He jogs down the steps and jumps back into his car, driving off with a wave before I shut the door. This has been the strangest fucking day, but I’m too tired to try and dissect it. I call out a good night to Smithy before heading upstairs.
The door to the balcony is open, which is unusual, but I guess Smithy has been in here cleaning. I shut the room up and climb into bed, shutting off the light. The moon shines in from the windows, still lighting the room enough that the darkness doesn’t make my heart race. Thinking about being trapped always puts me on edge in the dark.
I close my eyes and try to unwind, and just as I start to drift sleep I hear soft music coming from outside, I can’t tell if its from next door or downstairs, but I know those chords, those lyrics, anywhere. It’s one of my dad’s songs. Just like that, my good mood disappears, and I drift to sleep with tears slipping down my face.
Chapter Twelve
Iwent out for a run first thing this morning, trying to burn off the funk last night left me in. Things have been too quiet, and that’s making me almost as jumpy as I was when I was being attacked almost daily.
Quiet usually means the calm before the storm, but after everything the guys and Blair have pulled so far, I can’t imagine it getting much worse. Even with Lincoln’s sideways warnings.
I get back to the house to find the gate open, and my stomach drops.
The gate shouldnotbe open.
I run up the drive, spotting the open front door. Fear trickles down my spine, and I curse myself for thinking things couldn’t get worse.
Moving as silently as I can, I enter the house, my heart beating so fast I’m scared it’ll be heard.
The place is trashed. The artwork is slashed and the knick-knacks and decor smashed, but I can’t think about any of that because Smithy was here.
If they hurt him, I swear to God...
I creep through the rooms, trying not to make a sound while hoping like fuck whoever broke in isn’t still here. The squeak of my shoes on the floors seems so loud that I pull to a stop, holding my breath so I can hear if anyone else is in here.
I try to keep a hold on the panic threatening to take over my entire body, but I need to find Smithy before I do anything else. That one thought is the only thing holding me together.
I stumble over one of the smashed statues, falling and cutting my palms as I do. I curse under my breath for being so loud.
Fuck it. If anyone else is here, they already know I am at this point.
“Smithy!” My shout echoes in the giant space, but when there's no response, my heart thunders in my chest. I hurry through the rooms and head for the kitchen, hoping Smithy is in the panic room under the island.
I find Smithy in the kitchen, face down on the floor, blood spilling from a wound on his head. “Shit!”
I rush toward him, trying to wake him. I shout at him as I shake him, but it’s no use, so I do what any reasonable person would do. I call the police, while trying not to sob and freak out that he won’t wake up.
When I hang up, I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself and roll Smithy onto his side, moving his arms and legs into the recovery position, making sure his airways are clear and that he’s still actually breathing.
Who the fuck would do this? And why would they hurt Smithy? He hasn’t done anything to anyone.
I look up and see a piece of paper stuck to the refrigerator.
No one you love is safe while you stay here. Don’t say you weren’t warned.
Those fucking assholes. This can’t have been them, right? They wouldn’t have hurt Smithy. Would they? I see red, snatching the paper from the fridge and crumpling it in my hand. If the police see this, I’ll never hear the end of it. All I want is an ambulance for Smithy.
He has to be okay.
He can’t be seriously hurt because of me.
When the buzzer at the gate sounds, I make sure it's open wide as one cruiser and an ambulance come up the drive. The paramedics come in first, and I direct them to the kitchen. The officer pulls me to the side and asks a ton of questions I don’t have the answers to.
“Is he going to be okay?” I ask as the paramedics wheel Smithy’s unmoving body out of the house.
“He has a contusion to the head and has lost quite a lot of blood. They’ll be able to assess him better at the hospital. Will you be following?”
I nod, and the paramedic rushes out to join his partner. The officer asks me a question, but I don’t hear it as the sirens start up.