Page 76 of Sully

“Everything alright?” Sully asked when my brows pinched as I read the text.

“Ah, Court just texted and asked if I could drop by real quick.”

Sully shot Valen a glance, getting a shrug in response.

“Sure,” Sully said, holding the door open for me.

“It’ll be quick,” I assured him, even though I didn’t really know.

Before I could even text her back, another was coming through.

Bon?

I shot her back a text saying I was on my way.

It actually felt strange to be going back to work, a place that had been my home away from home since the moment I started working there.

The sun was starting to set by the time we made it there, and the light in the lot was still out. I had to mention that to Courtney, see if she could have someone out to fix it. It wasn’t safe.

I was out of the SUV first, Sully taking a moment to put the taco bags on the floor well as I made my way inside the building, the little chirp of the door chime making a smile pull at my lips.

“Bonnie?” Courtney asked, coming out from the back room.

It was the look of confusion on her face that had my stomach bottoming out.

“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I mean, not that I don’t love seeing you, but—“

Bon.

The text had called meBon. Courtney never called me that.

“You texted me.”

“What? No. I actually lost my phone somehow yesterday. Wait, someone texted you from it? Can you ask them where—Bonnie?” she asked as I turned and ran toward the door.

Anxiety could only be considered a superpower in extreme situations. When we needed our minds to race, to wrap themselves around a situation; when we had to force our bodies to spring into action, they were already surging with adrenaline.

“Bonnie, what—”

“Stay inside,” I cut off Courtney as my hand slammed into the door.

Sully was halfway to the door, shooting me a big smile. Until he saw the look on my face.

“What’s—”

“Get inside!” I screamed.

But it was too late.

It was too late.

Thebanghad my belly tightening.

I’d been around guns a lot growing up. My father used to get drunk and shoot beer bottles in the backyard, a habit that made it impossible for me to play on or around my swings.

I used to slide under my bed, terrified the bullets might cut through the thin walls of our ancient mobile home and wedgethemselves into me, and read my books with a little flashlight, trying to ignore the booms.

So, yeah, I knew the sound of a gun firing when I heard one. Hell, I sometimes still heard them in my nightmares.

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