And yes, I’m fully aware that one day, someone will think the same about me.
Once I reach my truck, I rummage through my rucksack and grab my burner phone, calling one of the DOGs whose day job is in a garage the next town over.
“It’s B,” is all I say when he picks up.
“‘Sup, man?” I can hear the soft sounds of the television in the background.
“Car broke down, needs a lift and a fix.” He’s aware that it’s not my car, and a fix is exactly the opposite of what he’ll be doing. I need it to disappear.
“Coordinates?”
“Comin’ up.” We hang up and I quickly send the numbers that will give him the precise location of Marty’s car. By tomorrow morning, it’ll either be unrecognizable or parts used for other cars. Hell, it may end up at the bottom of the fucking lake for all I know, but that seems careless and these boys are nothing if not thorough.
As I roll up onto my driveway, the rain pelting down on my windshield making my wipers slash back and forth at top speeds, I almost miss the lump that’s sitting on my porch, pressed against my front door.
What the fuck?
Is that a dog? Better not be some huge fucking raccoon.
Jumping out of my truck, keys in my hand, I leave my gear inside and jog up to my door just as the flood lights flick on.
It’s not an animal, it’s a person.
A woman. Correction, a naked woman.
With short blonde hair and skin like smooth silk, she’s shivering and crying and looking nothing like the woman I know.
“Berkleigh? What the fuck? Who did this to you?”
Turning, her eyes wild with fear and some other emotion I can’t quite decipher, she tries to open her mouth to speak. The only sounds I hear are the pelting rain on the concrete and wood, and the hiccupping sobs that rattle her entire body.
Shaking, her tears running like rivulets down her cheeks, she finally speaks.
“I didn’t know where else to go.”
Chapter Six
Berkleigh
Two Hours ago
Some complete moron—likely the asshole with no boundaries—has just woken me up. To be fair, it’s probably payback for puking all over his trashcans last night. I haven’t seen him all day. I imagine he waited until now because he can be a prick like that.
The snarky comments and general asshole aura he constantly emits are reminiscent of high-school—just minus the bitch gang led by Taylor Frey, my nemesis if there were such a thing for non superheroes.
Wait…that sound is coming from downstairs.
Scrambling from the bed, I rush over to my closet to find the baseball bat my dad insisted I keep by the front door in case of emergency. Not that our neighborhood is a dangerous one, but he was a boy scout and believes in being prepared.
Footsteps draw closer and my heart beats rapidly in time with my breaths, just as I find what I’m looking for. It’s actually from an old Halloween costume, “Good Night” written down thelength, but I’m about as skilled with a baseball bat as a pony playing a keyboard.
Tanner has never breached the boundary of coming into my house in the middle of the night—not that I’m aware of—but right now, I’m praying it’s him because I don’t like how trapped I feel at the thought of a stranger in my home. It’s terrifying.
I can handle a verbal lashing, but a physical one? Not so much.
Case in point, my fat lip and sore knee after last night’s antics.
The footsteps are coming down the hall outside my bedroom and I have nowhere to go. Without making a sound, I close the closet door, while still inside, and back as far into the corner as possible.
