Fight or Flight(81)

“I’m on my way. When I get off the phone, call the police.”

“No,” she said, her voice sharp. “Please, Ava, no police. Please. You can’t. Please.”

I looked up at Caleb. “Okay, no police.”

His expression darkened. What’s going on? he mouthed.

“I’ll be there soon. Just hold tight.”

“Okay,” she whispered and hung up.

“Vince attacked her,” I said, my hands shaking as I got up and reached for my purse on the coffee table. “He’s got her barricaded in her bedroom and she won’t let me call the police. She says he’s on something.”

“You’re not going there alone,” Caleb bit out angrily, pushing up off the sofa to stride past me and across the room. He pounded on Jamie’s door and then threw it open without permission.

“What the fu—?”

“Ava’s friend is in trouble,” Caleb cut him off. “Get your shoes.”

Somewhere in my fear-soaked brain I processed that Jamie followed Caleb out of the room without asking for more of an explanation, and I thought that said a lot of good things about Jamie Scott. It was only when we were all in the elevator together, Caleb holding my hand tight because I couldn’t stop trembling, that Caleb asked me to tell them everything Harper had said on the phone.

I repeated our conversation.

“How far away is she?” Jamie asked as we hurried across the underground parking garage to Caleb’s car. We piled into the Range Rover Sport he’d bought when he first moved to Boston, and I gave Caleb instructions on how to get to her place. She lived in a tiny one-bedroom in Charlestown just off Bunker Hill Street, so it was a mere ten minutes up Route 93.

That ten minutes felt like a goddamn lifetime.

I was jittery with adrenaline, my teeth chattering together and my left knee bouncing constantly.

Caleb reached over and placed a gentle hand on said knee as he was driving. “We’ll get tae her and she’ll be okay,” he promised, so steady. I looked over at him, his profile stern and his gaze focused and determined on the road. He was strong and capable and protective.

I still felt sick, but Caleb’s reassurance and his brother’s presence—their support—calmed me a little. In a perfect world I would be strong enough physically to march into Harper’s apartment and save her from Vince myself. But I was a tiny five foot three and I ran to keep fit. I didn’t lift weights. Vince could overpower me as easily as he’d overpowered Harper, and then where would we be?

It was a sad truth that weeks ago this would have made me feel bitter and frustrated. I was still frustrated, but I didn’t feel bitter that I had to lean on Caleb for help. Perhaps if I didn’t trust him, I would feel resentment that I had to rely on a man for support. But I didn’t see this as having to rely on a man. I saw this as relying on a friend.

He was my friend.

And I’d never been more grateful for him than I was in that moment.

“Here—” I pointed to a small parking lot between her building and the next and then fumbled in my purse for my keys. I had a spare to Harper’s apartment as she had for mine.

Caleb swung into a free spot and I jumped out of the car before he’d stopped moving. I ran toward the modern redbrick building, driven by the need to get to my friend. Seconds from the building door, I suddenly felt the breath knocked out of me as a strong arm encircled my waist. I found myself hauled back against Caleb and he growled in my ear, “Dinnae you jump out of a moving car again.” He shook me a little and I pressed against his arms in an attempt to rush ahead.

“Caleb,” I bit out in warning.

He released me slowly and I turned to match him glare for glare. He held out his hands. “Keys. Stay behind me and Jamie the whole time. You hear?”

Arguing would only have wasted time, so I handed the keys over and fell back behind the two brothers. “Second floor,” I said.

They took the stairs two at a time and I hurried up after them, out of breath from panic and distress by the time we reached her apartment. I pointed to her door and Caleb unlocked it, but when he opened it, it caught on the chain.

He cursed and looked at Jamie and then at me.

I read his silent question. “Break it in.”

Taking a few steps back, Caleb seemed to brace and then he punched a long, strong leg out with more force than I knew he was capable of. The door flew open, the chain snapping off, and wood in the center panel cracked and splintered.

I didn’t care.

I rushed in behind Caleb and Jamie to find Vince standing up from the sofa in her small living room. In my head I’d imagined the apartment wrecked from a violent struggle, but it was mostly intact except for a smashed vase in the corner by the window.

The retro fridge, however, was no longer in her tiny kitchen but barricading her bedroom door.

Son of a bitch!

Before I could launch myself at him, he raised his hands in defense against a menacing Jamie and Caleb, who were approaching him slowly, predatorily.

I finally noted that Vince’s face was splotchy and his eyes watery and red-rimmed. He’d been crying. He still was. And his hair was all over the place, like he’d been tugging it in vexation.

“I didn’t mean it.” He shook his head, blubbering. Spit dribbled down his chin and he wiped it, sobbing harder. “I didn’t mean it.” His eyes flew to me and he started toward me. “Ava, I didn’t mean it.”