I read the handwriting and my heart seizes. Shivers ripple across my skin, and my hand flies to my mouth. Another note from his obsessed stalker.
I told you, I warned you, but you didn’t listen. I won’t ask again. Watch your back, Violet, because you may just find a knife in it.
“We need to call the police,” I say, my voice thick. “This is too close to home now. Something needs to be done.”
He nods and pulls out his phone and dials them. He has already made a report, but this time, he isn’t messing around. Both of us don’t feel right about these notes, and it is beginning to scare me. What if there is someone out there, just waiting to hurt me and it isn’t just an obsessed fan?
An hour later the police arrive, ask a heap of questions and examine the note. On their way out, an officer stops in front of us. “It’s hard in these situations to know who’s behind it. Travis is a rockstar, and unfortunately this happens often. We’ll check fingerprints, security, phone records at Phoenix Records, but can’t promise anything. If anything comes up, call us immediately. I recommend you stay with family as much as possible until we can figure out what is going on.”
When they’re gone, I turn to Travis. “Are you sure you don’t know who this is?”
“No, I truly don’t, but I am going to be paying a lot more attention moving forward. I’m going to call Chief tomorrow and get eyes on our house at all times. The club will cover us. I’ll figure this out, baby. I promise you.”
I put a hand on my stomach. “We have so much to lose now.”
He glances down, then back to me. “I won’t be losing fucking anything. I will find who is doing this, and I will stop it.”
I hope so.
Because if whoever this is gets to me first, things could go very bad.
“Ohhhhh,” I groan, leaning against the kitchen counter, my eyes locked on the stack of golden-brown pancakes sizzling in the cast-iron skillet. The sweet smell of melted butter and maple syrup drifts up, but all I taste is something that resembles metallic blood.
Travis stands at the stove, spatula in hand, flipping each pancake. We decided to come have breakfast at Chief’s, because we didn’t have any eggs or flour, and I didn’t feel like going to the store. This was our compromise, and I’m glad, because my mom is here and she always knows how to make me feel better when I am fighting this hard to keep the contents of my stomach down.
Travis chuckles at my pitiful groans. “Poor baby,” he teases, turning with a grin. “Being pregnant really sucks, huh?”
I fold my arms across my chest, the waistband of my leggings pressing against my already swollen belly.
“That’s an understatement,” I mutter, my voice thick with fatigue.
He offers me one of the pancakes on his spatula. I shoot him a half-hearted glare.
“You wanted them ten minutes ago,” he prompts. “You sure you don’t want to try some?”
“Who I was ten minutes ago isn’t who I am now,” I huff.
He laughs.
A sudden commotion breaks through the peace. Raised voices and footsteps on the porch. I glance at Travis, and his brows go up. Chief’s deep voice carries through the front door, followed by another voice I don’t recognize. Whoever is out there has got Chief unhappy. We make our way out of the kitchendoor and step out into the morning air. The porch is wide and wooden, its planks bleached by years of sun. Chief stands rigid at the top of the steps, his broad shoulders squared, facing an older couple—Lillian and Jeremy’s parents.
I haven’t seen them in a very long time.
My heart seizes.
I stiffen, my breath catching in my throat when their gazes meet mine. Janette’s lips tremble and Peter’s hands are clenched at his sides. Chief’s voice rumbles again, telling them to get the fuck off his property.
“Please,” Janette murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “We want to speak with her.”
“Your son fucked up her life,” Chief snaps, voice low and threatening. “Don’t you dare step inside and make it worse.”
Peter swallows. His voice is hoarse when he speaks. “We aren’t here to ruin it, please, Caden.”
Chief’s jaw tightens. “That’s my daughter, Janette. She doesn’t need this.”
“It’s okay,” I say, my voice small but firm.
Blood drums in my ears as I step down the stairs. My legs wobble. Chief spins, eyes blazing with concern. “Mischief, you don’t have to do this.”
