“Fine!” My screeching has reached the range where I could compete with banshees. “Just bring me the fucking purse or I’m going to bleed all over the floor!”
He grumbles, but those footsteps move away, stomp through the house, and return a minute later. There’s a sharp knock on the door. “Take your shit and hurry up.”
I open the door just wide enough for my hand to slip through the crack and snatch my purse. I breathe a silent sigh of relief as I slam the door shut again and punch the lock. “Thanks, I’ll be out when I’m out. It’s kind of a mess in here. I got blood everywhere. Well, not just blood. Have you ever seen period clots? I get them so bad. My uterus is just—”
“For fuck’s sake!” He yells, interrupting me. “I don’t want to know! Just deal with it!” I clap my hand over my mouth so I don’t cackle at the disgust and panic in his voice. His boots thunk back toward the living room so fast he has to be running. I’m pretty sure I’ve scarred the kid for life, but c’est la vie.
Fingers trembling, I unzip my bag and peek inside. My keys, knife, and phone are all right on top. A wave of pure relief washes over me and I silently thank every single god I can think of. After making sure it’s set to silent mode, I power the phone on and text Willow.
I need help! Where are you?
Willow: Chilling at home. What’s wrong?
Long story. Can you pick me up?
Willow: Designated Driver to the rescue! Address?
I pan around the map on my phone, picking a house one street over. If I climb out the window and go over the fence, I think I can cut through the other yard. Crossing my fingers, I punch in the address and wait.
13509 Wychwood Ct.
Willow: Got it. Eight minutes. I’m already out the door.
I hug my phone, so grateful for Will I could cry. I’m going to buy her so many Shirley Temples next time we go out, that baby is going to be born looking like a maraschino cherry.
Climbing out the window proves harder than expected. The damn window doesn’t want to open. I crank the faucet, letting the water run as hard and as loud as it can in the hopes that it will cover my noise. Just for good measure, I moan dramatically. “Sorry! These cramps are terrible, but I’ll be right out! Just trying to clean up the chunks!” I’m pretty sure I hear the prospect wretch from across the house. Poor man.
With the water covering my sound, I get low and put my back into it. After struggling for what feels like an eternity, I get the window open. Not all the way, but enough to let me squeeze through. I hope. Otherwise we’re about to have a Pooh Bear stuck in Rabbit’s hole situation.
I have to stand on the edge of the tub, grab the window sash, and stick one foot out the window. I manage to hook my knee over the outside wall. Getting the other foot up there takes some doing, and I’m intensely grateful that no one is here to witness the hot-mess express. I’m wriggling out feet first and feeling pretty proud of myself until my damn hips get stuck. I have to rotate forty-five degrees and scrape through at an angle, but I manage it and drop to the ground with relative grace.
It’s pitch black on this side of the yard, so I stick to the shadows until I reach the chain-link fence. I can’t go through the gate since that would take me right by the living room window and all that light spilling out into the yard. Nope, nope, nope. I’m barefoot and I know it’s going to suck, but through the trees and beyond the neighbor’s house, I spot headlights as Willow’s white SUV pulls up.
“Now or never,” I whisper. My toesscreamas I climb, but I make it, jumping down, free on the other side. I sprint for the headlights, pausing only a second to make sure it’s my friend and not some random stranger, before I slide into the passenger seat.
She looks at me with wide eyes. “I thought you were sick. Where have you been? I tried to drop off soup yesterday—”
“Drive!” I pant, slapping the dashboard. “Please, Will! Just drive!” Without a second thought, she hits the gas. I glance back, making sure the prospect didn’t catch on and follow, but the road behind us is empty. Not a person or a bike to be seen. I take my first deep breath of the night.
“Elle?” Willow questions, fear coloring her voice. It feelsincredible to be free of that guy, but before I can take a second to enjoy it or explain to Willow, my phone vibrates. I moan when I look at the caller I.D.
Clint.
“Hang on, Will. I’ll explain, but give me a sec, okay?” She nods, zipping her mouth with her fingers. I squeeze her arm and answer the call. “Clint.”
“Jesus Christ, Cherry! Where the fuck have you been?”
“I’ve been home sick with a stomach bug,” I lie, painfully aware of the side-eye I’m getting from Willow.
“Bullshit. Went by your house and no one was home. Empty garage and not a sign of life for days. Last anyone saw of you, you were at the goddamn Pour House. And then your phone was going straight to voicemail for days on end. Fuck, Cherry! I thought you were dead!” It literally never occurred to me that Clint would care where I was, but the strain in his voice is clear.
“I’m sorry. I was staying with a friend. She offered to take care of me. I should have let you know.” Another lie. But what choice do I have? I won’t breathe a fucking word that would make him suspect the Sinners, especially Rattler and Beast.
“Don’t you dare lie to me! What the fuck kind of shit did you stir up at that bar?” He screams into the phone. I wince, pulling it farther away from my ear before he perforates my eardrum or something.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I ask, avoiding another lie as best I can. “I didn’t stir up anything.”
His voice drops, but that’s scarier than the shouting. “Hicks is on about something. The Sinners are up to some shit out in Robbinsville. You know anything about that?”