Page 104 of Preying Heart
“Wait, wait. My head is fuzzy. I don’t get it. You and Slade see each other? Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He didn’t want to ruin your position. Said you had a good gig going. A penthouse in the sky near the Space Needle. Beautiful clothes. Jewelry. Online education. A man destined for greatness.”
My eyes blur and the room spins. “No. No. I don’t want any of it. It’s all a lie. My friends. Where are they? My best friend needs help.”
I step off the bed and crash to my knees. Why aren’t my legs listening to me? My head hurts, and all I see are flying dots.
The woman who says she’s my mother catches me. She props me up onto the chair, and I put my head down on my arms on the table, waiting for the room to stop turning.
“You hungry? Let me fix you your favorite breakfast. Sunny side up on toast. You see? I still remember you liked to poke the eggs before licking the yolk off the side of the toast.”
“I need to get out of here. My friends need me. I know Heath came after me, and that puts him in danger.”
“There, there, you’re okay. You’re okay.” The woman strokes my hair and my back, calming me the way I dreamed my mother would do. Gentle hands. Soft touches. Kind words. The scent of baby powder and breath mints.
“I have to go. Can you help me?”
“We’ve only just gotten back together. I earned my rewards, sweetheart. You can’t go until they let you. And where will you go? They say you lost everything. No penthouse. No money. No jewelry. No boyfriend. I called in my one favor, and he promised to take care of you—forever. We’ll have fun here. Just us, mother and daughter.” Her hands are so comforting, soothing me and softening my resolve. It sounds like a dream.
“We can pick berries. You always liked blackberries. We can gather twigs and rocks, and we can make crafts—Christmas ornaments and picture frames. We can read from the library. Watch movies. We can pop popcorn and bake cookies. There’s a kitchen where we cook for each other. We never have to buy groceries or beg. They feed us and give us everything.”
It sounds like a dream—and a nightmare.
“When your baby’s born, he or she can stay with us. I’ll get to raise my grandchild and do it all better. I’ll take care of you and Slade and the baby. With all my credits, I get privileges. I get one online shopping spree per month, and I’ll spend it on the baby.”
The nightmare is the word “privileges.” She complies to earn them. What do they make her do? Imprison Slade? Me?
“No!” I feel my abdomen where it’s cramping. “And I’m so sorry. I lost the baby.”
A dark wave crashes over me, dragging me into a whirlpool, crushing my heart under a boulder. My shoulders shake, and every part of me bleeds out. I’ve lost the baby. Lost my friends. Lost everything.
“I lost the baby, and I don’t want to stay here. Please, tell them to let me go.”
She hugs me tight and rocks me the way I always craved. “Shhh … you’re okay. They won’t let you go. They say it’s for your protection. You’re safe here.”
ChapterThirty-Nine
Heath
The pickup careens out of control, and I go flying over the hood. It spins and flings Glock from the tailgate. The dog’s body flips over and over in the mud-clumped field and lies still. I land hard on my back. My wind is knocked out, and blinding pain snaps through my right arm. I can’t lift it, and my shoulder’s out of joint. Slade screams, and there’s a sickening thud as the ancient pickup truck flips onto its passenger side.
The driver’s door opens upward, and Gavin jumps from the truck.
I should have taken the headshot instead of blowing out a tire.
He kicks me and picks up my pistol. I notice he’s wearing gloves.
With pain shooting through my body, I launch myself at him, grabbing on to his legs.
“This is self-defense,” he declares. “You shot at my truck. You’re trying to kill me.”
My right arm is useless, and he’s pointing the pistol at me. I twist and grab for the gun with my left hand, pushing it from my face. The gun fires, sending liquid fire through my thigh.
I feel a dark presence leap over me, a flash of canines, and then Glock’s jaw clamps down on Gavin’s face.
“Ahhh!” The anguish of a grown man’s scream pierces my ears as Glock rips Gavin’s cheek from his eye socket to his jaw.
I push the screaming man from me and roll over, unable to get up. Which gives me a ringside view of Glock, my military attack dog without the vocal cords, mauling my assailant into bloody shreds.
