Predator - A Stand Alone Suspense Romance(26)

Damian pushes the chair back and gets up quickly. The chair keeps rolling for a couple of inches as he makes his way to me, and I take it all in – the maps on the walls, the laptop, the phones, the cabinets and then I see it – the camera and memory cards.

He brushes by me and closes the door. I don’t move as he goes down the stairs to see who’s here. I keep staring at the closed door. I hear him talking with someone.

I open the door again and go in. At first I only stare at the three memory cards. My hand trembles as I reach for them. They’re marked from one to three.

I open the laptop and press any random button. The screen lights up and then my blood turns to ice.

The screen is frozen on my face. There’s blood, so much blood. My eyes skip to the other person on the screen and I see Steven’s revolting face. A strangled growl pushes its way up my throat as the darkness closes in on me.

“Shit, Cara!” I jump back as Damian moves in front of me, blocking my view of the screen. He slaps the laptop closed and I watch his shoulders heave heavily as he breathes. “Why the hell did you do that?” he shouts. He never raises his voice at me – never.

I don’t think. I just turn and run.

I run from the room that holds my pain. I race down the stairs and keep going, straight out the front door.

Gravel crunches under my feet and then an arm grabs hold of me, yanking me back. I open my mouth to scream, but instead a broken cry is all that hurts my throat.

Damian takes me to the ground and I fall flat on my ass. His arms clamp around me and he yanks me back. The gravel scrapes at my hands.

“You don’t get to leave,’ he growls against my hair. I can feel his chest heaving against my arm. “You don’t get to leave me,” he repeats.

Sobs build up and no matter how hard I fight, I can’t hold them back. They rip through me and hot tears spill down my cheeks. My body sags against him and I don’t even cover my face. For the first time I let all the pain out, and I scream. It’s a horrible wailing sound that robs me of my breath.

He holds me until I calm down, and then he gets up and leaves me alone outside. I know he wants me to come back on my own … and I do because it’s the only place I’m safe.

I don’t know whose car is parked out front so I keep my head down as I walk back into the house. I close the front door and race up the stairs to the safety of my room.

I stay in my room until I feel calmer. I can’t build my wall back up. It’s as if something has smashed it to smithereens. Everything feels raw and dark.

I can’t stay in the room any longer. The vile memories chase me to the bathroom where I quickly splash some water on my face. I avoid looking in the mirror.

I walk to the stairs. For the first time since I’ve come here, I feel like a guest in his house.

I hear hushed tones drift up the stairs and I start my slow descend. I take a breath before I peek into the lounge. The singer from the bar is sitting on a couch with a man next to her. She’s crying.

“You know if I do this there is no turning back,” Damian says to them. He’s not asking them, he’s clearly making a statement.

My first thought is that they will come and live here, too. The woman lifts her eyes and sees me. We only look at each other. She might be pretty as she smiles at me, but I can’t find it in my heart to like her. She’s a threat to me. She’s a threat to the small amount of peace I’ve come to know.

Damian’s head flicks in my direction and he gets up. He takes a few steps in my direction before he stops. “Karen, this is Jean and her friend Shawn.” At first I frown at Damian but then I realize he’s calling me Karen, not Cara. He doesn’t want them to know who I am.

I give them a lame wave and mumble, “Would you like some coffee?” My insides feel all scrunched together.

“That would be nice, thank you,” Jean answers in a wavering voice.

I turn and leave so I don’t have to see them a second longer. I take my time making the coffee. It’s something to keep myself busy with. I don’t have to think. I think spoons, cups, sugars and coffee and then I buy myself even more time by taking one cup and a bottle of water first. I’ll have to go back for the other cup.

I place it down on the coffee table and walk out without looking at them, quickening my steps once I’m out of sight. I spill coffee on the tiles and place my cup down. I have to come back to clean it first. I take the other cup to the living room and place it on the table, and then I turn to leave.

“You’re not having any?” Jean asks.

“Kitchen,” I say. It’s what I’m thinking at that exact moment, that I have to get back to the kitchen. “It’s in the kitchen. I just need to go wipe up the floor. I spilled some.” The sentences come quick as I retreat to the door and as I turn I bump my shoulder into the side of the wall. I bounce back and I don’t even rub at my collarbone to ease the sting away. I just shoot past the damn wall to get to the kitchen.

I grab paper towels and drop to the floor. I wipe at the spilled coffee. I wipe even once it’s all gone. I keep wiping until the paper starts to crumble into tiny pieces. I stop and stare at the mess.

“Get a grip on yourself!” I hiss. “Shit happens to the best of us.” I quickly pick up the pieces of tissue and pour the cold coffee down the drain. I straighten my spine and lift my chin. “And it will keep happening. It’s how you choose to deal with it that makes the difference,” I repeat the words Damian once told me.