Page 222 of Heart So Hollow

I’m out the door in less than 30 seconds, sprinting across the parking lot to my car. Something happened, but I don’t know when.

I missed something. I fucking missed something.

Skidding out the front gate, I gun the engine, racing down country roads toward Canaan. I haven’t done this—driven these roads this fast—in eight years.

Try to catch me now, assholes…

It takes 18 minutes, 26 seconds to get to Brett’s house from the front gate of Wolfsson. But I don’t give a fuck about the speed limit. I’ll bring every statey, deputy, and officer in the jurisdiction to that house with me.

Every few moments, I glance at my phone snapped into its holder on the vent, the screen split by the driveway and living room feeds. My Bluetooth finally connects and I can hear talking. Brett is standing opposite Hannah, holding a cardboard box. Their voices are hushed at first, until Brett’s voice echoes through the room. Soon, Hannah’s shouting back at her.

All but drifting around the next curve, I pump the brakes and then push the STI to 70 on the next straightaway. Then I do a doubletake as Hannah leaps toward Brett, knocking the box out of her hands and grabbing her by the shoulders. A few seconds later, they’re going at each other in an all-out brawl.

“Goddamnit!” I roar, pounding the steering wheel and speeding down the road as fast as I can while still keeping the tires on pavement.

I’ll fucking kill that bitch when I get my hands on her.

It all happens quickly, but Brett gets the upper hand and gives Hannah a good whaling before she’s able to get away and run back out of the house. Shifting my focus to the driveway feed, I watch her throw two bags in her car and peel out of the driveway.

It’s not five minutes before I see the white Tahoe in the distance, getting bigger and bigger as it speeds toward me on the opposite side of the road. As she gets closer, I hit my horn four times, trying to get her attention. She flies past me and I hit the brakes, turning the wheel and spinning the STI around in the middle of the road. The smell of burning rubber hits my nose as I squeal after her, catching up with the Tahoe in no time. As soon as I do, I call her.

“Hello?” Brett answers, her voice cracking.

“Go to the park,” I bark into the speaker, “I’m right behind you.”

The parking lot at Black Ridge is empty when I whip into the space next to Brett’s Tahoe. I jump out of my STI and jog around to her door. When I tug on it, it’s locked at first and it takes her a few seconds to look down and find the unlock button. I jerk the door open and pause.

Brett slowly swivels in the driver’s seat, a dazed look on her face as her eyes wander for a moment before meeting mine. Her cheeks are flushed and there are thin, pink scratches across the top of her chest just below a faint bruise that’s beginning to form around her neck.

Her entire body is shaking and she stares at me for a moment before her breaths become more labored and her chin begins to tremble. I reach for her, gently grasping her waist. One hand grabs my shoulder while the other grabs the top of the steering wheel for stability. She starts fidgeting like she doesn’t know what to do.

“Hey,” I say softly, leaning closer, “look at me.”

Brett’s eyes dart to mine and she stares at me with such intensity, she looks like she might have a heart attack. Her hand flies from the steering wheel and grabs my other shoulder. Digging her nails into my skin through my shirt, she pitches forward and her mouth tics before her face contorts and she descends into a barrage of screams and sobs.

As soon as I pull her to me, she throws her arms over my shoulders and claws at my back like she’s about to be dragged away by the fucking devil himself.

“Breathe,” I murmur into her ear, “breathe for me before you pass out.”

She’s convulsing in my arms and I feel my chest tighten with rage at every one of her cries.

What the fuck happened in that house?

With an annoyed grunt, I gently peel her off of me for a few seconds while I reach across my stomach and tear the Velcro loose on my vest. Pulling it over my head, I hastily drop the entire thing on the asphalt with a clatter before grabbing her and pulling her back into my chest. As soon as the side of her face hits my shirt, her gasps slow from erratic whimpers to long, deep breaths as her body starts to calm.

“I got you,” I press my cheek to her forehead, “I promise, I got you.”

Holding her in a tight embrace, I give her a couple more minutes before I try to pry her body away from mine enough to look at her flushed cheeks and wet, swollen eyes.

“Tell me what happened,” I grab her face, making her focus on me, “baby, please tell me what happened.”

Brett takes a deep breath and everything comes pouring out in one, long stream of consciousness; how that motherfucker waited in the dark for her to come home, attacked her, threatened her, and then locked her in the bedroom.

He should thank whatever demented god he prays to that I don’t find him right now and go at his dick with a vegetable peeler. Because he better believe that if anyone’s going to fuck Brett with their gun, it’s going to be me, and she’ll ask me nicely for it and thank me afterward.

“It wasn’t you,” she wipes her tear-stained cheeks, muttering something about texts and pills before she trails off, staring down at nothing while shaking her head, “I don’t know what else, but it was him. It was all him.”

Brett can’t focus. She keeps looking around like she’s expecting Bowen to appear out of nowhere.

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