CHAPTER SIX

MIRA

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I think it’s my fault.

Christian had been home last night. I left him in the living room with my handprint on his cheek and stormed upstairs.

While I know he’s a grown man capable of making adult choices, am I the reason he’d gone off to drink and get behind the wheel of his bike? A stupid and reckless decision that has my brain rattled with images of Kalen and Sophie. The accident photos plastered all over the papers in a morbid attempt to draw awareness to the risks of driving under the influence. Their smiling photos over their closed caskets.

If Christian had gotten wasted and made the choice to get on his bike, I don’t think I will ever be able to like him. I mean, I barely do after the cruel things he said last night, but this would solidify my feelings for him.

I glance at Daniel. His silence has been a suffocating blanket. It unspools through the cabin in hot tendrils of simmering rage I can almost feel coiling off him.

I don’t try to break it. Not out of fear of his reaction, but Daniel rarely gets angry. He never loses his patience. To witness his white knuckled choke around the wheel, the hard knot flexing at his jaw feels like such a private moment, I leave him lost in his thoughts.

But because I know he would for me, I reach over the console and lightly skim the tense muscles of his forearm with my fingertips. The veins rising beneath taut flesh ripple as he unfurls his grip to take my hand. My captured digits are lifted to his lips. A feather light kiss is brushed over the skin of my knuckles, releasing a flock of butterflies in my belly.

The Sheriff’s office is a squat, unimpressive building squeezed between a bait and tackle shop and a juice bar at the heart of a town cut straight from some cozy, daytime soap.

Children have to scoot their hockey nets off the street to let our truck through before resuming their game. Pedestrians wave at other pedestrians in passing. Some stop to chat. Others continue on to the assortment of cute shops lining the stubbornly clean streets; there isn’t a stray leaf. Not a pothole. Not even a grease stain. Every window gleams. Every tree is trimmed. Every fire hydrant is painted a vibrant red. There’s even an elderly couple huddled together on a bench in the middle of the cul-de-sac, tossing seeds to a small army of pigeons. The only thing missing is the camera crew.

“You grew up here?” I ask the silent man next to me.

Daniel makes a grunting noise as he unlatches his belt and turns to face me. “Stay in the car, okay?”

That is the last thing I want. I’m dying to explore this place that can’t possibly be real.

“Can I just—?”

“No!” he snaps. He presses his eyes closed when I flinch. “Fuck, I’m sorry, baby, but no. Stay here. Keep the door locked.”

I scan the smiling faces of men and women of all races and ages, normal looking people going about their business. Not a single one looks dangerous or even mildly threatening. Even the dogs tied to trees and posts seem happy.

“But why—?”

Daniel captures my fingers and gives them a squeeze. “Please, Mira.”

I search his beautiful face and relent because Daniel wouldn’t ask me to do something unless it was important. If he’s telling me to stay in the truck, there has to be a good reason.

He kisses my fingers when I give him a nod. “I won’t be long.”

With that, he pushes open his door and hops out. It’s closed promptly behind him, and I hear the locks engage with a resounding click.

I watch him stalk with dominating strides up the sidewalk, looking at no one or anything when shoving open the glass doors to the Sheriff’s office and disappearing inside.

No one pays me any mind as they continue on with their day, but I watch them. I study each person, searching for a hint that they might be up to no good. The only outrageous thing I can find is how aggressively normal everything seems.

“Definitely weird,” I grumble to myself.

I can’t help wondering if this place isn’t run by a cult. It made sense why Daniel would warn me to stay in a locked vehicle in front of the Sheriff’s office in broad daylight with this many people wearing khakis.

Cult. Had to be.

Certain in my theory, I reach for my purse, pull out my phone. I turn it on, prepared to search ways to recognize a cult when three, sharp raps on my window scares the shit out of me.

I yelp and jump. My head snaps up and I blink at the trio standing outside my door.

All three men are dressed identical right down to the aviator sunglasses, beige Polo’s over beige khakis and beige, wide brim hats. If it weren’t for the differences in their height and build, they could have been triplets.

The one in front with the chunky, brown caterpillar living above his upper lip lifts a hand and motions for me to roll down my window. I’m about to tell him he can go fuck himself when his other hand comes up holding a shiny, silver star.

I dart a glance in the direction of the Sheriff’s office, wondering if they were looking for Daniel. Nevertheless, I reach over and poke the window button and roll the glass down just low enough for them to hear me.

“Morning, ma’am.”

I ignore the prickles of annoyance at being called ma’am by a guy who could have been the same age as my dad.

“Morning,” I murmur, not missing the apprehension in my own voice.

“Don’t mean to intrude on your day. We noticed you weren’t from around these parts and wanted to see if you needed any assistance.”

Maybe it’s the city part of me but I doubt a city cop would randomly notice someone parked on a main road lined with shops in broad daylight, surrounded by people, especially when they’re parked directly in front of the police station. What kind of shenanigans did they think I was up to?

“I’m okay,” I say, hoping they’d get the hint and leave.

They don’t.

If anything, they seem even more suspicious of me.

“Can you roll your window down, ma’am?” the man says.

“Why? I’m not doing anything.”

I’m not intentionally being difficult, but I also know I haven’t done anything wrong. They asked if I needed help. I said no. They have no reason to stay and bother me.

“We just want to chat.”

“I don’t. I’m okay. Thank you.”

I’m about to roll the window back up when he says, “We saw you arrive with Daniel MacAllister.”

That stops me. So much for randomly coming across the truck. They saw me arrive with Daniel, which meant they saw Daniel go inside. There is no reason for them to be standing outside my window.

“So?”

I don’t try to hide my annoyance. They brought it on themselves.

He shifts. Stubby thumbs hook into the loops of his belt.

“Just curious, is all. Haven’t seen the MacAllister boys in ... shoot, near seventeen years?”

He glances over his shoulder at the one with the goatee who nods his confirmation.

“Great. Daniel’s inside. So is Christian. You can go catch up with them there.”

I reach for the button again.

“Would you mind getting out of the vehicle, ma’am?”

My finger stops. A prickle of unease slithers down my spine. My gaze darts to the lock, double checking it’s sealed before glancing up at the trio.

“Why?”

“Just to chat.”

I’ve never been questioned by the police. I’ve never had to deal with them. I have no blueprint on how to handle a chat , but I have heard enough from Daniel to know that’s not a legal reason.

“Have I done something?” I ask, darting a glance in the direction of the Sheriff’s office, wishing Daniel would hurry up.

“Have you?” the man counters with a hint of irritation. “Can you just step out please? It’ll be easier to talk.”

I can argue they had no reason to ask me to get out. I can roll up the window and wait until Daniel comes out. I can do a many number of things, but all of them would only cause Daniel trouble. Besides, I’m in the middle of a whole town full of people in the middle of the morning. What could possibly happen?

Confident in my own safety, I prop my phone into the cup holder and open the door. I start to slide down only to immediately regret my decision when the door is wrenched out of my hand. The loss of support has me tumbling off the footrest and being saved from busting my knees on concrete by mustache who digs five fingers into my elbow and hauls me up.

“What the hell?” I bark, twisting free of his bruising grip and trying to take a step back.

The truck comes up behind me. The side of my seat collides with my spine.

Any hopes I might have that they would do the right thing and give me space vanishes when they shift to block me, trapping me in a wall of beige.

“Can you back up?” I snap, masking my terror behind an icy wall of annoyance. Still, I hear the damn tremor.

“What you think, Walton? Daughter?” their prepubescent sidekick chirps.

Walton, the one with the mustache and practically standing on my toes clicks his tongue. “Doubt it. Too old. Too pretty.”

“Back up!” I snarl again, louder, hoping someone passing by might come to help.

Junior’s sparkling eyes pivot back to me with the shine of a child at Christmas. “Holy, you think she’s ... with them?”

I am not liking the way his beady, little graze is roaming over me, pausing at my breasts like he can almost taste them in his mouth.

My stomach heaves.

I barely manage to keep from throwing up all over that starched shirt when I fix Walton with cold, hard eyes.

“Are you deaf? I said, get away from me.”

I’m not dumb enough to put my hands on a cop, but someone is.

One second, Walton is pressing closer, invading my space. Breathing hot Cheetos into my face. The next, someone has grabbed him by the back of the shirt.

His feet actually lift off the pavement and he sails back almost three feet. Would have gone further if the blue Chevy parked next to the truck hadn’t stopped him.

He slams into the driver’s side door with a resounding crunch and thump that I feel crash through me, but I don’t see him hit the ground. My view is obscured by a wall of leather and rage.

My head jerks up and I blink at the man with the dark, wavy strands falling to broad shoulders.

Christian.

“Get the fuck away from her,” comes the low, snarling rumble from somewhere deep in the cavity of his chest.

I hear scuffling; Junior and Goatee have unholstered their guns. The barrels fixed level with Christian’s chest.

“Christian...” I gingerly take his arm, careful and slow in my movement. Never once looking away from the weapons aimed at us.

Christian doesn’t seem to give a shit. He moves to block me fully. Putting himself between me and the threat that has every nerve ending in my body screaming.

“You put your hands on an officer, MacAllister!” Walton sounds winded, but furious.

“Come near her again, I’ll do more than put my hands on you.”

It’s so sweet ... in a book. In a fictional world, this would be where I kick my feet and giggle. But the guns aren’t fictional. They’re real and so are the bullets and Christian will die if they shoot.

I tighten my hold on him, silently begging him to stop. To just apologize and get in the truck with me.

“You worthless piece of shit,” Walton spits with a personal venom I make a mental note to ask about later. If we live. “You and your trash brother should never have come back here.”

“You think that gives you the right to intimidate women? She has nothing to do with this. Stay away from her.”

I have so many questions, I can barely focus on my own breathing as it all crushes down on me. None of what they were saying made any sense. I know Daniel and Christian left the town. I know they left because something happened, but to have the town law enforcement personally attack you is something else, especially when they have guns aimed at you.

The stranger thing still is the fact that not a single pedestrian has stopped. Not one, not even the cluster of teenagers outside the juice bar seem to notice there’s a whole standoff happening eight feet away. They stand in a huddle, heads bent over their phones, showing each other something and chatting like this is totally normal.

Across the street, the couple feeding the birds are still smiling fondly at the feathered creatures and tossing seeds.

What the fuck is this place?

Were we in some weird freeze zone where no one can see or hear us? How is no one running for cover? Or recording the gross injustice taking place?

I am so lost in the Twilight Zone episode I’m living in, I barely get the chance to brace myself when Christian shoves me. It’s so sudden, I tumble into the side of the truck bed with my shoulder.

Something else, two colliding forces crash into the place I was standing. It rattles the frame.

I spin to find Walton slamming Christian into my vacant seat. Forcing Christian back with a hand at his throat. The other is coiled back.

He drives his fist into Christian’s face.

Just once, but it snaps his dark head back. Blood erupts from his lips. I can’t tell as Walton prepares for another attack.

“Stop it!” I scream, body jerking into motion.

I make a running leap and hook both arms over the deputy’s hard bicep like a baby monkey and try to yank it down.

“No, Mira!” Christian snarls. “Get the fuck out of here!”

But I cling to Walton even as he tries to shake me off. His hold on Christian loosens. He turns his body to me, plants the same hand he had around Christian’s neck into my chest and shoves with the strength of a battering ram.

I lose my grip with the burst of pain. His arm I’d been clutching with both of mine slips and I dislodge. I’m flung backwards.

Pain ricochets up my entire left side with my collision across the pavement. It rattles every bone. I taste blood from the chunk I take out of my tongue. My ears are ringing and I’m only half conscious of the snarl, but it rips through the cheery afternoon with the ferocity of a starved lion.

Something hits the ground not far from where I’m struggling to push up to my aching knees. I sweep my hair off my face and glance over at the figure rolling off his back to all fours. Both hands over his face as crimson droplets trickle from between his fingers.

Strong hands close around me and I’m lifted to my feet.

“Are you hurt?”

Christian brushes back my hair and sends his gaze traveling over me, searching for injuries. His big hands follow the path of his eyes, dusting away dirt and soothing the burn in my elbow.

“Are you?” I pant, breathless.

He’s not listening. His brows are thick, dark slashes dipped low over the inferno in his eyes. “What the fuck were you thinking? You and me, we’re going to talk about this later. Get in the truck.”

He forcibly lifts me up into my seat and slams the door closed behind me.

Alone, he faces Junior and Walton who has managed to pull himself back onto his feet. I don’t know where goatee has gone. I didn’t see him take off, but it’s just the two and both have their weapons drawn.