My phone buzzes as if on cue, and the second I see the unknown number, the rock in my gut triples in size. A cold sweat breaks out over my skin as I read the text.
Unknown Number: I have a message for your daddy…
I’m still staring at my phone in confusion when footsteps rush me from behind. Someone shoves me hard, and I land on my knees, scraping them on the pavement. My hands slam to the asphalt in time to keep me from face planting, my phone sliding under Canyon’s car.
“What the fu—” The words are knocked out of me as a foot slams into my side. I’m so stunned by the painful shock to my system, I collapse, barely having the foresight to draw my hands over my face to protect it. “Stop,” I croak out.
“I paid that drunk motherfucker to take you out with his car, not kill himself trying,” the man snarls, hatred dripping from his words.
I’m stunned at the confession that confirms this guy was the one who’s been texting me. He goes to kick me again, but then more footsteps can be heard as someone yells out, stopping him. I slip my hands away in time to see a flash of black and red as Canyon charges at my assailant. Like he’s on the football field, he tackles the man attacking me, easily dropping him to the pavement. He lands one, two, three punches to the guy’s face before the man manages to shove him aside. The guy gets up, runs toward a running car, and then falls into the driver seat. Canyon rushes over to it, but the guy peels out of the parking lot before he can reach him.
“Alis,” he growls, turning and running back over to me. He kneels next to me and gently runs a hand over my head. “What the fuck? Who was that? Are you hurt?”
Shakily, I sit up, wincing at the pain in my ribs. “I’ll be fine. Just scraped my knees.”
Scraped is an understatement. Blood runs down my shins in rivulets, and it stings like a sonofabitch.
“It’s the person who’s been texting me,” I admit, fear making my voice shake. “I got another one a couple of minutes ago. The text said he had a message for my daddy. Before I could make sense of it, he came out of nowhere and shoved me.” I motion to his car. “My phone is probably busted.”
He crawls up to his car and reaches beneath it. After studying my phone, he hands it back. “It still works.” Then, he frowns. “Erase anything incriminating about us and then give it to Dad. Maybe they can figure out who’s sending this shit.”
Pulling our dads into it doesn’t seem like fun, but neither is getting attacked in the fucking parking lot.
“He also said…” I trail off and shoot him a helpless look.
“What?”
“The car that hit Coach the other day wasn’t an accident. It was aimed for me.”
A murderous, dark glare crosses over his features. “That motherfucking psycho.”
“He didn’t succeed,” I mutter, desperation bleeding into my tone. “We don’t have to tell our parents.”
“Wonderland,” Canyon barks. “You’re going to let my dad figure this out. You aren’t alone. We’re not going to let this shit keep happening. Understood? We’re going to protect you. I’m going to protect you.”
“What if Dad thinks I’m not worth the trouble?” My words are soft and barely a whisper.
He hears.
Canyon is practically inside my head most days.
His features screw into a severe frown that makes him look downright menacing. “Shut the fuck up. Of course, you’re worth it. Don’t say that shit again.”
When he says it, I almost believe it.
“Want a Coke?” Carrie asks, ushering me into the house. “A sandwich? Chips?”
“A Coke is fine. I’ll grab something to eat when I get back home.” I follow her into the kitchen, wincing when I twist my still-sore ribs the wrong way. I try not to grimace.
My mind immediately goes back to yesterday. That man, who I don’t even know, admitted to trying to get me killed. Since the drunk wasn’t able to do it, he tried to handle it himself in the parking lot by kicking the shit out of me. I hate to think about what would have happened had Canyon not shown up when he did.
Our dads were obviously freaked out. Ryan looked at my phone last night and called the IT guy at his company, but in the end, there wasn’t much they could find since I’d most likely been texted from burner phones. It would be wasted efforts.
“Still hanging with seniors?” I ask. “Gage is bad news.”
Today, I drove my Range Rover since I’d be taking Carrie home after school. When I reached my car, it was crowded by Gage, Damon, Cain, Paige, and Carrie. The guys were their idiotic selves, and the girls were giggling as though they were fucking hilarious. Gage took one look at my face and muttered a homophobic comment under his breath that had Damon smacking him on the back of his head.
She conveniently hides her face from me inside the fridge. “We’re just friends. Besides, Paige likes Gage, not me. He’s a prick.”
“Be careful.”
Crimson paints her cheeks as she shoves a Coke at me. “I will be. It’s fine. Are you doing anything exciting for your birthday?”
Now it’s my time to be embarrassed. If she knew I wanted to spend my evening in bed with her brother, she might not be too keen to ask such questions. Since I’d already made plans to practice with Carrie, we decided we’d all go to dinner tomorrow night rather than tonight. It’s a simple birthday, and I’m not complaining. If Dad were to try and plan a big affair, I’d feel like the fall would hurt that much more.
The fall is inevitable.
I can feel it.
Pain lances inside my chest, and I absently rub at it.
“Alis?” Carrie furls her brows, studying me up close.
I force a smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “Saturday. We’re going to dinner.”
“But tonight is your actual birthday.” She smiles. Her previous animosity is gone since I started rehearsing with her to improve her playing. “I’ll order pizza. Pepperoni okay?”
“You really don’t have to—”
“Too late,” she sasses. “Let me see what Mom wants.”
She bounces off, and I unscrew the lid of my Coke. I’m just swallowing down some soda when I hear a blood-curdling scream.
Setting the Coke down, I rush toward the sound of Carrie’s yelling. It’s pained and terrified. For a second, I worry that the man from yesterday got into the house and is hurting her. But when I make it into her mom’s bedroom, I quickly realize it’s not the problem at all.
Aimee, who never comes out of her room when I visit, is pasty white and seemingly unconscious, lying in a puddle of vomit. Carrie shakes her mother, trying to rouse her, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Carrie,” I bark out. “Go call nine-one-one. Wait in the living room.”
If her mom is dead or dying, she certainly doesn’t need to witness that shit. Her head bobs up and down as she scrambles to obey. Dropping down on the bed beside Aimee, I check her pulse. Faint but there.
“Aimee,” I bark out. “Wake up. What’s going on?”
But I know what’s going on. The rubber tied around her arm and the syringe still sticking out of her flesh indicates the problem. Looks like an overdose of…fucking heroin.