Page 14 of UnScripted

I make it up the stairs to my apartment bolting the door. I drag a chair over and place the back under the handle.

“ANSWER ME GODDAMMIT DEVON!” He roars as I hear the engine of his truck start up. I nod as if he could see me and sink to the floor. Crawling on my hands and knees down the hall, to the bathroom door, I turn the knob and crawl in.

“Dev? What’s going on sugar?”

“I’m in the bathroom. He has a gun.”

“Good. Stay put, I’m on my way.”

A hard pounding starts on my apartment door.

“Open up sweet thing. It’s the big bad wolf sweetheart. Come out now, and I’ll go easy on ya’.”

“He’s trying to get in.”

“I’ll be right there sweetheart. I swear to you—you’ll be safe. He can’t get in. There’s no going through that door and I installed the best locks money can buy on all my properties.”

My breath comes out in pants; I’m sweating as if I worked out. Huddled, in the far corner of the bathroom next to the toilet—I pray he’s right.

I can’t talk.

I can barely think, I’m so terrified.

My heart’s pounding, adrenaline coursing—it’s a terrible rush of panic welling inside, wondering if this is how my story is going to end. At the hands of some crazy ass biker using me as payback for something I know nothing about?

Minutes tick by.

The pounding ends.

I rock back and forth trying not to cry. Either he found his way in, or he’s waiting to ambush Rog.

“Be careful…”

The phone call ends, muffled cursing and yelling comes from outside. I jump to my feet hearing quick pops of gunfire followed by squealing tires.

Without thinking, I bolt up from the floor unlock the door and run to the front window just in time to see Roger charging like a grizzly bear, gun in hand, running into the woods.

Heart pumping, I unbolt the door, dash down the steps—grab the garden shovel leaning against the side wall and race across the field after him, shrieking as more gunfire erupts from the woods.

Before I can cross the yard, he’s back.

“Get back inside,” he roars.

I sink to the ground instead, hands still gripping the shovel hard. He strides towards me, tucking his gun into the back of his pants.

“What were you gonna do with that sugar?”

He pries the shovel from my grasp and tosses it aside. He swoops down picking me up and swings me into his arms. My head falls to his shoulder. The heavy patter of his heart comforts me as much as his embrace. He climbs the stairs, kicks the door open and carries me inside.

I’m in shock.

I can’t speak.

My body trembles and shakes.

The sob that’s been trapped finally breaks free. My hands cling to his soft cotton shirt, my nose buried in his chest. I breathe him in wishing he’d hold me like this forever.

He mumbles sweet nothings and strokes my hair. He sighs, sits down on my couch, stroking my back and my heart stops as he buries his nose in my hair and his arms tighten their hold on me.

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