Page 99 of Tank’s Weakness

As I shut the door, though, something gets my attention.

“What in the world?” I mumble to myself.

There is a jagged cut in my tire. My breath catches when I see the other tire. Quickly, I round the car and see that both tires on the other side are cut as well.

Someone slashed all four of my tires.

What. The. Fuck.

It wasn’t like this earlier when I started bringing boxes out. I would have noticed.

Heart racing, I reach into my purse for my phone. I dial Acid first. He should be close. His phone goes to voicemail. It has this eerie feeling coming over me. Something isn’t right.

Tank. I need to call Tank. He can bring the tow truck.

With a shaky hand, I call his number, and he picks up on the third ring.

“What’s up, gorgeous?”

“Tank…” I say my voice shaking.

“Delaney, what’s wrong?” he demands.

“Someone slashed my tires. It must have just happened because they were fine when I brought out the last box. I called Acid, but he’s not answering.”

His tone has changed. “Get in your car, baby, and I’ll be right there. Okay? Don’t get out for anyone but me.”

Even he knows this isn’t good.

“Got it.”

“Do you want me to stay on the line with you? I’m only fifteen minutes out.”

“No. I’ll be okay. Just hurry,” I beg.

“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” he promises.

Hanging up, I take a deep breath. I don’t know why I’m afraid to get into my car, but I am. I can hear Mr. Smith and Lydia telling me that someone could be in the back seat, waiting for me. It’s ridiculous. There are boxes in the back, but that fear is still there.

Is someone in there? Is this some sort of ploy to get me?

“Pull it together, Delaney,” I say, scolding myself.

“Delaney…” a familiar voice says from behind me, making my stomach plummet to my feet.

I turn around and take a step back when I see how close he is to me.

“Blaine, what are you doing here?” I ask, heart racing.

“I need to talk to you. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“For a good reason. You’ve been stalking me and blew up my fucking life,” I snap.

Anger crosses his face for a split second. “Do not talk to me that way,” he hisses.

“I’ll talk to you however I want,” I tell him, taking another step back.

He ignores me completely. “Now, I’ve been accommodating and let you do what you’ve wanted recently. I let you sow your oats, but it’s time for you to come back home and start planning our wedding.”