“You too, baby girl.”
Chapter Thirteen
June
My heart feels heavy as I trudge up the stairs to my apartment. I can’t even imagine what it would feel like to lose the love of my life. How does someone even get over something like that? Mr. McAbee is always smiling and friendly.
I have a new respect for my sweet neighbor now.
Twisting my key in the lock, I push the door open and as I move to step inside, my whole body freezes.
Standing in the middle of my apartment is a woman I’ve never seen before, and in her hand is a gun pointed right at me.
My palms instantly go clammy, and my heart starts to gallop in my chest.
“Shut the door.” The words come out low and raspy, like she’s been screaming her throat raw. The barrel of the gun is pointed right at my chest, and the hand holding it is shaking.
Tears pool in my eyes as I slowly reach behind me, and close the door with a soft click. The sound of the latch catching is deafening.
“Where is he?”
My watery eyes dart down to the gun, then back up to her face. I’ve never seen this woman before in my life, and I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. But the crazed, unhinged look in her bloodshot eyes tells me one thing loud and clear.
She’s lost it.
A tear slips down my cheek as I slowly raise both hands, palms out. “You’re upset,” I say, keeping my voice as steady as I can, which isn’t very. “I can see that. I’m sure whatever’s going on, we can figure it out.” I swallow hard. “But I need you to put the gun down first.”
The woman leans forward, her face twisting in absolute rage. “WHERE IS HE?”
Recoiling, my hands go up protectively in front of my face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
“Journey, you stupid bitch!”
Journey?
My mind races, tripping over itself as I connect the dots. What does he have to do with— And then it all clicks together.
Journey is Odin’s most notorious Playboy. He has been for as long as I’ve known him. Everyone in town knows his reputation, and this lunatic must be one of his... conquests.
My stomach drops.
I open my mouth to tell her I don’t know when the distant rumble of a motorcycle closing the distance cuts through the silent room. Both our heads turn toward the sound as it gets louder.
“Right on time,” the crazy woman says, and the cryptic edge in her voice sends ice flooding through my veins.
A heartbeat later, the growl of Journey’s bike at the curb dies. He’s here. Panic wraps around me. This crazy bitch has been lying in wait to do what? Shoot him? Shoot me? Kill us both?
Oh god.
I crane my head at the sound of Journey’s boots pounding up the stairs. I want to scream at him to stop, to not come in here, but my voice is trapped somewhere between my chest and my throat.
“Baby, why did you leave without—” The question dies on his lips when the door swings open behind me.
The playful chastising drains from his face and his stormy gray eyes sweep the scene in a fraction of a second.
Me.
The woman.
