where I live. Probably the only time I’ll ever be thankful Bree and I haven’t had a lot of contact in the last few years.

“They let Bree’s ex out of jail.”

“Shit. He stupid enough to contact her?”

“He better not. She’s at my apartment, though, so she should be fine. Supposedly they put an ankle monitor on him.” Am I trying to convince Brady or myself everything’s okay?

Brady snorts. “If he’s crazy, ankle monitor won’t mean shit until it’s too late.”

“Thanks a lot, asshole.” I pick up my phone and my finger hovers over Bree’s number. I hate to call and scare her with this news. Especially when she’s alone.

On the other hand, there’s a .38 and a box of bullets in my nightstand drawer and I want her to be prepared.

Just in case.

The house doesn’t look any different than it did a few hours ago. For some reason, though, I’m uneasy being here by myself. There’s no Kimber waiting inside to greet me at the front door. I can’t believe how I attached I’ve gotten to her in such a short time.

For that reason, I pull my car right up over the lawn and park next to the front porch, crossing my fingers Vince is in a forgiving mood when he returns and won’t mind the tire marks in his grass.

Rushing through the house, I finally locate my charger in the bedroom and stop to plug in my phone, which died completely on my way over. Since it’ll take a while to give it enough juice to turn on, I stretch out on the bed and close my eyes for a few seconds.

A clink and rattle invade my mind sometime later. I blink and turn my head, searching for the clock.

“Shit!” I bolt upright, grab my phone, and yank the charger out of the wall socket. While my phone powers up, I slip my shoes on. I was out of it for less than thirty minutes, but I’m still eager to leave and return to Liam’s apartment.

A squeak and clunk from the front of the house reminds me why I woke up in the first place. Vince has upgraded the place significantly, but it’s still an old house. It sighs, creaks, and produces other random odd sounds all the time.

This particular creaking sounds too deliberate.

Stop it. You’re being ridiculous.

Didn’t Sully tell me to listen to my instincts? Hell, didn’t I discuss it at length in group therapy?

Time to go.

The knock at the front door sends my heart racing. Did Liam drive by and see my car?

Liam wouldn’t knock. No, he’d burst in and lecture me for not telling him I was coming over.

There’s another knock at the same time my phone buzzes in my hand. Startled, I drop it.

Shit! I realize I’d been holding my breath, hoping whoever was out front would assume no one’s home and go away. Hard to do when I’m making so much damn noise. And let’s not forget my car parked haphazardly in the front yard.

Maybe it’s a neighbor checking to make sure everything’s okay?

This neighborhood’s never been the kind to look out for each other—a painful lesson learned as a child—so that seems unlikely.

I snatch my cell phone off the floor and keep it in my hand as I creep toward the living room.

Another knock at the front door. No, not a knock. Three blunt pounds from the side of a fist against the hard wood. The small glass windows at the top of the door rattle.

The police?

No, they’d identify themselves.

A name forms in the back of my mind, but I refuse to allow the thought to fully form.

“Brianna,” an agitated voice calls out.

No.

Chad.

I’d recognize that belligerent tone anywhere.

Heart slamming in my chest, hands shaking, I freeze. What the hell should I do?

Call 911?

“Bree, baby, I know you’re in there.” He chuckles softly. “Address was on the restraining order.”

Liam had warned me about that. Another reason, I was happy to stay at his place.

Footsteps thud over the porch. Back and forth. Back and Forth. From experience, I know Chad’s pacing. Something he does right before he loses his shit.

I’m too scared to make a sound.

Grab the shotgun?

911. Call Liam. Then shotgun.

Is that a good plan? Is calling 911 overreacting?

No, dumbass. There’s a restraining order. He shouldn’t be here.

This is what Sully meant about there being no time to process in an emergency. Mere minutes have passed since I woke up, but it feels like an eternity.

911 on the way to get the shotgun.

Yes!

As my thumb hits the last button, I realize the pacing’s stopped. Not a single sound comes from the front porch.

Did he actually leave?

“911. What’s your emergency?”

I peek out the window, but there’s no one. Weird that I never heard a car leaving.

“Twenty-Nine Sand Lake Road,” I rush to spit out the address. “My ex-boyfriend is—

Before I finish the sentence, there’s a rattle, then a pounding at the back door. Seconds later a terrifying crashing and splintering of wood.

My back hits the wall and I slide along it until I’m tucked against the door of the entryway closet. Slowly, I peer around the corner as the back door bounces off the wall and Chad storms into the kitchen.

Shit. I pull back before he sees me and stand rock still.

My eyes focus on the door three feet in front of me.

Front door—outside?

My flight response is screaming yes, run for safety!

The part of me that’s too terrified to move wants to duck into the closet door at my back and hide. My hand automatically reaches behind me, silently twisting the knob, opening the door a fraction of an inch.

Keeping my options open.

Ominous footsteps creep through the house. The place isn’t that big. I’ll be face-to-face with him any second now.

Move!

“Hello? Miss? Are you there?” the 911

operator’s voice shouts from my phone.

Well, I guess hiding is no longer an option.

The footsteps rush closer. I sprint for the front door, snagging my keys off the entryway table as I go.

I wrench the knob and hurl myself through the open door, running onto the porch without looking back.

Behind me, Chad snarls.

Too close.

My feet pound down the first and second steps. Skipping over the rest of the steps, I land hard in the grass.

Don’t look back. Keep moving.

I’ll never make it.

“Help!” I scream, fumbling my keys in my hand.

“Shh, what are you shouting for?” Chad says behind me.

“How’d you get out of jail? There’s a restraining order!” I shout, praying the 911 operator is still on the line and catches every word.

The alarm on my car chirps as I hit the key fob. I jam the phone in my pocket and yank the car door so hard I break my thumbnail. My body’s between the car and the door when Chad grabs the top of the door, slamming it into me. My hip and thigh take the brunt of the impact. For once I’m glad I’m a little fleshy in those areas. It hurts, but I keep squirming into the car. My butt hits the seat and I kick my feet, pushing Chad back. “Get away from me!” I scream.

I try to jam my keys in the ignition, but my hands are shaking so bad, I don’t make it on the first try.

And that’s the only chance I have.