‘I have,’ Ryker admits, looking down at me wistfully.
‘You have?’ I repeat.
‘You were right. Secondhand smoke is bad foryou. So yes, I have.’
My chest swells and I try to fight the shit-eating grin threatening to take over my face.
‘Good.’ Mr Fernando gives a curt nod. ‘Now move that truck.’
* * *
When I reach the entrance of the urban village, Ryker’s Raptor is right behind me as we follow the road and pull into my driveway at the end of the street. I step out, admiring the two vehicles that hold special memories, before my attention is pulled toward my front door. It’s flung wide open.
After Ryker’s surprise visit, I gave Monique a key and started locking my door.
‘What the hell?’ I rush forward, but Ryker pulls me beside him, his rough hand around my elbow. It’s then that I see it. Panic surges through my chest.
The door isn’t just open, it’s been kicked in, the wood splintered around the lock.
‘I’ll check it out.’ Ryker tightens his grip, his whole body rigid.
I’m about to let him, then my stomach surges into my throat.
Chuckie.
I tear my arm from his grasp, and sprint inside.
‘Chuckie!’ I call, my voice shrill.
My eyes flash around, taking in the broken mirror, soil scattered across the floor from shattered pot plants, and knocked-over lamps.
Ryker stays by my side, half a step in front of me and alert as he registers the mess. I try to calm my breathing, but it’s as if I’m inhaling water.
‘Chuckie?’ I call again.
He doesn’t come.
Please.
Please, god. No.
Glass crunches underneath our feet from the smashed coffee table. The silence is so loud that every step, every breath echoes. My hand darts out to the wall, fumbling for the light switch. I flick it on, but it doesn’t work.
‘Chuckie—’ My foot slips. I catch myself from falling, but the jolt triggers another spike of adrenaline. I look down, picking up what I’d stepped on.
A silver mask.
Warm liquid seeps into my skin before it drips from the mask and onto the rug. The sudden ache in my chest sends me collapsing to my knees. Shards of glass cut through my skin, but I’m numb. Bile burns in the back of my throat at the sight of what’s smudged onto my fingertips.
Blood.
I somehow manage to move into the kitchen where drawers are hanging open and cracked crockery is strewn across the tiles. Everything in here is broken.
Chuckie.
What the fuck happened here?
I look back at Ryker standing by the shattered table. He’s staring down at the puddle of blood next to the mask I’d dropped.
