Page 87 of Fighting for You
I don’t stop to check on him before I drop my improvised weapon and rush over to my dad, immediately pushing down on his hand to help slow the bleeding from his abdomen.
“Okay. You’re going to be okay,” I say, surprised my voice sounds calm, in control—so different from just a minute ago. I look around the living room, eyes catching on Julian’s motionless body, before deciding there’s nothing here to help me. I can’t remember where I left my phone; I’m not even sure I brought it with me when Brooks dropped me off. I curse my dad for never keeping his phone charged.
Grabbing a scarf from the coat rack by the door, I move Dad’s hand and press it down on the wound. Dad moans with the contact, and I wince, hating to hurt him more than he already is.
“A-are you okay?” he grumbles out between clenched teeth.
“Yes, Daddy, I’m okay. And you’ll be okay,” I say, swallowing the panic trying to rise up my throat. “Alright, Daddy. We haveto get out of here. I’m not sure how long he’ll be out. Can you stand up for me? Okay, good,” I say as he gets his legs under him with difficulty.
I wrap his arm over my shoulders and grab onto his torso, before placing my hand over his, the one holding the scarf to his stomach. I lead him outside and down the new stairs as quickly as he’ll move; I have no options but to get away from here and find a way to stop the bleeding.
Before we’re swallowed up by the treeline, I turn back to the house and thankfully don’t see Julian following us. What I do see is splatters of my dad’s blood trailing down the brand new steps, staining the wood a deep red.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Brooks
The moment the words fell from Hayes’ lips, my stomach dropped. The sinking feeling I’ve had since finding out she has a stalker washed over me in full force. I’ve never seen Hayes’ face drain of color the way it did, and I’ve never seen him look so scared.
“Where is she?” he demands, a slight tremor in his voice like he’s barely holding it together.
“I dropped her off at your dad’s.”
In an instant, Hayes is throwing open the driver’s side door and climbing in. I’m barely in the passenger’s seat before he’s putting the truck in reverse. Gravel kicks up behind us as the wheels spin from the jagged turn he makes out of the makeshift parking lot.
Grabbing onto the oh-shit handle, I glance at him. His stone-cold face looks murderous. “I thought she told you, Hayes. I thought you knew. I would have—”
“Brooks, take a second—one fucking second—and think about what you just said. Do you honestly think I would have taken my eyes off of her even for a moment if I knew? Come the fuck on, you know me better.” He shakes his head like he’s disgusted by the thought.
From what Margot told me, she thought it was over. She thought leaving Charleston was enough. I assumed Hayes knew but had slacked off for the same reason. And yeah, I was pissed but mostly because I felt so fucking helpless and yelling at him was an outlet. I couldn’t yell at Margot. I’d already snapped on her this morning.
I pull my phone from my pocket, scrolling through my recent calls to her name. I need to hear her voice. I need to know she’s okay. Even though The Pit is on the same property as Keaton’s house and Hayes is cutting through fucking fields to get there faster, it still feels like we’re too far away.
Her phone rings and rings and rings. I hold my breath the whole time, silently begging her to pick up.
“Fuck! Drive faster!” I shout, a cold sweat washing over me at the possibility of something being wrong. She’s probably fine. My hope is she’s bonding with Keaton. She found him sober, and it’s been a lot for her, so she hasn’t looked at her phone. It’s just a big misunderstanding, that’s all.
Time fucking crawls as we drive up the long dirt driveway, before Hayes swerves onto the grassy area right in front of Keaton’s house, his front door wide open. I jump out of the car before Hayes comes to a complete stop and almost fall from the force of the impact as my feet hit the ground. I stumble back up, racing to the door, Hayes right behind me. He left the truck running, not wasting any time by pulling the keys from the ignition.
Just as I make it to the stairs, my vision lands on the dark red splatters staining the wood. Stopping dead in my tracks, myheart coming to a shrieking halt with my legs, my mind racing with every worst case scenario possible.
No. No. No.
A split second later, I jolt up the steps. Hayes is saying something behind me, but I can’t hear him, I can’t focus on anything but finding Margot. I don’t dwell on the door being left open, instead rushing inside and doing my best not to panic.
And then I see the full picture come together.
The struggle.
The scene of the crime.
Thefuckingcrime.
There’s blood on the floor, a bag of trash dropped in the middle of the walkway, Margot’s helmet on the ground. Hayes is already moving through the house, screaming Margot’s and Keaton’s names. I can’t tear my eyes away from the blood.
What if it’s hers? What if I never see her again? What if—
“They’re not here,” Hayes chokes out as he comes around the corner. “There’s no one here. But there’s blood leading out the back door as well.”
