“What?”
I paused at the door and drew in a deep breath. “You deserve better.”
I slowly turned my head toward her and found her staring at me with those watery eyes of hers.
A woman like her shouldn’t cry so much.
“You deserve better than him,” I said.
She swallowed hard. “Tha—thank you.”
“Remember,” I said as I stepped inside, “third panel on the left. Press in. Push up.”
“W-w-wait a second,” she said as the pitter patter of her little footsteps rushed up behind me, “where are you going?”
I tore through the kitchen as I focused on my first goal of the day. “I have a cop to see.”
“Please, don’t kill him!”
I stormed down the hallway toward the front door. “I make no promises.”
“Dutch, please!”
As I ripped open the front door, I ran down the plan in my head one last time. First, I had to find what station he worked at. Then, I had to figure out where her lived. After that, I needed to pinpoint hobbies. What that asshole did for fun when he wasn’t torturing a woman he has promised to love with the measly dollar-store ring he had purchased. I needed to know what he was doing to find Naomi. Whether he had put together a task force, or even reached out to other, less ideal people in the area. We all needed to know if he was hot on our trail, or completely ignoring the issue.
And if that meant the man died today, then so be it.
One less shithead in the world ruining all the good women.
“Here we go,” I said as I slung my leg over my bike, “time to prep my file.”
12
NAOMI
The revving of a bike engine pulled me out of my trance, and I took off for the kitchen door. I threw it open, not bothering to close it as I dashed down the hallway. What in the hell was Dutch about to do? Why had he kept asking me all of those questions about Gordon?
“Dutch!” I exclaimed as I ripped the front door open.
I was too late, though. Much too late. All I heard as the bike engine revving off in the distance as a cloud of dust came soaring in my direction. I sputtered with my coughing as I shut the front door. The wind kicked up again, slamming the dust against the window as the sound of little rocks tinked against the glass.
Shit, the kitchen door.
My ears locked with the sound of his motorcycle. It fell quickly off in the distance, revving and roaring until the sound was nothing but a distant hum, swallowed up by the sounds of the ocean. Dust coated the kitchen floor as I raced toward it. I managed to fight against the air current long enough to latch the door in place, but as I looked down at the dusty footprints I had left in my wake, my ears lost all contact with Dutch’s bike.
For all I knew, they’d bring me Gordon’s head as a threat to keep me compliant.
You know they’re not gonna do that.
I pushed the voice in my head off to the side. I didn’t like that voice. As I frantically searched for a broom, I tried my best not to acknowledge the fact that I was warming up to the guys. I mean, I didn’t hate them, and that wasn’t something I thought I’d ever feel. Three men who tried to abduct my father, and I didn’t hate them?
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I hissed.
After finally locating a broom in the pantry, of all places, I started the arduous task of sweeping up dust. It gave me time to think. Time to consider the position I had been put in. They had given me free-roaming privileges after all. Hell, I damn near jumped into the ocean itself, had it not been for Trooper tracking me down.
Maybe if I simply… walked out the front door, they wouldn’t notice.
You know, until one of their dicks needed a bit of attention.
