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“I want you back here now!” Callum bellows into the phone. “Right now, immediately, and on the way, call everybody in.”
Then he stops in his tracks, looking at me. “You still have eyes on Tatum, right?” he asks the person on the other end—I'm guessing Romero. I tense up, gasping, and Dad's arms tighten around me.
“She's fine,” Callum tells us before turning his attention back to the phone. “Get her here, now.”
He then puts his phone away, lacing his fingers together on top of his head. “I should have known. I should have fucking known!”
“What the hell is going on?” Dad demands. “What the fuck did you get her into this time?”
“Dad, don't,” I beg, but he doesn't want to hear it.
Callum throws Dad a steely glare. “Not now.” He reaches for me, yet Dad refuses to let me go.
“Please,” I plead. “I'm okay. Are you?” He looks fine, uninjured like Callum and me, although he's shaking from head to toe. I can only imagine what must be going through his head.
“I'm going back in there,” Callum decides.
“No, don't!” On impulse, I try to follow him, but Dad refuses to let me go no matter how much I twist and fight to escape his grasp. “Don't go!”
“Let him do what he needs to do,” Dad insists.
“I don't understand!” Though now that the shock is starting to clear from my mind, I think I get it. Somebody bombed the house. Somebody's still trying to kill us. Trying to kill my baby.
I should be afraid—and I am. I'm scared to death that there will be another explosion while I stand here trying to make sense of the madness. I'm terrified of losing Callum. What if he never comes back through that door? There's a thin line between fear and rage. The rage is taking over, turning the terrified pounding of my heart into something murderous.
They tried to kill my baby, again.
And I don't think it's any mystery who's behind it.
“We have to get away from the house,” Dad decides, pulling me along the patio, and around the pool until we're standing at the far end. “Jesus, why do you want any part in this family?”
I ignore the question once Callum emerges, waving at us. “Come on. I want you to get her out of here.”
“Is it safe?” Dad asks.
“The box was destroyed. There's nothing left to detonate.” When Dad doesn't move fast enough, Callum charges at us, taking hold of me. “I mean it. I want her out of here, and you have to be the one to take her.”
“I'm not leaving you!” I may as well be talking to myself for all the good it does. Callum pretty much ignores me as he rushes me through the house, where the alarm is still shrieking. It's like an ice pick drilling into my eardrum. We hurry down the hall from the kitchen, where plaster dust is drifting through the air and the acrid smoke from a small fire flickering in what's left of the entry hall.
The sight of it stops me dead in my tracks. The windows to either side of the front door are blown out, and the table next to it is in pieces. The artwork blasted off the walls, and a glance toward the living room shows the same thing happened in there—even the big flat screen was knocked off its mounting and is now on the floor.
All that rushes passed me in a blur as Callum sprints through the house with me in tow. I don't think I take a breath until we're outside again, where Romero's car is flying up the driveway.
“What the fuck happened here?” Tatum jumps out of the passenger seat while Romero barely has the car in park before flinging the door open.
“Where were you?” I can't believe that with everything going on, that's the first question I have as Tatum runs toward me.
“I was just out.” After hugging me, she stares through the open door into the house. Her mouth hangs open briefly before she whispers, “What happened?”
Callum clamps a hand over her shoulder and turns her toward him. “Were you expecting a package tonight?”
Her brows draw together, her gaze darting to the destruction again and again like she can't make sense of it. That makes two of us. “Yeah? I think so. It was supposed to come today.”
“Where was it from? Where did you order it from?” Callum barks.
“Are you accusing me of doing something wrong?”
“That's not what he's saying,” Romero insists as he joins us, standing at her side. “Whoever sent it either made a big mistake, or they always intended to send you a bomb.”
