Fractured Sky (Tattered & Torn #5)(101)

Grabbing my phone, I crawled under the sink. I’d always been of average height and glad of it, thankful that I blended into the background. But right then, I would’ve given anything to be petite like Grae.

I pulled the doors closed, but they didn’t quite make it. I shoved myself harder against the back wall.

Abel’s voice cut across the line. “Wren, where are you?”

“The bathroom. The guest bathroom. In the hall. Under the sink. How long till the police get here?”

Part of me hoped it would be Holt’s oldest brother, Lawson, who responded to the call. The other half wanted him nowhere near this.

The dispatcher was quiet on the other end of the line for a moment.

My heart dropped. “Abel?”

“There have been three shootings tonight. All available officers are out on calls. I’ve got two coming to you, but they’re up the mountain. It’s gonna be a minute.”

Three shootings. It wasn’t possible. Not in a town as small as ours. The worst thing to happen here was a bad car accident that had killed two people. Shootings happened in big cities. Not here.

The buzzing in my ears intensified and infiltrated my entire body. It had to be them. Randy and Paul. A million things ran through my head. Questions of why and who had been targeted. Had anyone been killed?

A knock sounded on the back door, and I jumped, hitting my head.

“Wreeeeeeen, I can see the food on the counter. We know you’re home,” Randy called.

“Could you see them, Wren? Did you recognize them?”

“Yes. R-Randy Sullivan and Paul Matthews. They go to my school.”

“And you saw their weapons?”

“Yes. Handguns.” I was going numb now as if this were all happening to someone else, and I was watching from above.

“Do you have a weapon?”

“No.” My voice cracked.

Holt’s dad, Nathan, had been adamant about teaching us all gun safety, but to this day, that had been the only time I’d ever held a weapon—unless you counted a kitchen knife.

“Officers are fifteen minutes out. They’ll be there soon.”

“Found it!” Paul called.

I heard the key in the lock, the cylinder turning and bolt sliding. Or maybe it was my imagination that made it sound as if a bomb had just gone off at my back door.

“They’re in the house.” My words were barely audible as footsteps pounded up the stairs. “Don’t talk.”

Abel didn’t say a word, but a click sounded across the line. A barely discernable agreement.

Chaos erupted down the hall—from my room. Crashing furniture, and the closet door banging.

“Where the hell is that tight-assed bitch?” Randy growled. “Lover boy isn’t here to protect you now, is he?”

Oh, God. Holt. My mind warred with itself. Part of me wanted him here to rescue me from this nightmare. But another part wanted him as far away from this house as possible.

Randy’s twisted face flashed in my mind. The anger that had etched itself there after he’d asked me out in the seventh grade, and I’d declined.

My breaths came in quick pants as Randy and Paul moved from room to room. The air stilled in my lungs as footsteps sounded in the bathroom. Someone tore back the shower curtain.

A shot sounded, and then I heard shattered glass.

“Save your bullets for things that matter,” Paul said.

“She’s here somewhere,” Randy gritted out.

“And we’ll find her.”

Faint footsteps sounded downstairs, and relief and fear warred inside me. Holt or the police? Holt would’ve rung the bell. It was the police. It had to be.

The cabinet doors flew open, and Paul hooted with glee. “Look what I found, Ran. If it’s not a Goody Two-shoes hiding under the sink.”

A sneer twisted Randy’s face as Paul hauled me out. “Get on your knees.”

Paul shoved me to the floor. I hit the tile with a force that jarred my spine, and my phone tumbled to the bathmat.

Randy snatched it up, glaring at the screen. His finger punched the end icon. “Stupid bitch was on with 9-1-1. You tell the cops who was here?”

“N-no.”

“Fuckin’ liar.” Randy slapped me so hard my head snapped back, and I tasted blood.

Footsteps sounded in the entryway. I prayed for the officers to hurry.

Paul stomped on my phone, the screen making a crunching sound. The only thing I could see was the now-fractured image of me and Holt, shattered into a million tiny pieces. “We gotta get out of here. The cops will be on the way.”

Randy’s eyes flashed. “No. I’m having my fun with her first.”

A siren sounded in the distance. More help.

Hurry.

I chanted the word over and over in my mind as if the two syllables could save me.

“We gotta go now,” Paul snapped.

“Then help me get her ass in the car. I’m taking my time with this one.”

My stomach roiled as the metallic taste in my mouth intensified.

Paul raised his gun. I couldn’t look away from the muzzle pointed straight at me. Memories flashed within the darkness of the barrel. Laughing as I sailed through the air after Holt threw me into the lake. The buzz beneath my skin the first time his lips touched mine. Holt holding me tightly as I let the tears flow when my parents had forgotten my birthday. Again. Planning that big, beautiful future that would be ours.