Page 11 of Stella's Christmas Rescue
“What are you doing here?”
A man, covered head to toe in black, slams the front door shut and rushes me. He has a small gun. “Turn around.”
I follow his direction and try not to shake.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“No.”
“Riker wants to talk to you, Stella.” His voice is familiar, but I can’t place it. I wonder if he was one of Riker’s goons I met back in the day.
“I don’t want to talk to him.”
He chuckles, “That is not one of the options. Hands behind your back, don’t make me make you. You don’t need your fingers to have a conversation, and I wouldn’t mind adding to my collection.”
“Leave me my middle finger, at least. I’ll need it to talk to Riker.”
He laughs. “He didn’t tell me you’re funny.” Then, he reaches around for my hands.
I grab a shard of the broken plate and slash his hand, then I turn to face him. “Get the hell out of my house, NOW!”
Again, he laughs. “Drop it, you silly bitch. I’m done playing with you.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!”
He begins to aim his gun at my leg, but the front door opens again. Jordan picks the man up from behind and slams him onto the floor. The man’s gun slides across the floor, while he scrambles out the door and runs into the woods. Jordan chases after him until he reaches the edge of the forest, then he comes back. The dogs follow him in. As they come closer, my knees give out.
I can’t hear his words or feel Sugar’s tongue on my face. Sounds ring in my ears and it’s like Charlie Brown’s teacher is shouting at me. Suddenly, I’m in the air. I’d be scared except that Jordan is carrying me. He lays me in bed, then elevates my legs with a pillow. He drapes a spare blanket over me, then gets on his phone. I can’t hear the words he says, but he seems very worried.
Max and Sugar, too. Their muzzles are on the bed, both of them watching me intently. I want to pet her and tell her I’ll be alright, but I can’t move my hand. A tear trickles from my eye into my ear, and that tickling sensation seems to bring my hearing back.
Jordan says, “I don’t care about any of that, Wes. Get your ass out here now!” Then he sees my eyes tracking him. “See you in thirty.” He hangs up, then kneels next to me. “Are you with me?”
I nod slightly and it takes all the effort I can make to whisper, “Yes.”
He takes a deep breath, then asks, “Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“Are you sure? Your hand is bleeding.”
“It is?”
He shows me my own hand, then looks at it again. “Wait,” he wipes it off with his shirttail. “That’s not yours.”
I shake my head. “I cut him.”
He smiles proudly. “Good.” But then his smile drops. “Oh hell, now my shirt is evidence.”
“Guess you’ll have to be topless,” I whisper and wink.
He looks so relieved or happy or something. I can’t read his expressions, and it’s unsettling. I’m usually good at reading everyone. But he kisses my forehead and that’s nice. “I know you’re having a hard time speaking right now, Stella, so you don’t have to tell me what happened, but it would probably help to dictate it to your phone, while everything is still fresh in your mind. Is that okay?”
I nod. “Can you bring it here?”
“On it,” he runs downstairs and returns with the bourbon and my phone. “You get the bottle after the dictation.”
“You’re a mean man,” I pout. Then, I tell my phone everything, and I’m rewarded with bourbon. “After all that, I need a shower.”
