My heart dropped. “Abel?”
“There have been three shootings tonight. All available officers are out on calls. I’ve got two coming to you, but they’re up the mountain. It’s gonna be a minute.”
Three shootings. It wasn’t possible. Not in a town as small as ours. The worst thing to happen here was a bad car accident that had killed two people. Shootings happened in big cities. Not here.
The buzzing in my ears intensified and infiltrated my entire body. It had to be them. Randy and Paul. A million things ran through my head. Questions of why and who had been targeted. Had anyone been killed?
A knock sounded on the back door, and I jumped, hitting my head.
“Wreeeeeeen, I can see the food on the counter. We know you’re home,” Randy called.
“Could you see them, Wren? Did you recognize them?”
“Yes. R-Randy Sullivan and Paul Matthews. They go to my school.”
“And you saw their weapons?”
“Yes. Handguns.” I was going numb now as if this were all happening to someone else, and I was watching from above.
“Do you have a weapon?”
“No.” My voice cracked.
Holt’s dad, Nathan, had been adamant about teaching us all gun safety, but to this day, that had been the only time I’d ever held a weapon—unless you counted a kitchen knife.
“Officers are fifteen minutes out. They’ll be there soon.”
“Found it!” Paul called.
I heard the key in the lock, the cylinder turning and bolt sliding. Or maybe it was my imagination that made it sound as if a bomb had just gone off at my back door.
“They’re in the house.” My words were barely audible as footsteps pounded up the stairs. “Don’t talk.”
Abel didn’t say a word, but a click sounded across the line. A barely discernable agreement.
Chaos erupted down the hall—from my room. Crashing furniture, and the closet door banging.
“Where the hell is that tight-assed bitch?” Randy growled. “Lover boy isn’t here to protect you now, is he?”
Oh, God. Holt. My mind warred with itself. Part of me wanted him here to rescue me from this nightmare. But another part wanted him as far away from this house as possible.
Randy’s twisted face flashed in my mind. The anger that had etched itself there after he’d asked me out in the seventh grade, and I’d declined.
My breaths came in quick pants as Randy and Paul moved from room to room. The air stilled in my lungs as footsteps sounded in the bathroom. Someone tore back the shower curtain.
A shot sounded, and then I heard shattered glass.
“Save your bullets for things that matter,” Paul said.
“She’s here somewhere,” Randy gritted out.
“And we’ll find her.”
Faint footsteps sounded downstairs, and relief and fear warred inside me. Holt or the police? Holt would’ve rung the bell. It was the police. It had to be.
The cabinet doors flew open, and Paul hooted with glee. “Look what I found, Ran. If it’s not a Goody Two-shoes hiding under the sink.”
A sneer twisted Randy’s face as Paul hauled me out. “Get on your knees.”