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Chapter 31Wren
I haven’t felt like this big of a pussy since that time I hid in the janitor’s closet in sixth grade when Tyson Aldridge was looking for me after he heard I talked to Mindy Regan. The similarities of the lights being out while I all but have my ear to the door makes me roll my eyes.
Of course I’m not in a janitor’s closet, but the nasty bathroom in this shitty hotel isn’t much better. At least that closet smelled of cleaning supplies, whereas this tiny bathroom smells a little like what I imagine death would smell like.
I keep my arms tucked in close, vowing to burn these jeans after tonight, as I sit on the closed toilet lid trying not to think about what this room would look like under a blacklight.
I hate that my girl spent a night here in fear. I hate the man we’re waiting for with a passion. I hate that I’ve been sequestered in this tiny room waiting for the action to go down with no ability to help. I knew Flynn agreed too quickly about me tagging along for it to work out in my favor. Staying out of the way is the name of the game for me, and I’m also unarmed. Apparently, online guns and the real thing aren’t the same thing. Finn assured me he’d get me up to speed with a couple different weapons, but it doesn’t help me right now.
Eerie silence surrounds me to the point I can hear my own breaths escaping my lungs. I promised them I’d stay put until one of the guys on my team comes to get me, and I know I’ll do just that. As much as I want Jones to go down, I’m scared. I’m physically scared of being hurt because I’ve never been in a more stressful situation. But more importantly, I’m terrified he won’t show and will somehow manage to get to Whitney. My determination to be here makes me angry. I could be holding her right now. I could be spending time getting to know her better instead of sitting and waiting. I was a damn fool for thinking I could go all kamikaze on this asshole and save the day. I know my limitations, but clearly where she’s concerned, I think I’ve got to be the big hero.
I shoot off a silent text to Braden, but even after he assures me all is quiet and safe around my apartment, I can’t stop the regret of being here instead of there. I text Whitney a meme I found earlier, afraid actual words would betray my anxiety, but she doesn’t text back. She’s probably asleep on the couch. The woman has been through hell the last couple of days.
I fist my hands in my lap, bending at the waist and trying to get the memory of Jones coming into her apartment mere seconds after she left out of my mind. He was there to murder her, and I can’t express how grateful I am for the stars lining up that day.
Commotion sounds from the other side of the door, and like a coward, I flinch with each grunt and thump. I don’t charge out of the bathroom and distract BBS while they stop the man who wanted to hurt my woman. I cower because I’m only a fucking warrior when I have a screen in front of me and a keyboard at my fingertips. I’ve never felt more like a failure before in my damn life, and I can’t even look up when the door opens and Flynn tells me it’s over.
Some fucking hero I am.
“Is he still here?” I snap, my bravado somehow finally deciding to show up.
“FBI has him,” Flynn says. “Let your girl know she’s safe.”
My hands move immediately to my phone and I fire off the text message I know Whitney has been waiting to receive.
My apartment calls to me with a need like I’ve never felt before. I’m able to picture the things I plan to do to her later in celebration as I follow the guys out of the shitty hotel room. We all pile into the SUV.
“Swing me by my place,” I tell Brooks who’s in the driver’s seat. “I’ll grab my car some other time.”
“Eager little beaver aren’t we,” Flynn teases from the passenger seat. “We have to go straight to BBS.”
“What?”
“Paperwork waits for no man,” Ignacio says with a clap to my damn back.
“It’s on the fucking way,” I argue. “Just slow down and I’ll roll out of the motherfucker.”
Everyone laughs then, but Brooks doesn’t slow down. Hell, he drives right past the front entrance of my building.
“Fucker,” I mutter, my eyes scanning to the top in hopes of finding her looking down even though my apartment is on the backside.
