Love Me (WITSEC #3)(38)

I fisted my hands at my sides. “You don’t want to have a conversation. You’re here to threaten me again.”

“Seeing how you haven’t dropped the charges against my daughter, I’m assuming I wasn’t clear enough on what would happen to you—”

“Your threat was perfectly clear,” I cut him off. “Hang me from the nearest tree, wasn’t it? Oh, and you got the man who drugged and tried to rape me out of jail. I know you have power and the lengths you’d go to protect your own. My lack of action isn’t due to naivete.”

“Then what is?”

“You’re a bully like your daughter. Or I should say that your daughter is just like you.” I stood confidently, refusing to give this man the satisfaction of seeing me intimidated.

His hand resting on the back of the couch fisted until his knuckles turned white. It was the only sign of his anger. “I did some digging on you.”

I fought to keep my face schooled as panic wreaked havoc inside me.

“I found your school records, birth certificate, and your previous addresses. What I found intriguing was the lack of any social media. What teenager in this day and age doesn’t have a Facebook? I also couldn’t find a single picture of you other than the one on your Arizona driver’s license. Did you not drive before moving here?”

“I had extremely protective parents,” I lied.

“Speaking of those parents…they died in a car accident?”

“Is there a reason you’re telling me my life history?” I deflected.

“That’s the thing about your history. It’s too perfect.”

“We all have to excel somewhere,” I quipped.

He stood from the couch, and I dashed for the front door. Quickly, I turned the knob and got it open before he could get close enough to touch. Refusing to give him my back, I went out on my front porch.

He stopped walking on the threshold and smiled up at the camera pointed at the front door. “There are too many things about you that beg questioning,” he said as he continued to stare up at the camera. Then he looked back at me. “If you don’t drop the charges, I might be tempted to dig a little further to find out why.”

He walked out of my house, and I pivoted to the side as he passed me. I watched until he walked across the street to an unmarked red truck. After he drove away, I went back inside.

I found my bedroom ransacked. My mattress was flipped and flung to the side and the drawers in my nightstands and dresser were ripped open. Clothes and my underwear were spilled on the floor. All the cabinets in the bathrooms were open. The spare bedroom looked like my room. The door to my panic room had a dent in it, like someone had thrown their shoulder into it trying to break the door down. I went inside and it didn’t look like he’d gotten in. The only other room that seemed untouched was the living room and I had a feeling that had been done purposely. It was to give me a false sense of safety to keep me in the house long enough for him to cut me off at the front door.

All the cabinets were ripped open in the kitchen as well and I found all the guns that had been hidden around the house lying lined up in rows on my kitchen island.

I gripped the edge of that island, eyes staring down at my guns without really seeing them, as what had happened sank in. It was another home—another place I was supposed to feel safe in—taken away. Violated.

What if it had been Mr. X?

I’d known.

I. Had. Known.

It didn’t matter how many guns and cameras I had.

It didn’t matter where I went.

Nowhere would be safe.

I would never be safe.

The confidence and quick wit that made me my lawyer father’s daughter were withering. Now fear and panic were taking over, crushing and overwhelming me to the point I couldn’t breathe.

My chest rose and fell rapidly, but the air still didn’t seem to fill my lungs. My heart boomed in my ears as I eased down to the floor. I was going to pass out soon if I didn’t find a way to breathe.

Keelan.

Keelan was home.

I pulled my phone from my pocket at the same time a voice said, “Shiloh.”

Startled, I dropped my phone on the floor.

“Christ, Shiloh!” Shoes pounded on the floor until Logan knelt next to where I was on the ground on all fours. “What happened?” He put a hand on my back.

Like a knee-jerk reaction, I shrugged his hand off and, in the process, I knocked my phone a few feet away. “I can’t breathe,” I forced out as I started to crawl for my phone.

Logan grabbed me by the elbow, stopping me. “Shi—”

“Don’t touch me!” I snapped, yanking myself free from his grasp. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t trust that he wouldn’t take advantage of me in this state. I couldn’t fight back. Not when I was moments away from clawing at my throat, hoping it would produce an airway.

He put his hands up, glaring at me as I dove for my phone. Tears blurred my vision as I dialed Keelan’s number.

The moment his cheery voice answered, “Hello, gorgeous,” I was finally able to suck in air.

Expelling a sob, I rested my forehead on the ground. Hateful tears dripped from my eyes as I thought, One step forward, five steps back. That was what it was. Every. Fucking. Day. I hated myself at that moment. I hated how weak the five steps back made me feel. I hated how hard it was to stay determined in the face of very little progress. I hated that Logan was witnessing it all. Because it would be all he saw. Because it was what everyone saw. The weak, broken parts. And I would be treated differently for it. I didn’t need to be coddled or handled like cracked glass. What I needed right now was for someone to scream at me to get up. But it was an unreasonable expectation to have of others. I had to find it in me to do it myself.