“Fine.” He falls into the passenger seat. “Go. Now.”
Chapter Seventy-Eight
Emily
The fact that my gaze is bouncing from Chad to Mackenzie, who’s sprawled on the floor with her hair tossed in all directions, and back to Chad with my heart hammering in my head is impossible to fathom.
He’s in jail. Or he was in jail. He should be in jail. But no, he’s standing like a hulking giant asshole in front of the door.
Did he escape? He had to have. There’s no way a judge would’ve let him out, right?
Get your head on straight. It doesn’t matter how he’s here. He’s here, and you’re stuck in here with him. And no one knows where you are.
Except Lucas. Lucas…. Maybe he’ll call the police station if he can’t get a hold of me. My attention shifts to Grace. There’s no way I’m waiting to find out if Lucas was smart enough to contact Jake to bring the cavalry.
For one, they might not even know that Chad is out of jail. For two, I’m not putting Grace at risk.
“Chad, let them go.” Mackenzie crawls to her knees but doesn’t rise to a standing position.
“There’s no chance of that happening. This bitch’s boyfriend has boxed me into a corner.”
“Listen….” I clear my throat. Think of something. There has to be a way out of this.
“Shut the fuck up.” His beady eyes bore into mine before leisurely traveling down to my tennis shoes and back up to my purple T-shirt, where my chest rises and falls with hitched breaths.
He licks his lips, causing my skin to crawl, and I snap my mouth shut. This is fucking bad.
I’ve never been in their house, but there’s a doorway that leads to the kitchen, and I’m going to assume that there’s a door to the backyard. In front of me is a hallway that likely opens to a bathroom and possibly Mackenzie’s bedroom.
The bathroom is a bad idea. Most bathrooms either have no window, or the opening is too small to get myself and Grace out through. Mackenzie’s room? It’s likely no better option. Neither Chad nor his father would give Mackenzie access to an outside exit.
And to my left, there’s a closed door. The house is small, so it’s probably Chad’s bedroom, which may or may not have a door to the outside. Bile rises in my throat. I’m not about to step foot in that room.
That leaves the kitchen exit.
Chad’s phone rings, causing a muffled curse word to pass his lips. He yanks the phone out of his pocket. “Yes?”
As he listens to whomever called him, Mackenzie tips her head toward the kitchen two times while extending her index finger and pointing to the open doorway.
The voice on the other end is indecipherable, but from the loud, barked tone, it’s someone who’s clearly pissed at Chad. Good. I’m not the only one.
Mackenzie’s attention never leaves her brother, but her movements seem to confirm my suspicions that my best chance at fleeing is to get outside through the kitchen, scream at the top of my lungs, and bust down Laura’s back door.
If Jake is right about her curiosity, she’s probably already staring out her front window wondering why my car is parked at the curb.
“It’s not my fucking fault–” Chad’s jaw flexes in anger as whoever he’s speaking to interrupts any excuse he was getting ready to dole out.
I take a step toward the door as Grace stirs under the blanket. Don’t cry, Baby. Don’t cry. The last thing I want is for Chad to remember she’s here.
Mackenzie motions again, so I take another step as Chad’s face goes crimson all the way to the tips of his ears.
His eyes are wild with rage as he puffs out his chest. “Listen up, Fuckface. I didn’t intend to lose the fucking dope, and I sure in the fuck didn’t mean to get arrested. I’m sorry that everything is delayed, but I’m out now, and the supply will return to normal.”
He grinds his teeth together as he shifts away from me. When he gives that opening, I tread closer to the open doorway. With each step forward, my heart thunders in my ears as sweat trails down the middle of my back.
I was stupid, careless, irresponsible. I continue to berate my decision-making skills as the baby carrier slides against my slick, wet palm. Of course, I’d decide to rush to the rescue. Doing everything by myself. Again. Rather than calling for help. When will I ever learn?
“I’ll get the fucking money back.” He tosses the phone to the floor and stomps on the screen, causing a crunching sound to fill the room. Somehow, I hear my bones cracking instead of the phone screen.
