“I don’t fucking care.”
I throw the door open and race out into the rain, running and not looking back, the screwdriver still clenched in my fist.
GAGE
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuuuuuck…
I pull out my phone from my back pocket as I run toward the door after her, pausing inside the jamb only long enough to fire off a quick text.
We have a problem: A huge one.
My hand shakes as I hit send and run out onto the driveway with my heart in my throat.
I scan the street in both directions, searching for any sign of her. The neighborhood of mostly old, rundown service buildings and abandoned properties is silent this time of day.
And completely empty.
Shit.
The falling rain has washed away any potential signs of footprints that would allow me to track her, and she’s far too smart not to hide immediately, not to make herself invisible any way she can as fast as she can.
But she can’t have gotten far.
She was only a few seconds ahead of me. She’s barefoot. And she doesn’t know the neighborhood.
Those factors all play in my favor, which is good, because I have to catch her before she does something really stupid.
Which way would she go?
Frantically looking left and right, I wrack my brain, trying to put myself in her position if I had just walked into that.
She would go toward home.
Toward safety.
Toward her damn gun.
The vision of her clutching that screwdriver flashes through my head. Her trembling hand. White knuckle grip on the only weapon she had. The fear and hatred in the bourbon eyes that only last night looked at me with such warmth and affection.
No.
More than affection.
Last night changed things between us, and we both knew it. This morning should have been a new beginning for us. A step in the right direction. A step toward our future. Which is why that look of betrayal she just gave me will haunt me forever.
I have to find her.
