Page 5 of Grabbed By the Guard

Then I can swap my dress for some sweats and hunker down in the study for a little one-on-one time with Sierra’s fan mail.

Anything to stop Trevor’s pleading voice from echoing in my ears…

You had to know, Billie. You’re a nice girl, and we had fun, but you had to know that it’s all been Whiskey…

I plop my tote on the kitchen table with more force than I mean to, then feel guilty a second later. I’ve never once been jealous of Sierra. Even after Trevor revealed just how disgusting and twisted he is, I would never blame her for being America’s sweetheart. As always, my main concern is for her?—

“That’s it,” I grumble under my breath, voice sounding shaky and echoing in the quiet. “I’m done. No more men for me. Sierra can keep Three, I’ll adopt Four and Five if I have to, and I’ll be a childless cat lady.”

Sounds like a perfect plan to me?—

The little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I don’t know why. Between reliving Patrick Ridgefield’s attempt on Sierra’s life and imagining Trevor holding the gun instead on my nerve-wracking drive home, I’m already on edge. Toss in the caffeine and what’s quickly becoming one of the worst nights ever, and my imagination is in hyperdrive.

Is someone behind me?

I… it seems like someone might be behind me.

It’s not Three. I haven’t seen any sign of our cat since I entered the apartment. Usually he’ll beg for treats from anyone, no matter the hour, so the fact that he hasn’t tells me that he got trapped in Sierra’s room when she closed the door. Luckily, there’s an extra litter box in the bathroom for occasions just like that, but poor Three if he got a front-row seat to a naked Jared Turner.

And that’s not really fair of me. There’s a reason why Jared—with his dimpled chin and pretty boy-style—is as famous as Sierra. He’s got the looks, the talent, and the charm… plus the inability to keep his dick in his pants so, never mind, maybe it is very fair of me.

But all that to say… no. The darkening shadows that have caught my attention out of the corner of my eye are way too big to belong to a nine-pound house cat, no matter how fluffy Three is. Looks even bigger than it should if it belonged to another person, even a pretty tall man, and that just makes me chide myself as I turn away from the table, ready to reach for a glass to get some water.

I pause, squinting into the shadows.

Green lights? What the… why are there two green pinpoints floating in the shadows about a foot-and-a-half over my head?

The shadows move, my mind goes blank, and when I have the ability to think again, it’s this:

Be careful what you wish for, Billie.

Could tonight get any worse? Tell that to the massive monster that just stepped out of the shadows.

CHAPTER 2

BLUFFING

BILLIE

Should I have screamed? I feel like I should’ve screamed. Most people probably would have. If I wasn’t already at the end of my rope after a long, crappy day, sure, I could pretend to be an actress like Sierra and do ‘damsel-in-distress’... and who am I kidding? I’ve always been more like Megara in Hercules when I find myself in any kind of trouble.

I’m a damsel.

I’m in distress.

I can handle this.

By ‘handle this’, I mean backing up a few steps so that I can take the monster in properly. At least then I can get a better idea if I should be shitting my metaphorical pants, grabbing a knife from the butcher block to protect me, Sierra, and Three (sorry, Jared), or admitting that I’ve finally lost it.

Another glimpse at the towering figure and I think: why not all of them?

Up until a year or so ago, I would’ve said that there isn’t anything that scares me. I’ve worked too hard and accomplished too much to let something like fear stop me. Then I watched as Patrick Ridgefield aimed a gun at Sierra and I realized that losing her… that being completely on my own… is the one thing that gets my palms sweaty and my heart rate kicking up.

Now? I can add coming face-to-face with this to my list.

I can’t really make out too many details in the gloom of the kitchen. The tiny light over the range that never goes out is all I have, but it’s enough to give me an outline. A shape. An idea of what the hell I’m looking at.

Honestly? ‘Hell’ might be right.

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