Page 62 of Distress Signal
The whole space feels…cozy, despite the seventies vibe.
It seems warm and inviting.
At least, that’s what I think—until my eyes land on the bed in the corner.
And the chain leading from the wall, a manacle wrapped around the ankle of a woman sitting atop a dirty mattress—wearing my face.
I woke up screaming.
eighteen
. . .
FINN
Shooting upright in bed,I strained my ears. My heart was already racing, and it took me a moment to adjust to the world around me as I attempted to figure out what had awoken me.
I heard it again, recognizing instantly what had dragged me from sleep.
Screaming.
I was out of bed before I made the conscious decision to do so, throwing on joggers and a tee. I made a quick detour to the gun cabinet in my closet, punching in the code and grabbing my favorite pistol before rushing toward the door and stuffing my feet into my boots.
Because if I could hear screaming, there was only one explanation.
Reagan.
Bursting outside, my feet crunched against the gravel as I took off at a run down the pathway that connected my home to the guest house, crossing the hundred or so yards in record time. After years of being in the Army, I kept physically fit, if onlybecause it helped me around the ranch and because I didn’t know any other way to live. By the time I reached the guest house, I was barely out of breath, but my adrenaline was high. I didn’t bang on the door, not wanting to announce myself in case there was an intruder. Instead, I punched in the code for the security system, rushed in, and disarmed it before the obnoxious beeping could turn into a full-blown alarm cutting through the night.
Slipping my boots off, I tiptoed on bare feet in the direction of the bedroom. The house seemed to be still, but…
There.
The creak of a floorboard echoed down the hall, and footsteps fast approached me. I flattened my back against the wall, gun at the ready, and waited.
Before I could react to the intruder, light flared, catching me off guard, and another scream echoed in the silence.
“What thefuck, Finn!” Reagan screamed. “What are you doing? Is that—is that agun? How did you even get in here?”
She tossed questions at me so fast I couldn’t answer a single one, but they penetrated enough to have me lowering my weapon and taking stock of her.
Starting with her face, I gave her a once-over. Her skin was sallow, and there were dark smudges beneath her eyes. With her arms crossed over her chest, the hem of her tee rode indecently high on her thighs—and my attention shot back to her face.
She was fine.
Then what the fuck was I doing here?
“I was wondering the same thing,” she said, hand to her chest as she moved around the wide peninsula that separated the kitchen from the living area.
I must’ve spoken those words out loud.
Okay.
“I heard screaming.”
With a wince, her cheeks turned pink, then she downcast her gaze.
“I-I had a nightmare,” Reagan stammered.
