“Come on out, fucker. I know you’re out there,” Arch threatens loudly.
Peeking around the corner, I watch Arch step outside. But not before he pulls a gun out. Eyes bulging, my mouth falls open and I wonder just who the hell I let in my house. He shuts the door behind him, the resounding click of the door echoing in my head.
Looks like I was wrong and did happen to find someone willing to kill for me. Jury's out on the fucking part, but if his foreplay is any indication, I think he would’ve done well in that department, too. Now more than ever, I want to kill this creep myself.
I finally find a man capable of satisfying me, and this asshole is ruining it.
God? I know we don’t always agree on my life choices, but please don’t let this poor man die because of me. I’ll stop drinking. I mean it this time.
And I also pray that Arch has good aim. If I walk out and find the weirdo with a bullet in his skull, I won’t mourn his death.
For the next several minutes, I hear nothing at all. It’s hard to when my heart is pounding in my ears, but there would be no mistaking a gunshot.
Fuck, I can’t handle this suspense. No longer capable of waiting, I rush over to the window beside the door and peek out.
Arch's car is still sitting in my driveway, but I don’t see anything else. No bodies. Nothing.
Shooting a quick prayer to my least favorite person at the moment, I open the door slowly, listening for any sounds of distress or fighting.
When I’m greeted with nothing but the chirping of crickets, I open the door wider and step out.
The crunch of something under my foot cements my body into stone.
I close my eyes, another prayer on my tongue. If I stepped on a body part… oh my god—I’m going to freak.
Taking a few short breaths, I move my foot away and look down.
A rose, the petals crumpled from my foot.
“Oh, fuck,” I mutter, bending down to pick up the rose. The thorns are snipped, preventing it from cutting me, but it doesn’t matter—this rose has not been deprived of one’s pain.
Dripping off the petals and onto my boot is fresh blood. Arch is gone, and all that’s left of him is a bloody rose.
Yanking my phone out of my back pocket, I unlock it to call the cops, hands trembling. The phone lights up and that’s when I see another text—the one that came through in the club, and the one I dutifully ignored.
UNKNOWN: Don’t feel guilty, baby. I don’t make idle threats, so consider this a lesson learned.
Red and blue lights brighten the world before me, and the flashing colors make me feel sick. Dread is pooling in the pit of my stomach while police officers and dogs search the surrounding area.
An officer has confiscated the rose, yet the blood has stained my hands—physically and metaphorically. I rub my fingers together, watching the dried blood flake from my skin.
A tear escapes, but I quickly wipe it away.
I killed a man.
I brought him here knowing someone dangerous was lurking, and I did it anyway.
And now he’s gone.
“Ma’am? I need to ask you a few questions,” Sheriff Walters says, walking towards the porch steps that I’m currently sitting on.
I’ve known him since I was a child. He went to school with my mother, and they were good friends. Every now and again, she’d invite him over for dinner. He’s always been kind. Quiet and soft-spoken, he always seemed more interested in listening than speaking.
He’s a tall, built man, towering to at least six-seven. I think his family descends from giants because his father and brothers are just as freakishly large. His father was a sheriff, and his father before. Pretty sure a couple of his brothers are cops, too.
One big family of gigantic cops. Just what the world needs, right.
Scruff peppers Sheriff Walters’s cheeks, and his brown eyes are tired and wary.