Page 2 of Blood
Everything around me falls away. Spitting the condom wrapper on the ground, I stagger to my feet and press the call button. My chest restricts, and my breaths halt, but it’s not the cold. Panic surges through me with every ring that sounds in my ear.
My stomach drops when it goes to voicemail. Ending the call, I try again. And again. Why the fuck is he not answering?
My hands shake as I scroll to my mother’s number. She always answers. Always.
“Come on, come on,” I plead, turning away from the body still laid out on the ground.
I call my brothers next—Daniel and then Michael.
My vision blurs more and more with every unanswered call.I can’t lose another family.
Spinning, I startle the woman, causing her to drop back down, but she quickly sits up when I rush over.
Bending down, I snatch my wallet. I press call for Daniel’s wife, but Charlie’s call goes unanswered too.
“What are you doing?”
I don’t bother looking at her. Instead, I wedge my cell between my shoulder and ear, shove my wallet into my back pocket, and refasten my pants.
Walking away, I leave her sitting on the cold soil.
“Hey! Wait! Where the fuck are you going?”
I don’t know why I answer, but I do. “Home.”
“Was it her?” she asks, scurrying to catch up.
Lara’s voicemail sounds in my ear. I don’t leave a message. Daniel’s wife didn’t answer, and neither did Michael’s. I blink quickly.
“Who?” I growl, pulling the cell away from my face.Why is no one in this family answering?Desperate, I search for Sam’s number, Daniel and Michael’s sister. Typing in Brat, I send up a silent prayer.
Please answer.
But it’s no good. My heart squeezes again. I’m going to have a heart attack at twenty-seven.
The woman beside me wrestles with her shirt, fastening the buttons as she shivers in the cold air. “Sammy,” she mutters distractedly.
My whole body freezes—my legs, my heart, my breath.
Seeing my face, she rushes on, “You called me that earlier when you chased me. Figured she was your girlfriend.”
“You figured wrong,” I sneer through clenched teeth. “Never say that fucking name again,” I hiss, my finger near her face.
Seeing her cower, I curse.
Pushing forward on unsteady feet, I fight the direction of my thoughts and why my family isn’t answering. But it’s no good.
Three 911 texts are something that my brothers and I agreed on as our way of saying life and death. Images of worst-case scenarios assault me while my rig comes into view. I need to get back to Cromwell Town. Now.
If they’re gone, then so am I . . . right after I kill every motherfucker involved.
I’m not living this shitty life without them.
My sixth call to Michael goes to voicemail. “Answer the fucking phone!” My roar carries out into the dark night. I glance around the area for any threat, but no one is parked close by.
Not for the first time, I’m grateful to have parked at the back of the truck stop. Something that feels like hope mixes with my fear until I remember that life and death are the only reasons for that text.
Dread settles heavily in my stomach, and saliva fills my mouth.
