Page 62 of Getting the Grinder
I keep my breathing steady as I drive, feeling on the verge of passing out. I was worried Drake might slash my tires or something; I genuinely didn’t think this could happen.
“Libby and I were fine,” he says, his voice harsh. “You fucked it all up. She wants to leave me.”
What can I say to that? I did try to convince Libby to testify against her husband and get out of her abusive situation. I look in every direction as I leave the parking deck. The only people I see walking have their heads down, trying to protect their faces from the icy wind.
“Get her to change her mind, or you’re dead.”
I glance in the rearview and see that Drake looks shaky, like he’s on something. That makes a very bad situation even worse.
“You’ll do it, right?” he asks, looking from side to side like he’s worried someone will see us.
“Yes, I’ll do it.”
One of my classes in law school was about conflict de-escalation. I remember learning that keeping someone like Drake as calm as possible is best. Until I can find a way out of this, I need to do what he tells me.
My coworkers will wonder where I am when I don’t come back. Hopefully they’ll call the police. I’m not someone who ever slips out of work early without saying anything.
It takes about twenty-five minutes for me to reach the house on the outskirts of Cleveland that Drake directs me to. It has a bright-blue front door with a holiday wreath hanging on it.
He has a garage door opener, and he opens the double-stall garage with it. There’s a small white sedan parked on one side of the garage.
“Park in there and don’t move,” he orders.
My heart is hammering with worry as I slowly ease my car into the garage. Being trapped with Drake, whether it’s in his garage or his house, is a bad situation for me.
I think of Leo, wishing I could be back at his house, lying in his arms as we watch a movie together. It took me a long time to find my person; I’m afraid my happiness with him might be cut very short.
Drake opens the driver’s side door, sneering down at me.
“She can’t leave me,” he says. “It’s my baby, too.”
I get my first look at his handgun, and I swallow hard against the bile rising in my throat.
“You’re right,” I say. “Tell me how I can help.”
“Fuck you, bitch.” He runs a hand through his hair, his eyes wild. “Get the fuck out of the car.”
I’m close to pissing my pants. The situation gets really real as I step out of the car and he orders me to walk into the house. He has the end of his gun pressed up to my back.
I silently blink and let the tears in my eyes drop onto my cheeks so I can see clearly. When I open the steel door and walk into the house, I’m in the kitchen. Boxes of food, dirty dishes and empty beer cans line the counters. It smells like garbage. All the blinds are closed.
“Walk.” Drake sticks the gun’s muzzle in my back and I walk.
When I get around a corner, I stop breathing. In the middle of what I think is a living room, Libby is tied to a wood chair, her head slumped to the side. I’m not even sure she’s alive until she picks up her head, her mouth dropping open in horror when she sees me.
“Oh my god.” She gapes at her husband. “What did you do, Drake?”
“It’s okay,” I assure her. “Everything is okay.”
“Tell her!” Drake yells from behind me. “Tell her she can’t leave.”
I purse my lips for a second, hating what I have to say to get through this. I just hope help is on the way.
“I was wrong, Libby.” I clear my throat, fighting the wobble in my voice. “You should stay with Drake.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Leo
