And he knows where I live.
51
spooked
Liam
Being less than one hundred percent annoys me. A shoulder that was, for all intents and purposes, field dressed. A ripped thigh and hip and two bruised knees are enough. Not knowing if I can defend Lorien should the need arise is a mental mindfuck I cannot afford.
My go-bag in hand, I’m in the bedroom placing what little Lorien brought over inside when she wanders out in a towel, rubbing a smaller one through her dark hair.
Not now, dick. Stand down.
Confusion mars her face. “What are you doing? Are you leaving?”
“We need to go. Get some clothes on. Do you need anything from the bathroom?”
“For tonight or for forever?”
“Tonight.” I scrape her phone and charger into the bag as well. “I need you to be quick, baby.”
Her eyes study me and without any more arguing or complaining, she throws her travel clothes back on, smooths something over her face, and is stepping into her shoes when we hear the beating at the front door.
I swipe my phone open, turn to the cameras, and stare into the face of someone who hasn’t been on my radar… for a week.
“Who is it?” Lorien whispers, her eyes going wide.
“It’s Mark Gascon, the guy who broke into your garage,” I reply quietly, toggling to the garage views. “And one of his uncle’s moving trucks is blocking our ability to leave that way.”
“Is he blocking mine too?”
I nod.
“I don’t even want to say it, but can we get out on your bike?”
How did I not think of that? I zoom in, taking in how the truck is positioned blocking the alley with the cab covering the garage door. “I think so. Have you ever ridden before?”
The look on her face is appalled. “No. Never.”
“Here are the basics. Don’t do anything. Don’t lean in, don’t lean away. Just hold on to me. Can you do that?”
“I’ll probably screw up but we need to get out of here and that’s our only way, right?”
I nod. “You’re going to have to wear the backpack.”
“Okay?”
“Now’s not the time for questions. This is the time to trust me.”
“I already do.” Her voice drops to just above a whisper.
“Okay. Let’s go.” I grab her hand and pull her through the back door, locking up and putting a finger over my lips. We slide into the garage, and I put her on my bike, looping the backpack over her shoulders and dropping my helmet onto her head. It’s loose, not the proper fit, but it’ll protect her brains if I have to lay this thing down for some reason.
I shoot a text off before doing anything further.
Me: Trouble on my heels. You’re the safest place I know, but I hate bringing it to your doorstep. Please advise.
On quiet feet, I run back into the house when I remember the cat. Gascon beats on the door yelling my name and obscenities. It’s annoying how dumb he is.
