Till Death(7)

I bite down on my lip as I draw closer, eyes squinting into the dark interior of the van. I don’t see anyone in the front. A horrible thought emerges. What if someone is hidden in the back? I immediately push that aside, because even though with everything that has been going on recently with the Groom, I’m being paranoid. It’s just a van, and everyone is on edge.

“Don’t be stupid,” I tell myself as I walk between the work van and my car. Stopping at my door, I twist my backpack to my front and unzip the front pocket to root around for my keys.

I hear it then. A smooth grinding of metal against metal, of a door sliding open behind me, and everything slows down. My fingers brush over my keys as I turn sideways. An odd smell surrounds me, and I open my mouth to take a breath, but I’ve already taken my last breath before I know it. A rough hand clamps down. Fear jolts up my spine as I’m pulled back. Another arm circles my waist, pinning my right arm. The odd bitter smell is everywhere, clogging my nostrils and throat, and I open my mouth to scream as my heart seizes in my chest. I lift my legs to fight back, but it’s too late.

Too late.

“Don’t fight me,” he whispers in my ear. “Don’t ever fight me.”

Gasping for air, I jerked up into a sitting position, dragging in deep gulps of untainted oxygen as I scanned the dark, unfamiliar room. My heart thundered in my chest so fast I felt sick. For a moment, I didn’t recognize where I was. It took me a couple of seconds to realize I was in my room, back in Berkeley County, above the Scarlet Wench.

“Just a nightmare,” I whispered, forcing myself to lie back down. “That’s all.”

Nightmares would be common; at least that was what the therapist said. Probably have them for the rest of my life as my subconscious still tried to work everything out. I had them at least three times a week, but it had been a super long time since I had dreamt of that night.

There was no way I was falling back asleep now, so I stared at the ceiling as hours passed and dawn crept in through the small window across from the bed. By then, the nightmare was just that.

Doubting I’d beat Mom and make it downstairs before her, I took a quick shower, mostly dried my hair, and then twisted it up in a topknot. Grabbing a loose black sweater, since January was far colder here than it typically was in Atlanta, I paired it with a pair of checkered leggings that weren’t the most flattering things on my thighs but were sure as hell comfy.

Covering my gaping yawn with my hand, I walked back into the bathroom and came to a complete stop. I frowned as I scanned the space. “Crap,” I muttered, realizing I’d left the makeup bag in my tote, which was in the backseat of the car.

Damn it.

Spinning around, I walked over to the bench in front of the bed. Under it were my flip-flops. I toed them on, knowing Mom would side-eye the choice of footwear, but it was a habit I couldn’t break, even when it snowed. I swiped my keys out of the purse and then grabbed the apartment key.

I headed out the back door instead of going out the front and using the staff staircase. I hunkered down when the cold morning air hit the still-damp strands of hair along the back of my neck. The flip-flops smacked the whole way down the stairs—stairs I would most likely bust my ass on at some point during the winter. As I crossed the veranda, I wiggled the house key onto the ring.

My breath puffed out misty clouds as I rounded the side of the inn and cut across the yard. The wet grass poked at my feet, icy cold. I hit the cobblestone roundabout and made a beeline for the car I’d parked outside the carriage house, grateful none of the guests were early risers. Thinking I would have just enough time to put something on my face before it would be time to help Mom do the continental breakfast, I stopped in front of my car.

My mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.”

I blinked, because I couldn’t believe what I was seeing, but my eyesight was just fine. Stomach twisting and turning sour, I took a step toward the car. Glass crunched under my feet.

Glass that belonged on my car and not on the ground.

Every single window of my car had been shattered. Every one.





Chapter 3




“I can’t believe this has happened. We haven’t ever had a break-in or anything like that at all.” Anger flashed across my mother’s face, flushing her cheeks. “This is unbelievable.”

We stood in front of my car, side by side. I wanted to pull it into the carriage house so the guests wouldn’t see it, but she hadn’t been too keen on moving the car until the police showed up. Plus, there was glass all over the seats, all over everywhere, and I really didn’t want to spend the day picking glass out of the cheeks of my ass.

Mom had been against waiting, but I wanted to get breakfast ready so the guests didn’t have to wait and end up leaving crappy reviews on Yelp. The crappy reviews were probably going to happen anyway, because the couple with the redheaded toddler had already seen the damaged car and was now worried about their own property. Not that I could blame them for that, but it was weird that only my car had been damaged and none of the three much nicer vehicles.

Like the Lexus the parents owned.

Because seriously, if anyone was going to break into a car, why in the world would they pick the Honda Accord over the Lexus and the Cadillac?

The criminals in Berkeley County really needed to get their priorities straight.

“Mom . . .” I shook my head as I folded my arms across my chest, knowing we weren’t going to have to wait much longer. The police station was down the street. Like literally right down the same street. “I’m so sorry. The guests don’t need to see this and worry about their cars—”