I Stand Before You (Judge Me Not #2)(67)

I am on my knees, reaching for my keys, when I feel Fireplug grab hold of my ankles. I fall forward as he starts to drag me away. My new blouse’s chiffon fabric snags and tears from the gravel in the lot. I scream and struggle but no one comes to my aid.

I’m too frightened to even consider what may happen next, but suddenly Fireplug lets go of me. He takes off just as a police cruiser flies by. A second one follows. But the cops aren’t even stopping here—they continue westward. I guess the lights and sirens were just enough to scare off my assailant. Thank God for small favors.

I crawl back to where my stuff lies on the ground. Tears blur my vision as I gather what I can find in the dimly lit lot. I jam everything in my bag—pray that I haven’t missed anything—and then using the keys I retrieved, hands shaking, I let myself in the building.

I can’t stop trembling. I keep telling myself I’ll be okay once I’m safely locked in my apartment. But all that happens when I step through the door to my home are more panic attacks. I double over and breathe through my mouth, taking in big gasps of air. I eventually calm enough to realize I can’t stay here any longer. In fact, once I leave tonight, I know I’ll never step through that door ever again.

I begin to toss everything I own—which, sadly, isn’t a hell of a lot—into one old suitcase and a beat-up, old oversized duffel bag. I think about where I should go. A hotel, no. The church, I think not.

There’s really only one place in this world where I know I’ll truly be safe, only one man whose arms have the ability to hold me and make everything better.

So once I finish packing, I haul my bags out to the car and drive straight to Chase’s house.




I stand on the porch of the old farmhouse on Cold Springs Lane. I know how I must look. My jeans are dirty, and there’s a muddy boot print on one leg. My blouse is snagged and torn, my hair is knotted, and my cheek is red and swollen. I touch it lightly and wince. It’s obvious I’ve been struck; Chase will surely see this when he opens the door.

I know he won’t stand for this—the junkie will pay. A part of me is counting on it, to be honest. My guy will do what I could not. With that thought in mind, I sit my bags down and ring the doorbell.

A few minutes pass, and then I hear heavy footsteps coming down the stairs inside. Chase opens the door. His eyes are bleary, like he just woke up from a dead sleep. I’m sure he was sleeping; it’s after midnight now.

My boy has on nothing but a pair of basketball shorts riding low at his waist. Usually I’d be gawking, but, instead, I keep my eyes on his bare feet. “Hi,” I whisper.

I glance up and Chase sucks in a sharp breath. His fists clench. “Fuck, Kay…Who f*cking touched you?” His voice is low and calm, but his gunmetal blues are shooting bullets.

“I’ll tell you everything in a minute, but first”—I gesture to my bags—“is that apartment still available?”





Chapter Nine


Chase


One thing is clear: someone is going to pay for putting their hands on my girl. While I get Kay and her shit into my house, she gives me a recap of what happened an hour ago in the apartment lot of her building.

“I am going to lay that motherf*cker out,” I say when she tells me what the junkie did to her.

She asks me not to exact revenge—tells me I shouldn’t—but her eyes say something completely different. Kay doesn’t fool me. She wants f*cking vengeance as much as I do. I never would have thought it before, but, as time goes on, I see more of me in my girl. She’s not all sweet and shy, not all the time. Maybe we aren’t so very different after all. There’s good and bad in both of us, and that’s what binds us together, for better or worse.

Kay waits in the hall when I go into the kitchen to grab an ice pack from the freezer. I wrap the frozen bag up in an extra-soft tea towel, and hold it to my injured girl’s cheek as I guide her up the stairs. I’ll be able to see her injuries, the damage done to her, more clearly under the bright lighting in the bathroom.

But as Kay gently takes the ice pack from my hand and moves to walk in front of me at the top of the steps, I get a preview—a good glimpse of her clothes. Her jeans and shirt are absolutely ruined.

No doubt, these articles of clothing were once very nice, tight little jeans and a billowy yellow shirt with embroidered flowers. But now the fragile-looking fabric of the shirt is snagged and torn to hell, and the jeans, streaked with dirt, are in equally terrible condition. I spot what looks like a boot print on the thigh area of the dark denim and almost lose my shit. Fucking cocksucker junkie. I strive to keep my rage in check, though, since I don’t want to get too fired up and scare Kay.

She obviously dressed in this nice outfit for some reason, so, out of curiosity, I ask, “Where were you before all this happened? Did you go out somewhere?”

“Yeah,” she mumbles tiredly as we start down the hall. “I went to the Anchor Inn.”

Shit, that place. I’m glad the lights are dim so Kay can’t see my what-the-f*ck expression.

“You didn’t go alone, did you?” I ask, holding my breath and praying she did no such thing.

She stops and turns to me in the hallway. “No, of course not, Chase. I went with Missy”—Christ—“but I, uh, left early.”

Hmm, something happened, causing Kay to leave early, and she certainly looks all evasive at the moment. Wonder what went down? I’m curious as hell, but I ask nothing more. I’ll worry about digging out those details later.