Page 65 of Relinquish

“Don’t move, cocksucker.” Ripley stares down the barrel of his weapon from the other side of Randall. “You’re surrounded, so don’t try to run. I have no qualms about shooting you. I don’t care about the carpet or the sofa.”

“Nor do I.” Cade shifts to the side. His hand is steady as he holds the pistol inches from his temple. “Whoever buys the house will want new furniture anyway.” His head cocks backward. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Patricia jumps up off the sofa.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Cade sighs but continues to watch Randall.

“I’m fine.”

“Thank God. He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

I shudder over all the things Randall said he wanted to do. Thank fuck he’s all talk and no action. “He slapped me once, but that’s it.”

Cade glances out of the corner of his eye as his jaw twitches. He jerks his attention back to Randall and steps into his space. “You better be glad there are witnesses.”

“Cade, that’s enough. We’ve got him.” Eddie and Derrick barge into the room with handcuffs dangling in their fingers. In the distance, sirens blare as the police near Randall’s estate.

“And her.” I tip my head toward Patricia. “She was his accomplice.”

“Lola, you know how vile he is. He threatened to fuck you up the ass and kill you.”

“Motherfucker.” Cade punches Randall in the mouth, and blood shoots across his fist.

“Asshole.” Randall lunges his head forward.

Eddie and Derrick jog forward, each one taking a different suspect. The second the handcuffs are on, Cade grabs me and hauls me into his arms. “Don’t ever–”

“I won’t.” I place my hands on his face as his entire body shudders. “I will never go off without telling you where I’m going. Unless it’s to the store or something.”

“Thank you.” He smiles weakly and kisses me.

Seconds later, he leans back and rests his forehead against mine. “I was afraid I’d lost you.”

“I wasn’t. I knew you’d find me.” I snuggle against his chest as he shoves the weapon into the holster at the back of his pants while a stream of police officers floods the room.

Chapter Thirty-One

Several Hours Later

Lola

I groan and stretch. What time is it? I crack one eye open, only to be blinded by the sunshine streaking into my bedroom. Shit. I slam my eye shut. My head feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton balls, making thoughts difficult to process. It must be afternoon or late morning. Hell, it was after six o’clock before we made it back to the house.

Randall. My eyes pop open, and I suck in a gulp of air. My entire body shudders from my neck to my toes. I’m not sure I’ll ever get over those two hours. They might be short in duration, but they’ll color my life forever.

I reach over for Cade, but his side of the sheets is cool to the touch. Where did he go? I glance around the room, but he’s nowhere to be seen. I look down at my clothes. Blood. Blood from Randall’s nose. I rip the T-shirt over my head and toss it into the trashcan. I don’t want any remembrances of him. I run to the bathroom, twist on the water, and hurry out of my clothes. I’d been too exhausted to shower when we got done with the police, but now I can’t wait to scrub off all evidence of him.

By the shower are a damp towel and Cade’s discarded clothes. I cringe. I’m not sure him hanging around out in my father’s house is a good idea, but I can’t look for him until I’m clean.

As I stand under the showerhead, I let the hot water scald my skin as if I can burn the night from my memory. When that doesn’t work, I scrub a loofah into my flesh and eradicate every vile thought, leer, and word Randall said.

Twenty minutes later, I return to my bedroom, fully dressed and ready to face the day. Randall’s in jail and won’t be out for years. My father will make sure of that.

I stare into the mirror. Where do Cade and I stand? Does he want a long-term relationship? What does he want? Do we go back to the way we were before yesterday? God, it’s been less than twenty-four hours. Is that enough to build a lasting relationship?

As I approach the dining room, I can hear my brothers’ voices in a heated debate. Football. What else? For some strange reason, each of my brothers chose a different team to cheer for while growing up, and they’d stayed avid fans ever since. Maybe it isn’t that surprising. Eddie and Derrick are two of the most competitive people I know.

“You don’t have a leg to stand on, Eddie. My team did better than your team last year. And the year before.” Derrick says sarcastically. He’s not about to allow our older brother to forget whose team is better than the other. There have been so few times in our lives that Eddie hasn’t had the upper hand. The smell of bacon hangs in the air, causing my stomach to growl. “Okay, they didn’t do the greatest, but this year will be different.”

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