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Her phone chimes again, and Gemma winces like she knows she’s in trouble before even reading the text message.
I know she’s going to run away from me, but I’m not letting her go this time. No way in hell am I walking away after discovering she’s in danger.
Fuck, I never should have let her leave the clubhouse yesterday. I knew something was wrong but didn’t want to press her for more information or scare her off. Guilt sits like a lead weight in my stomach. If I’d asked her a few more questions and been more aware, I could’ve saved her from the abuse she suffered last night.
“I have to go,” Gemma whispers. “I’m sorry. I’m… I have to go.”
“Please stay,” I beg. “Let me help.” I’m helping no matter what, but I want to give her a chance to choose it for herself.
Her green eyes meet mine, and her swollen face makes my stomach churn angrily. I see a storm of conflict raging inside her, but after a few moments, she shakes her head and gives me one last look.
She doesn’t think she’s worth saving.
I’m unsure how I know that, but something about her eyes, her fuckingsoul, reaches out to me.
Gemma takes off a little slower than usual with her limp but still clearly walking away from me. Again. I’m not letting her go this time.
Waiting until she’s almost to the other side of the graveyard, I break into a jog down the main row leading to the exit. I watch as she turns left out of the exit, then take the same turn, following her from a distance.
A few minutes later, Gemma turns left again, veering off the sidewalk and heading down a well-worn footpath toward the old trailer park. The hairs on my neck stand up as pieces of the last few days fall into place.
Orchard Grove trailer park.
Keeping an eye on Gemma, I see her head for the plot of land in the back, facing the woods. She doesn’t go through the front door but opts to go around to the side and hoists herself through a window.
I get closer, crouching to remain unseen. Is she breaking in? No, that doesn’t sound like my Gemma. Not that I would judge her, but I can’t see her committing a crime.
When I’m about ten feet from the side of the trailer, I smell it. There’s no mistaking the chemical ammonia scent emanating from inside.Meth.
I hesitate momentarily, then take off into the woods, looking for a good hiding spot before pulling out my phone. Blade picks up on the first ring.
“Prez, you’re never going to believe what I just found.”
CHAPTERFOUR
GEMMA
“That’s all I have for this week’s episode of Grave Secrets, your favorite true crime podcast bringing you stories from beyond the grave! Make sure to join me next week when we’ll discuss the possible demon possession of Anneliese Michel… or was it a hoax? Find out–”
My voice cracks, and I curse under my breath, knowing I messed up another take. I already recorded the intro for this episode yesterday. I just need the outro, and I can edit the audio file and put my new episode of Grave Secrets up.
I can’t seem to get this outro right, however. This is my eighth time recording it. The first two times, I couldn’t stop my voice from shaking. The third time, I spaced the entire second half of the script. Five takes later, my mind is still scrambled from seeing Axel in the graveyard today.
Closing my eyes, I remember how he touched me so gently, his blue gaze mapping out my features as if cataloging my injuries so he could heal every single one. He can’t, though. Not really. The bruises fade, but the fear grows stronger.
I allow myself one more moment to remember Axel’s warm embrace and the beat of his heart as I lay my head on his solid chest.Safe. Home.That’s what it felt like.
A loud banging on the trailer's screen door jars me out of my happy place. The damn door rattles on its hinges and squeaks obnoxiously as whoever is outside pulls it open.
Everything in me is on high alert. It could be a dealer coming for more product, a junkie looking for a fix, one of the women my father sleeps around with, or a neighbor wanting to get in on the business side of things.
I carefully and silently unfold myself from where I was sitting on my bed with my laptop and tiptoe the five and a half feet across my room to the door. Like every other door in this trailer, it doesn’t fit the frame and hasn’t been able to close all the way for the entire six years we’ve lived here.
Honestly, it served as a good lookout spot during that time. Not that there was ever much I could do about the bad, scary, and illegal things happening on the other side, but at least I knew to stay put. Stay quiet.
Peering through the splintered wood, I’m shocked at the three men standing in the living room. Of all the people who come and go in our trailer, I never would have guessed tonight’s visitors would be cops.
Are they finally shutting us down?
