Page 65 of No Second Chances

The bunker has become my name for his house. With all the security and locking windows, the name fits perfectly.

“I’ll be there after shift.”

“Bring tacos.”

“And sex,” he promises.

“Gross,” Remy groans. “I really don’t want to listen to the fact that you and my sister have sex.”

“Go away, Remington,” I sing out. “Or I’m going to tell Parker on you.”

He mutters under his breath and heads to the door, dragging Cole with him.

“Hey,” Cole complains. “I don’t care about hearing it. I get to report back to Casper, and she loves hearing all that shit.”

“Let’s go, Cole. Tacos are calling our name too.”

They leave, and I stare up at Linc who looks happier than I’ve seen him in a long time.

“Did you know you’re the only one who keeps the nightmares at bay?” I don’t mean to get serious all of a sudden, but it is the truth.

“The same goes for you. It’s why I used to sit outside your house at night. Now, I just have to open my eyes and see you there in my arms. One more reason why I want you to move in with me, when you’re ready.”

“Well, since I put your ring on my finger”—I let go and walk away before looking back over my shoulder—“I guess I might be ready.”

He winks at me before following me out the door and down the steps of the sheriff’s office to where his cruiser and my car are parked.

“Be careful, Kennedy. If you need me, call. I won’t insist on following you home, but only because you’re going on a mission to get what you need. But can you hold off on anything crazy until I get off work?” He pleads with me silently, and I’m not about to tell him no. Especially when he can carry all the heavy boxes.

“I love you, Linc.”

“I love you too.”

When I get home to Linc’s, I’ve already made the decision to just have Linc move the most important things over, and the rest we can either put in storage or get rid of. I’ve barely put the key in the lock of the front door when I’m hit with the scent of something sickeningly sweet.

“Hello, Kennedy.”

Royal.

Before I can move or scream or do any of the dozen of things I can do to defend myself, Royal has his arms wrapped around my neck and head, pressing a cloth to my face.

I hold my breath as long as I can, hoping that someone will drive by, but he punches me in the kidney and I gasp for air against the pain, breathing in whatever he doused the cloth in.

I’m going to die, and I didn’t even get to live yet.

29

KENNEDY

“Tell me you love me, Kennedy. Tell me that everything you did was a mistake. That you didn’t let him touch you. Tell me that you belong to me.”

Fucking Royal.

His voice makes me sick, but I can’t open my eyes to see exactly what is happening around me or where we are. I can smell him, though. The same expensive cologne he insists on wearing so that everyone knows he is powerful.

While I sit there, trying to figure out exactly what is happening, there are a couple of things that become painfully obvious. The first of which is that he wants to break me. Just like he did before. And the second is that I can’t even move my fingers. When his hand grabs my face, squeezing my cheeks together so painfully I think I’ll cry, I hope for the peace of oblivion. If he knocks me out again, I won’t feel what he does to my body. What I know he plans on doing, because he’s done it a hundred different times before. My lungs already ache with the memory, but faced with the imminent threat, the pain jumps into hyperdrive.

Breathe.

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