Page 38 of The Rogue

I stare athis body, a cold, dreadful thought sweeps my mind and I’m a horrible person for it.

You might have deserved this ending, but I don’t.

“Eddie, we got to go.” Vince presses, his voice ragged. He must be new to the organization.

Eddie flips me over, a sharp strike across my face. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” I breathe.

“What did you see?” he shouts.

Somewhere behind where I lie on the floor, Vince curses under his breath and opens the window, making Eddie snap his head up. “The fuck are you doing?”

“Getting out of here.” Vince jumps as Eddie curses and moves to the window.

Shit. The window. Why didn’t I think of that when we heard them coming? I could have made it.

But I stupidly let Eric shove me in the damn wardrobe.

“Vince!” he whisper-screams, then points the gun out the window and fires. “Damn it. Wait.”

Jesus Christ.

Scrambling to my feet, I’m at the door in two seconds and pull. Locked. It’s locked.

I struggle with the knob, twisting the little latch in every direction, desperate to break free, but the damn thing won’t give. All I hear is my last jagged breath before a deafening sound goes off.

A wave of agony radiates through me as sharp, searing pain explodes right through my lower back. I’m stiff as my knees give out, my fingers slide off the doorknob, and I fallto the ground.

I jerk forward, gasping for air, my hands clutching at the covers over me as I rock myself back to sanity. Trying not to imagine that if he’d aimed a little higher, I’d either be dead or paralyzed.

Pulling out of bed, I stride to the door and pull it open. If only just a crack.

The laundry list of baggage I have carried since that day is outrageous. The therapy I refused even more.

I change and head down the stairs to the gym, confident that the thunder and lightning outside these walls will overthrow the sounds of my footsteps at four in the morning.

9

I’m up before myalarm and blame it on the thunder and lightning outside my window and the pattering against my roof.

It’s five o’clock. Still dark. I punch the corner of my pillow but know it’s no use. That last hour snooze is gone and there’s no getting it back.

I rise and slip on my gym shorts. A longer workout never hurt anybody.

Tessa’s first two days with Jackson seemed to go off without a hitch. But I’m not buying for one minute that she’s been sleeping in. Yesterday, she started making breakfast after we’d come down, but miraculously, the refrigerator was cleaned out and cabinets rearranged in a way that made sense.

Whatever. I could have done that if I had time—and the energy.

Can’t wait for the day she oversleeps because my kid wore her out. She has no idea.

The thought should scare me. That she’s never done this before. That she doesn’t have a single parental bone in her body. But my dumbass is frustratingly intrigued.

One good thing will come out of it, I suppose. No one can ever say I don’t give people the benefit of the doubt. Because I’ve had my doubts about Tessa Banks for years.

And every time she’s in town, she proves me right.

I brush my teeth, throw on a clean T-shirt, and toss a towel over my shoulder before stepping out into the dark hall.

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