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A familiar green truck came into view behind my small car, and I glowered at it.
Patman.
It was the same vehicle that I’d seen him drive away in on the news.
Walking to my car, I opened it and reached into the middle console for my hand sanitizer when a shirt on the Patman’s truck dash caught my attention.
It was a blue flannel printed shirt.
It was thrown into the spot between the dash and the windshield, and it looked hauntingly familiar.
The blue was a weird colored blue.
A light sky blue that I’d hinted to Sammy that I would be stealing since I liked it so much.
He’d told me he had to special order it from a big and tall store.
What were the coincidences that Patman had that?
And hell, hadn’t Sammy been wearing that same freakin’ shirt the day that he’d left?
I’d thought he’d looked absolutely hilarious in it because he’d been wearing black shorts, tall black socks, a black t-shirt, a black hat, black shoes, and then the sky blue flannel shirt over it all.
I’d teased him mercilessly as he’d walked out the door about it, and he’d teased me right back saying the only reason I was suggesting he change it was so I could steal his shirt.
And he’d been absolutely right.
What were the chances?
I walked over to the window of Patman’s truck and peered into it as I stared at the shirt.
There was no way.
None.
I glanced backward to see if anyone was paying attention.
Then I tried the door to his truck.
It opened with a soft click.
I just about had the entire thing open all the way when I was about barreled over.
One second I was standing beside the truck, and the next I had two hundred and thirty pounds of pissed off muscle on top of me.
I stared in shocked silence as Sammy stared down at me, his face a mask of horror.
We stared at each other in stunned silence for long, drawn out seconds before I lost it.
My eyes filled with tears, I took a deep breath, and then I promptly passed out.
When I next came to, it was to hear shouting.
Loud, pissed off voices were bellowing at each other.
And as I looked around, I realized that I was in someone’s arms.
I struggled to get free, but it only earned me a grunt from the man holding me.
“Easy, darlin’,” I heard said.
I looked up at the man holding me to see that it was Saint.
I didn’t know him all that well.
The few times that I’d met him with Sammy, and once when he’d rented the duplex from me, he’d been quite subdued and quiet.
Now? He looked like a person hellbent on revenge.
I looked back at where I could hear the fighting and cursing now, only to see a mirage standing in front of me.
The mirage pulled his hand back and swung, hitting Patman square in the jaw and knocking him down onto his ass.
Patman tried to get back up, but the mirage followed him down and pressed his bright pink casted arm into Patman’s throat.
“Stay,” the mirage ordered.
That’s when I passed out again.Chapter 24
Kinda have baby fever. Kinda have too many kids already.
-Text from Mom to Sammy
Sammy
Everything hurt. And when I say everything, I meant everything. My fucking fingernails hurt from trying to pry myself free. My arms hurt from having them restrained behind my back for so long.
My eyes hurt because I hadn’t gotten much sleep over the last however fucking long.
My head hurt because of the fucking hit I’d taken upside my head when Patman had first grabbed me.
Goddammit, this needed to end.
I needed to get out of this.
I had no clue where I was, I could barely pick my head up off the floorboard of Patman’s truck, but I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I’d be getting away today. Or die trying.
My mind flashed back to the last time I’d tried to escape when he’d locked me in his shed.
Blood running down the back of my throat. My head hurt so bad that every single time I blinked, pain would explode behind my eyeballs. My left side hurt every time I breathed, indicating that I had a bruised or broken rib.
I slipped my hand free of the rope tying it behind my back.
I breathed out a shaky breath and forced myself to open my eyes.
Pain exploded in my head, but I forced down the nausea and stood up anyway, causing my entire body to sway to the left before I caught myself and took a step forward.
I was three steps from the door when it opened.
Patman was standing there, looking at his phone, unaware that I was a foot in front of him.
I moved quickly, trying to get the upper hand while I still could, but Patman did learn a few things during his time as a cop. He had the honed instincts needed to make himself a good cop—at least, a good cop in the sense that he knew his stuff. He didn’t have the personality or the temperament to be one, however.
