“Are we going to get out of here anytime today?” she asks snidely.
Turning around, I see it’s one of the women who like to hang around the clubhouse. She’s not a house bunny and usually just goes when there’s a party. Today, she looks completely different from how I usually see her. Her blonde hair is perfectly coiffed while business attire covers her body. A black skirt hangs just past her knees while a white button up blouse covers her upper body. A black jacket finishes off the ensemble. On her feet are sensible dress shoes and there’s barely any make-up covering her face. I also don’t fail to notice the wedding band and ring resting on her finger.
I gag at the thought of her cheating on her husband with the men of the club. They deserve much better than her; all of them do. The men in the club are my family while her husband doesn’t deserve to be lied to and cheated on. I don’t know the man, but no one deserves having that happen to him. Instead of paying her any further attention, I turn back around to see how much more of my things have to be rung up. There’s still a lot.
“Look, I’ll bag everything myself. I’m in a hurry and need to get out of here,” I plead with the cashier as the hair on the back of my neck and arms stand on end.
“I’m going as fast as I can,” the cashier mumbles.
“I don’t mind. Really,” I urge her on, beginning to take the items out of her hands.
I don’t pay attention to anything as I shove one item after another in the bags. Placing them in the cart once a bag is full, I know things are going to be falling all over the place. I don’t really care at this point in time. My only goal is to get the hell out of here and as far away as possible. When we finally get to the last few items, I shove them in bags before putting Killer’s card in the machine so I can pay. Hitting the correct buttons, I wait to remove the card when it instructs me to.
Once I have the receipt in my hand, I’m rushing from the store as quickly as possible. My attention is split between the bags overflowing in the cart and the people around me. When I get to the parking lot, I frantically search the area before practically sprinting to my car. Rich is still propped up on his bike as I rush toward him.
“Gwen, what’s wrong?” he asks the second he sees me.
“I don’t know. I feel like someone’s following me,” I respond. “Can we please hurry up and get out of here?”
Rich jumps off his bike and helps me load everything in the trunk of my car. Before the last bag is in the back end, he tells me to get in so he can take care of the cart and we can get out of here. I’m not usually this panicked so he knows I’m not lying about the feeling I have right now. I’m truly terrified and don’t want to be out in public. He slams my trunk shut, causing me to jump in the front seat. I hit my body on the steering wheel and it hurts.
Turning on the car, I wait for him to move his bike before leaving the parking lot of the store. We head home and I constantly check my mirrors to make sure we’re not being followed by anyone. There is no way in hell I’m going to lead anyone to Killer’s house. If I spot anyone, I’ll head to the clubhouse instead. At least whoever is following will know I’m affiliated with them somehow.
We don’t end up going to the clubhouse as I pull in Killer’s driveway. I park as close to the door as possible so we can quickly unload the car and I can settle my nerves down inside the safety of the house. Fox has ensured each house of the members is equipped with state-of-the-art security systems. Each member of the club gets an alert if anything happens. So, if someone does manage to figure out where I’m staying, they won’t have very long to kidnap me or try to hurt me. The guys in the club will hopefully make it here before they can do anything to me.
“Head inside. I’ll take care of bringin’ the groceries in. If someone is followin’ you, I don’t want you out in the open,” Rich orders me, making sure I follow his command before beginning to gather my groceries from the trunk.
Walking up to the porch, I see a box sitting there. I know I didn’t order anything online, but I’m not sure about Killer. So, I grab the box and take it in with me. The second I’m in the house, I turn the alarm off, set the box on the counter, and rush to the room I now share with Killer. For a few minutes, I lay down across the bed and savor the smell of him as it covers me in a safety blanket. His smell alone is enough to calm me down so I can change into a pair of sweats and one of his shirts before putting everything away.
After giving myself a few minutes to restore myself, I head out to the kitchen. Rich is already putting the groceries away. I help him finish up before turning my attention toward the box.
“Gwen, do you want lunch?” he asks since we didn’t stop at the diner on the way back here.
“I should probably eat something,” I answer, seeing my name on the box.
“I’ll make it. What’s that?” he questions, gesturing toward the box with a knife.
“I don’t know. It was on the porch when I was on my way in. My names on it, but not like a shipping label or anything. It’s just written on it,” I reply to him, using my key to open the box.
Once I set the keys down on the counter, I rip the flaps of the box open. Peering over the top of the box, my stomach instantly turns. There’s blood covering the box. Or at least something red that looks as if it’s supposed to be blood. Laying in the bottom of the box rests the one thing I still have from my childhood. It’s a stuffed bear my mom got me; one of the only things she ever got me because of my sperm donor.
My bear is even covered in blood as I look down and see it’s been stabbed several times in the stomach along with the heart area of my stuffed animal. I gasp and jump back, knocking over a chair. I’m covering my mouth with a hand in an attempt not to throw up all over the kitchen floor. Rich rushes to the box and looks to see what’s inside. He looks up at me as the tears slip over my lashes and slide down my face.
“I’m callin’ this into Slim,” he says, pulling his phone from his pocket.
Nodding my head, I rush to Killer’s room and grab my phone from the bed where I left it. I press the button to call Killer. He’s the only one I want to talk to right now. My hands, and entire body, are shaking uncontrollably as I wait for him to pick up. If he’ll even pick up since I’m not sure what he’s doing.
“Gwen, I was gonna call you later. Can this wait?” Killer asks, waiting for me to answer his question.
“Y-y-y-yeah,” I respond, as the tears fall faster down my throat and I wrap my arm around my middle in an attempt to stop shaking.
“What’s wrong?” he demands, his entire tone changing at my voice.
“I got a package today. It’s okay. We can talk about it later when you’re not busy,” I let him know, ready to hang up the phone while trying to keep my voice steady.
“Gwen, you’re a shit liar. Somethin’ happened, and I want to know what it is,” he says, shuffled movement in the background alerting me to his moving locations.
“A bear my mom got me when I was little is in the box. It’s covered in blood and there’s what looks like stab wounds on the bear in the stomach and heart areas,” I inform him, my voice beginning to shake once more.