Page 65 of Broken Pact

A shudder runs through me, and I take a shaky breath, trying to calm the rising panic. I can’t go inside, not after what just happened.

Even if I had my house keys, I can’t bring myself to go inside. Not alone. The thought of those men being here, just waiting for me to come home makes my skin crawl.

I push to my feet and glance around, feeling exposed and vulnerable. I fumble for my car keys, my fingers tingly and clumsy.

My legs feel like jelly, barely holding me up as I stumble toward my car. Every step feels like a mile, and I can’t stop glancing over my shoulder, expecting Chad or Ernie or god knows who to jump out of the shadows.

My breath comes in short, ragged gasps, and I fight the urge to hyperventilate. I need to get out of here.

I reach my car and yank the door open, nearly tripping in my haste. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I slam the door shut and lock it, my fingers shaking as I insert the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life, and I exhale a relieved breath. For a second, I just sit there, my hands gripping the steering wheel, trying to steady myself. I can’t afford to fall apart, not yet.

But I . . . I don’t know where to go.

I pull away from the curb, my tires screeching as I speed down the street. As the familiar streets of Rosewood blur past, I force myself to focus on the road, not the terror gnawing at my insides. My cheek throbs with every heartbeat, a painful reminder of what just happened.

I can’t wipe away my tears fast enough. They’re streaming down my face, filling my eyes, and leaving trails of fear down my cheeks. Which is fucking ironic, because every drop stings my bruised and broken tender skin along my cheek.

My car careens around the corner, pulling into the Reaper compound driveway faster than I normally word. My tires squeal as I jump the curb, but I don’t have it in me to be embarrassed about it. My emotional well is truly at capacity. Guilt, shame, and fear roll around inside of me, each of them like bowling balls. They knock into one another, smash against my insides, and bruise my skin with their weight.

My breath hitches, and my chest aches, and I don’t know what to do or who to trust. I don’t even know if I should be here.

I don’t think I’ve ever even been hurt like that before. It was like one minute, I’m here, breathing through the fear and giving voice to the injustice of it all, and the next minute, I’m seeing literal stars and sitting on the ground.

Alone.

Bruised and more scared than I’ve ever been.

I thought I could handle it—handle them. I thought I knew what to do. I’m not a fucking helpless damsel, but I-I-I . . .

A Reaper steps out from the shadows beyond the guard house by the outer gate of the compound. He leans in close, and I roll down my driver’s side window with a sniff. I keep my gaze forward. I can’t bear for him to see the mess I am. And I don’t even mean the rapidly swelling of my cheekbone. Or maybe it’s my eye. I don’t know, and I’m too afraid to look in my mirror.

“Carter, that you?”

I recognize Hawke’s voice and swallow down the bite of annoyance. Why couldn’t someone who’s not attached to Jagger’s hip be on the gate tonight? Helplessness threatens to hold my head underneath the water, filling my nose and mouth with its acidity. I clear my throat and glance out of the corner of my eye. “Yeah—yeah, it’s me.”

He pushes up his baseball cap with the tip of his index finger. “You here to see Duchess and the baby or somethin’? Because I’m pretty sure they’re at Dixie’s right now.” He pauses long enough that I know he wants me to look at him. “Or are you here visitin’ your new man, hm?”

I grab the lifeline with both hands and nod. It’s jerky and too fast to be casual. But I can’t bring myself to care right now. Not when the pressing weight of urgency compresses my lungs with each breath. “Yep. Just seeing Evie and the baby. Sounds good, thanks.”

“No problem, Carter. Have a nice night.” He pats the top of my car twice before stepping back and waving to whoever is inside their guard hut. A second later, the gates open. I don’t waste another second, forgoing all niceties and pressing down on the accelerator. My car lurches forward over the low speed bump and I keep my gaze straight ahead. Instead of following the paved road round the courtyard and trio of buildings toward the residences, where Evangeline is, I take a sharp left. I love my cousin, and because I love her, I'm not going to burden her with this. Not when she’s fully immersed in her joyous motherhood era. I wouldn’t do that to her.

I whip my car into the first available parking space behind the clubhouse, closest to the back door. The less eyes on me, the better. I can feel the way half of my face throbs in time with my heartbeat, and I can only imagine what it looks like.

I don’t want everyone to see me like this—not before I’ve had time to process it. And come up with what I’m going to tell everyone.

I don’t give myself a chance to overthink, to second-guess or chicken-out. I speed walk from my car to the back door, without bothering to lock it behind me. We’re in a fenced-in compound with a twenty-four hour watch.

Keeping my head down so my hair covers half of my face, I pull open the heavy door and let myself inside. Cool air conditioning hits me immediately, a balm to my overheated skin. I give myself a moment to let my eyes adjust to the dark hallway. But just a moment. I cannot be caught lurking back here like some kind of bunny trying to pull something over on one of the Reapers.

Or worse, be recognized, and then someone calls Evangeline.

Or my brothers.

I don’t know which one would be worse, because both options leave me on the receiving end of some serious interrogation. My brothers would refuse to let shit go, and Evangeline wouldn’t pressure me to tell her all the details. But she’d be disappointed if I didn’t. And everyone knows disappointment is a hundred times worse than weathering someone’s anger.

My gut clenches at the thought. My emotions ping-pong inside my head, like an elaborate light switch being switched off and on over and over again. My fingers tremble from the toll of it.

My hand raises, poised to knock on his door, when clarity washes over me with frightening speed.

---