Page 52 of Gunner

“Gunner, man, does King—”

“I talked to King. He knows.”

I sat idling on my bike while Nav read off an address.

“Who lives there?”

“Aspen Winters.”

“Fuck.”

My woman was fucking amazing.

Chapter Fourteen

Haizley

I had been staying with Aspen for three days when Gunner texted me, asking where I was. She was afraid to be home alone, which was understandable. Being sexually assaulted was awful. The memories and triggers were lifelong, despite having the best therapists to help you work through the trauma. But being sexually assaulted and having no memory of it had to be something entirely different.

Some might count it as a blessing and be able to move on quickly. Others had difficulty reconciling the loss of time with the fact that someone had complete control of their body while they had none.

There was a sense of empowerment knowing you did everything you could to fight back. It sometimes lessened the unnecessary guilt survivors laid on themselves.

Knowing you were unconscious and had no ability to fight should lessen that unnecessary guilt in a rational mind; however, I found more often than not it added to it.

Rationality had no place in the mind of someone who had been attacked, regardless of the way they had been attacked. People who were mugged or physically beaten also thought irrationally, blaming themselves.

That was where Aspen was. She felt like her body had let her down. Like somehow, she expected her body to fight against the drug that someone slipped into her drink.

That was not a rational thought.

Aspen had convinced herself that she was not chosen at random by someone whose sole aim was to exert their power over a woman. And it only affirmed my earlier thinking that she was hiding from something, or someone.

In order to help her work through her fears, I had been working from Aspen’s home. That was one benefit to offering online therapy. I could work from anywhere with a Wi-Fi signal.

Amber was my only in-person client, but after explaining why I couldn’t meet with her, she agreed to temporarily move her sessions online as well.

I had just finished with my last client while Aspen took a nap, when I heard the noise. Peering through the curtains that covered the front windows, I watched as the motorcycle pulled up across the street.

Gunner turned off the engine and slung his leg over the back of the bike. He didn’t walk up to the door; he simply sat back down on his bike, his long legs stretched out in front of him with his ankles crossed.

I watched as he lit a cigarette. He took a deep inhale, blowing the smoke out to swirl around his head, and watched the house.

Smoking was disgusting. The smell, the smoke that burned the nostrils of those around you who had no choice but to inhale. The acrid taste left on the tongue. Why then did I feel my core tighten as he lifted the tobacco to his lips?

Why was he here?

I let the curtain fall back into place and paced the floor. Biting my lip, I wondered how he found where I was. He threatened to hunt me down when I wouldn’t tell him where I was.

I couldn’t. I was bound by my oath. Bound by patient confidentiality. Yet something pulled in my heart, telling me hedidn’t care. That he needed to know where I was; know that I was safe.

Wait.

No.

This wasn’t ok. I’d considered he might be following me, but the places I ran into him could all be easily explained. He was at work when I walked into the shop. Clearly, he didn’t follow me there. And the grocery store? Everyone in town shopped there.

It was a coincidence.

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