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It’s dark outside now, and when I glance at my phone, it says it’s eight at night. Damn, we must have all needed sleep. Grabbing a comfortable, thin hooded tunic, I throw it over my head and put on a pair of boy shorts.
“I won’t be long,” I reassure him, beginning to slip out of the room.
“Lavender,” he hisses, and I pause, glancing over my shoulder. “Grab your knife, please, it’ll make me feel better.
Shrugging, I grab my knife and holster, strapping it to my thigh. “Go back to sleep for a bit,” I tell him with a smile, leaving the bedroom.
I use the restroom in the hallway, sighing a breath of relief. I almost didn’t make it! Turner was a bit overprotective insisting that I take my knife, but Greg told me to never go anywhere without it.
So I’ve been trying to get in the habit of wearing it on me everywhere except to bed.
My stomach rumbles, and I hum under my breath as I walk downstairs, heading for the kitchen. Scoping out the treats from Roark’s latest baking project, I pick out a scone and some iced tea. I would make myself a proper cup of tea, but I’m still warm from being the filling to a Lennon sandwich.
It hasn’t escaped my notice that Roark has been leaving pretty notebooks and pencils in every room. I have been quietly appreciative, hoping that the itch to write will hit. Turning on a lamp in the living room, I blink as my eyes get used to the brightness. Everything appears as it should be, and I curl up on the window seat, taking a sip of my drink before placing it on the side table with my snack.
Picking up a pretty dark blue and black notebook and a pencil, I open it so I can begin to doodle. I’ve been noticing that if I do something mindless, it’ll allow my words to flow better.
Writing out a few words, I begin to string them together, not paying attention to where the lyrics are going. They could be shit, or they could be exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
Glancing outside, I see an odd shadow pass just outside where Greg’s emergency lights are in the backyard. They’re motion sensored so something had to have triggered it. Dropping my book, I stand slowly, stepping behind the wall next to it, outside of view.
Dammit, the window shades would usually all be down at night, but our long nap circumvented those habits. Biting my lip, I stand in this small space without windows, trying to figure out my next move. Fuck my life, this room, and all of these fucking windows!
Thankfully, I only turned on a single lamp, which is enough for me to see the man all in black walk past the window to my right. Pressing myself into the wall, I make myself as small as possible so he won’t see me.
My breaths are small, silent puffs of air as I wait him out. It’s as if I can feel his presence now that I know he’s out there, and if I move he’ll see me. He had to have seen me at the window, and now it looks like I’ve disappeared.
Counting to five, I carefully look towards the window, angling my body so whoever it is can’t see me. His back is to me, and I make a break for it, running for the entrance of the room. If I can help it, I want to be in a better position before he sees me.
I run straight into a solid chest, and as I inhale to scream, a large hand covers my face. The scent of lemons flows over me and I sob wordlessly in relief.
“Where?” Orion grunts, and I nod towards the window that I’m no longer in view of.
He lifts his hand, and I whisper, “I only noticed because the emergency light next door went off. He’s at the window, he is looking for me because he saw me writing.”
“I don’t want to ask you to hide,” Orion mutters, sighing. “Come with me?”
Blinking in surprise, I nod. Following him, neither of us put shoes on as Orion opens the back door so we can surprise our lurker. We didn’t set the alarm in our hurry to get inside, and I curse myself for our lack of care.
Now, it works in our favor because we don’t have to disarm the alarm. Quietly, I pull my knife, knowing that Orion is a weapon, he doesn’t need one. The door to the covered porch doesn’t make a sound as we open it, and Orion holds it so I can walk down the stairs.
Easing the door shut, he walks beside me in the shadows. Once we’re around the house I see the man lurking on the front lawn, behind a tree. Orion pulls his phone out of his pocket, sending out texts without looking down, and I’ve never been more grateful for sweatpants with pockets.
“Stay here,” he murmurs, his lips against my ear. “I want to see if there’s anyone else here. Greg and Derek will be out there too, they’ll tell you who they are if they need to come find you. Anyone else, you stab first and ask questions later.”
Not trusting my voice, I nod. Standing against the back of the house, I watch the man for signs of him moving. He stands there for another minute, and then he begins prowling towards the front door as if given a signal.
Roark and Turner are inside and I chew on my lip, turning to scan the back yard. I don’t see a hint of anyone.
“There you are. Hiding in the dark like a silly little bitch!” the man snarls, grabbing me from behind. Fuck, I stopped watching him for too long.
Dropping my weight so he’ll be forced to change his hold on me or release me, I enjoy his struggle. My attacker loosens his hold enough, so I can turn and stab his leg.
Moving quickly, I twist and stab his side, my breathing stabilizing now that I can do something. Stepping back, I ask, “Who else is with you?”
Throwing his head back, he laughs. “You’ll never be safe. You pissed off some scary ass people.”
Greg ghosts up behind him, and he puts his finger to his lips. “If you’re talking about yourself, your skills are underwhelming,” I taunt. “Who sent you?”
