I don’t respond, just shake my head and stab at the call button, one second from taking the stairs when the elevator doors open. I rush inside, stabbing the button for my floor as if breaking it will make the elevator move more quickly, becoming increasingly agitated as the doors finally close and I feel the elevator climb.
I try calling her again. Direct to voicemail.
I throw the offensive phone on the floor, violently stomping it repeatedly with the heel of my boot until it stops taunting me with its stupid fucking backlight. Then immediately scoop it up,shove it in my pocket, feeling stupid because I’m going to need that regardless if I find her home or not.
The elevator dings on my floor, the doors barely open before I’m through them, racing down the hallway toward our apartment. I slow just as the door comes into view. Finding it ajar, my heart stops in my chest, my stomach turns, a cold chill sinking into my bones.
Slowly, I ease the door open enough for me to slip inside. Pausing just inside the doorway, I listen intently, hoping to hear voices or laughter or anything other than this deafening fucking silence.
Glass shatters toward the kitchen followed by a muffled curse, and I sprint in that direction, ready to take on whatever I find at the end.
But no one is in the kitchen.
A quick glance shows glass shattered in the sink and on the counter, shard glimmering all on the floor. Blood smeared on the counter, and drip, drip, drips along the floor out of the kitchen and down the hall.
I follow the trail into the dining room continuing along until I come to a stop in the living room. Looking around for where the trail picks up, a shadow appears in the doorway.
I freeze. Consider if I’m better off hiding in the hopes I get a surprise attack or remaining where I am because I’m a large pissed off surprise standing in the middle of my living room.
The shadow forms and I take a step forward only to stop in my tracks, my breath coming out in a painful rush.
Cassidy.
My eyes close, a rush of relief rolling over my so swiftly my heart stops in my chest. My breath catches in my throat, a ricochet of residual panic mixing with euphoria at the fact that she is safe, and, suddenly, my legs won’t hold me.
I fall to my knees, ungraceful, jarring, and my head falls into my hands, completely incapable of speech. Her feet appear in my line of sight, her hands rest on the top of my head as she whispers, “What is it? What happened?”
I can’t speak because I can’t breathe through the weight on my chest. “Goddamn, it, Ren,” she says, her words sharp. “You’re scaring me.”
A bark of laughter breaks through, quickly followed by a choking inhalation. I look up at her and manage to croak, “Who’s bleeding?”
She holds up her hand, but offers no explanation, so I ask, “Where is your phone?”
She makes a face then responds, “I accidentally dropped it in the disposal in all the hubbub with the broken glass and the bleeding.”
“And the door?”
“The what?”
“For fuck’s sake Cassidy,” I mutter. “Why was the door ajar.”
She frowns as if she’s thinking about my question, but then she laughs. “Oh, cause I’d placed an order for delivery. I call downstairs and asked them to bring it up and leave it on the table by the door.”
“You can’t just leave the damn door ajar,” I grit out.
“Excuse me?”
“You fucking heard me, Cassidy. The door needs to be locked.”
“Don’t take the tone with me, Rennick Rafferty,” she scolds.
I glare at her, just now feeling like my heartbeat is starting to regulate. “That woman who was here. Where did she go?”
“She got her papers signed and she left.”
“What were the papers?”
Cassidy goes to answer but then she pauses and crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m not answering anymore questions until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
