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“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” the older woman with the kind face asks.
“Yes,” I force out past the vice grip around my throat.
“Then fix that first, the door can wait.”
The vice grip tightens.
Fuckfuckfuck!
“I’m going to,” is all I can manage. “Do you know who sent this?”
“No, it was waiting on the porch when I got home from the store yesterday,” she shakes her head.
“Did you see anyone, did someone come by?”
Steve must have put everything in motion after he saw me at Summer’s shop. He felt threatened and made this fucking plan.
“No,” it doesn’t matter, I know who’s responsible and where he’s taking her. “Just bring her home,” the woman states.
“I will.”
Home.
To me.
Where she fucking belongs.
