Page 78 of Fractured Fear

Is Anthony watching me now? Is he out there waiting for me to leave? Is that a risk I can take?

What other choice do you have if he is?

Fuck. None. I will be the wall between Anthony and those I care about. He can’t touch them.

“My bad. Is everything okay?” Iris asks with a tilt of her head. I take a brief moment to remember. Remember the daywe met, all our times out at Moonlit, the lunches we shared in the breakroom, the laughs, the memories. Pain radiates from my chest, but I can’t let it slow me down.

Before I can stop myself, I pull her into a hug. Shocked, she takes a moment to wrap her arms around me. I soak in her kindness, her strength. I can only hope she doesn’t hate me after this.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Huh?”

I pull back, but keep a hold of her shoulders. “They need help next door. A bag of sand broke. I’m going to run upstairs to grab an extra broom.”

“Oh, shit. I’ll meet you over there.” She rushes away in her high heels to the studio without a goodbye. I wish she would’ve at least waved, but why would she? All it would’ve done is eased my guilty conscience.

As soon as the door closes with a snick, I snap back to it. My breaths saw in and out of my lungs as I neatly place the envelopes on the desk and dash out the door. I take a moment to throw on a baseball cap and large jacket before casually strolling on the sidewalk in front of Clay Creations. Once I’m past the windows, I dart up the stairs and into my apartment.

I barely step inside my room to grab my backpack and duffle bag filled with essentials. After I sling the bags across my body, I quickly adjust the cap so it covers more of my hair. My ponytail is sticking out of the back, but it’ll do for now.

Striding back to the front door, I rip it open, but am met with a wall of muscle. My breaths stop and my heart sinks.

“Now where do you think you’re off to, Princess?”

Shit.

CHAPTER 32

SPENCER

Iblew it. My one chance and I fucking blew it. They’re all still in danger. I was supposed to take the threat with me when I left.

Asher steps into my apartment, causing me to take a few steps back. I almost tumble onto my ass from how bad my knees are shaking. My breathing picks back up again. Asher pauses a few feet inside, but I keep inching backwards.

His face is furious. His anger is thundering out of him and crashing into me. My thighs finally hit the back of the couch, and I attempt to sink further away from Asher’s wrath.

“I said, where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I expect his voice to boom, his hand to rear back. But neither happens. His fury is contained, but nonetheless frightening.

I hear a crinkle of paper and glance down to Asher’s fist. He’s holding my letters. All of them. In his other fist, one is opened.

Double shit.

He lifts it up and begins to read as he stalks toward me. “I won’t let him get to you. I know you probably hate me, but in the short time I’ve known you, you’ve made me feel safe and cared for. You, Rio, and Zane have given me something I’ve been missing.”

“Stop.” I lift my hands in front of me, pleading. I can’t hear anymore. It ripped my heart to write the letters, I don’t need to hear my deepest thoughts expressed out loud. Asher ignores my hands and continues forward. “What? Can’t take it?”

“I get it, okay?”

“Do you? Do you get it?” His voice stays even. The calm before the storm.

“Yes!” I shout.

“I don’t think you do. I don’t think you know what it was like for those three minutes that I couldn’t find you,” his voice begins to waver. “One hundred and eighty seconds of pure torture, thinking I failed you. Thinking the psycho coming for you, finally got his hands on you. So no, you don’t fucking get it, Spencer.”

“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks and the dam breaks. Tears flow freely down my face. I scared him. This giant man with the hard exterior. I frightened him. He doesn’t strike me as someone who scares easily or someone who handles it well. His carefully composed facade is cracking in front of me. The mask is fracturing and the glimpse I’m getting behind it breaks my heart.

“Who is ‘him’ and why do you think he would come for us? What has you so afraid?”

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