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The last post was from yesterday. It was just a picture of Hallie sleeping in some ritzy apartment. Going on a trip. Be back soon. This house is too empty without her.
Gunner set the phone beside him on the bed, squeezed his hands onto his thighs, and stared at the table beside his bed.
He blew a steadying breath out. One. Two. Three breaths.
I’m done looking at his page, Gunner texted Bash.
Okay. Now look at this. There was another link.
Gunner clicked it. Hallie’s page came up. It only had six posts on it, total.
Two of them were older, of her when her hair was bleach-blonde, but the last four he understood. Why? Because he was in three of the posts, and he’d taken the picture for the other one.
With a frown, Gunner clicked on the picture of him smiling across the table at that bar after she’d fallen apart in counseling. He was leaning on the table, looking out the window, hand on the empty shot glass, a smile on his face. The caption read, The only thing I’m interested in these days.
Huh. He would’ve been flattered if she hadn’t posted this in the middle of the night and tagged Derek in it. This was shots-fired at Derek, and he was being used to do it.
He scrolled to the next one. It was the picture he’d taken of her in ten-ten. She was smiling so big. Finally happy. Happy to leave my past behind.
Shot. Fired. Three hours ago.
The next was the video Corey must’ve sent her of Hallie getting on the back of his motorcycle, then them speeding off into the night. His, the caption read.
The final post was a video. She’d taken it when they were driving and singing to a Slipknot song. Finally, someone who gets me and doesn’t shatter my FUCKING FACE. In the video she was smiling so big and dancing in the passenger’s seat of his truck. The video was shaky as she aimed it at him. He had an arm draped over the steering wheel, and an easy smile he didn’t even recognize on himself. He was singing the song word-for-word with her. There were three dots under the picture that meant there were more pictures to this post. He scrolled to the next, and it was a picture of her with bleach-blonde hair, aiming the camera at the mirror—her nose bashed, blood pouring down her chin, her eyes swollen from crying and empty.
Fuck. FUCK!
The next picture was a video of her sobbing on the floor of a bathroom with bruises on her swollen face.
She’d tagged Derek Forester in the post.
Chest heaving with fury, Gunner requested to tag himself in the post. He’d posted exactly zero pictures on this account. He’d set it up years ago and never done anything, but now? He posted the picture he had of Hallie in ten-ten and captioned it, Yep. Mine.
And then he went and changed his bio tagline. Derek Forester: we have business. Gunner Walker, bear shifter, Damon’s Mountains. You better not show up anywhere near Hallie. You better fucking hide.
He closed out of his social media and texted Hallie, You okay???? Send.
He paced the room as he waited for her to respond, but minutes passed with nothing.
Shit. Shit! She’d called out her abuser. She’d called out her stalker. She’d used Gunner to do it, knowing that would just agitate a psycho like Derek. Something had set her off, but what?
Hallie, what happened?? Send.
He checked his phone again, but there was nothing except a text from Bash. Stop her.
Fuck!
Gunner pulled on a T-shirt and jeans, shoved his wallet in his back pocket, grabbed the keys to his motorcycle, and rushed out the door. He clicked his phone onto the mount on his bike and checked his gas, then ripped out of the parking lot and aimed his motorcycle for her cousin’s house.
He rode like hell, barely slowing for the turns until he was throwing gravel behind his back tire as he ruined the gravel on the way up to Corey’s house. He’d never been all the way up, but he barely stopped and shoved the kickstand down before he was running to the front door.
He didn’t miss it.
Hallie’s car wasn’t here.
He knocked. Knocked again.
Looked in the front window, but the blinds were drawn.
