I come to a stop behind it, but she’s already out and sprinting to her car before I can tell her to stop.
Chapter 13
“No, no, no,” My voice cracks as I rush to my truck, seeing but not believing this to be true. Why would someone do this? Every single window has been smashed, new dents and scratches on the bodywork, even the head and taillights have been shattered. It looks like someone took a baseball bat to it. Inside, the fabric on the chairs has been torn, and a blade is sticking out of the front tire, left there after whoever did this slashed the other three.
“Niamh,” Roman’s arm comes around my waist, stopping me from getting any closer, glass crunching beneath our feet.
“Why?” I feel hot tears on my face.
Maybe I’m overreacting, but this truck means everything to me. Is she pretty? No, but I’ve had her for years. My dad got this truck for me and worked on it himself to get it working. It’s the only thing I have left.
“We need to call the sheriff.” His arms tighten when I attempt to escape them. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Why would someone do this?” I stare at all the damage, spotting new things every time I do. Wires hang out from beneath the steering wheel; there’s paint on the roof. This was done in anger; it’s raw violence, but I don’t understand why it was done to me. What did I do?
People know this is my truck, they see me driving it, they see it parked here every day. I’ve had it foryears.
Roman slowly releases me so he can get his cell out, but now he’s not holding me; I can’t help but go to the truck. I need to see how far the damage goes.
“Niamh,” He warns, but I don’t stop as I pull open the door. He’s right behind me, but he doesn’t restrain me this time, just hovers at my back like a guard. I listen to his voice, speaking into his cell, but I don’t hear a word.
A buzz forms inside my ears, muting everything around me as I lean into the car, using the seat to rest on as I swing my gaze around. There’s a bite of pain in my palm, but it’s as if it’s happening to someone else, the disconnection making it so I don’t feel my skin splitting from the shattered glass. A hollow ache throbs inside my chest as the true extent of the wreckage becomes clear, my cheeks turning wet as more tears slip down them, dripping from my chin.
“They’ll be here soon,” Roman’s voice is right at my back. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re bleeding.”
I blink, my eyes hot and swimming as I look down, seeing the blood welling around a piece of glass sticking out from the middle of my palm.
“Oh,” I frown.
“Come on,” Roman pulls me away from the truck and toward the bar. “Do you have your keys?”
I’m still watching the blood pool in my hand, willing myself to feel the pain in hopes it distracts me enough to forget the way my heart aches. With a nod, I reach behind me and pluck the key from my back pocket. Roman takes it from me and unlocks the bar, ushering me inside.
He guides me into a chair in front of the bar, and then spins on his heel, storming behind it before he rummages through it to find what he needs. All I can do is watch him, tracing the concern etched into his face, the way his brows knot in the middle. He finds what he is looking for and heads straight to me, lowering to his knees in front of the chair. With a gentleness that seems almost impossible for a man like Roman, his fingers wrap around my wrist, and he coaxes my hand toward him, palm up so he can get a better look at the glass and cut on my hand.
“It means something to you.” His gravelly voice rumbles from him, eyes down while he cleans up the blood smeared on my skin.
“My dad bought it for me. It’s the last thing I have from him.”
A heavy breath pushes from him, and his shoulders lower. “Do you know who could have done this?”
He gets a pair of tweezers from the first aid kit and gently pulls out the glass, immediately putting pressureon when more blood rushes out. I hiss through my teeth, the pain finally registering.
“No,” I finally answer, “Nothing like this has ever happened.”
He nods quietly and continues working on my hand. With a sterile wipe, he cleans up the cut and then pulls out a bandage from the kit. He gently blows against my palm, breath warm while the rough pads of his fingers scratch against my skin, the calluses evidence of the years of labor on the ranch.
“Do you have cameras?” He asks as he wraps my hand.
Shame washes over me. “I had a company that used to look after the cameras and security, but I had to cancel the contract. With all that debt, I had to cut back on some things.”
“Niamh,” The scolding edge of his tone has my defenses rising.
“Don’t judge me, Roman.”
He closes his eyes as he takes a deep breath, “We’ll speak with the sheriff.”
“It’s not worth fixing.” A defeated sigh has my body curling in on itself, “It’ll cost me more to have the truck fixed than it’s worth.”
