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After what feels like an eternity, Trent finally reappears. He moves over to my father first, pulling a pocket knife from his back pocket and cutting the ropes from his wrists and ankles. He helps my father slowly sit up and leans him against the leg of the kitchen table before he comes over to me. He swallows hard, an apology seemingly in his eyes but not on his lips. It feels like I'm looking at a stranger, not knowing who this man is in front of me. He looks like the Trent I know, but the Trent I know isn't a murderer. The Trent I know wouldn’t have been able to take down three men who were easily three times his size all by himself.
Who is this man I've been spending all this time with?
He cut the rope from my hands and feet, and I rub the raw skin once I'm free. Trent reaches up and strokes my cheek, but I flinch away from you.
"Are you okay?" he asks. I ignore his question and quickly move over to the floor where my dad is.
"Dad? Jesus." I frown and shake my head. "We need to call the police?—"
"You should go wash up, Mr. Thomson," Trent says. "I'll get this cleaned up."
I look up at him in disbelief. "What? What do you mean you'll clean this up?! Three men are dead!"
"Because I have everything under control." He looks at my father again. "Like I said, get yourself cleaned up, and it's probably best if you get a hotel. I don't think it's safe for you to be here."
He and my father share some kind of look that makes them appear to be talking telepathically before my father solemnly nods. "Yeah...yeah, okay," my father replies.
Trent and I help my father off the floor, and I watch helplessly as he limps away to his bedroom. I spin around on my heels to face Trent. While I'm happy he's here, the question bouncing around in my mind overshadows my relief in being rescued. He supposedly left hours ago; how was he conveniently close to know we were in trouble?
"I know you have many questions," he murmurs as he closes the space between us. "I promise to answer them when things aren't so hectic."
"I still think we should call the police, Trent." I fold my arms across my chest. Three men are dead in our house; how do I know you're not trying to make good on your threat to make my dad pay?"
"I don't think I would've saved you both if that were the case," he replies, his tone flat as a flare of annoyance appears in his eyes. "Look, your dad is going to go to a hotel for the night. Why don't you come with me back to my place?"
"I think it's best if I stay with my father," I state. After what I've seen tonight, I don't even know if I can trust this man. But I know I'll have to go with him if I want any of my questions answered.
"You'll be safer with me than you would be with your dad?—"
"How do I know that?" I look him up and down, noticing the blood that stains his sneakers. "Because I thought I kind of knew who you were, but it seems I don't know you after all."
He sighs softly. "I've only ever tried to look out for you," he says. "We can talk when we're somewhere safer. I swear."
I stare at him for a long moment before I drop my arms to my side. "Fine," I exasperate. "I'll go get my overnight bag."
11
TRENT
The air inside the car is thick with unspoken tension as I make the silent drive back to my house. After everything she saw tonight, I can only imagine what's going on in Morgan's mind. When I returned to her neighborhood this time, I'd parked my car in front of the guest services building and made the long trek down the road. I wanted to be unseen by the person or whoever it was who'd been watching her so I could have a better chance at catching them. But then I heard her screaming. It wasn't a scream of frustration or anger. It was fear—pure, unadulterated fear.
My feet were moving before I could stop myself, and the moment I found her front door kicked open, my brain shifted to assassin mode. I only remember walking in and immediately eliminating two of the targets with a single bullet to the head, just as I'd vowed to do to anyone who hurt her.
But I hadn't accounted for my heroic actions to hurt her, especially when I tell her the whole truth.
I grab my phone from the cup holder and call Natalie. The phone rings a few times before the familiar voice fills the line.
"This is Natalie speaking," she answers.
"It's Trent," I start. "I need cleanup at Morgan's house. There's been an...incident."
"An incident?" she repeats.
I recount what I'd witnessed and what I'd done, noticing Morgan leaning farther away from me as if she doesn't want to be too close to a man with literal blood on his hands. I grind my teeth to keep my own frustrations at bay and focus on the phone call.
"There's also a third guy tied up in the basement," I continue. Morgan thinks I killed him, but that would've been a waste. "I'll need a transfer for him so he can be interrogated. He has to know what's going on or at least why he targeted Morgan and her father."
"I'll get a cleanup crew and transport to the address immediately," she said as keyboard keys tapped in her background.
