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And, let’s be honest, running away to find an owner he liked more.
“Mackey,” I called, moving out onto the front step, hoping he would just come, so I didn’t have to wander around outside the perimeter like he usually made me do.
I hugged my arms around me when I saw – and heard – nothing, stepping down, my feet crunching on some leaves I hadn’t gotten around to raking up. Red and yellow and orange, my yard looked pretty in the daylight. But I knew that soon, they would molder and brown, and be nothing but an eyesore.
“Come on, Mack, it’s too cold for this,” I whined as I rounded my house, the motion sensor light flicking on as I progressed. “Where the hell did you get off to?” I asked, momentarily wondering if maybe he followed Gunner around in the woods or something. I really, really did not want to go into those woods. Even if they weren’t that deep. When I first moved in, I found them peaceful. But then he came to me through them, and ever since then, all they did was creep me out.
My feet crunched on a small pile of leaves near the foundation of the house as I rounded the corner, the motion sensor behind me turning off just a few seconds before the one in front of me flicked on. But even just those few seconds made my belly wobble a bit as I listened for sounds of Mackey walking around. But with the breeze blowing through the trees full of dry leaves, there was no way to differentiate one sound from another.
“Oh,” my breath whooshed out as the light behind me flicked on again. “There you are, you pain in the bu…”
I couldn’t run.
I couldn’t even turn.
Even as I went to twist my hips to do so, to look for my stubborn dog so I could take a hold of his collar, and pull him inside, I felt a hand close around the back of my neck, bruising in its intensity, long, jagged nails nipping into the flesh.
I had sucked in a breath to scream, understanding the complete uselessness of that. But before I could even form a thought after that one, there was a shooting pain up the back of my neck and my head before the side of my already pitiful face collided with the unyielding wall of my house; the hard smack it made was sickening, even as the sparks of pain shot off at the point of contact before moving outward, until there was a throbbing pain overtaking the whole side of my face, my vision going spotty even as I tasted the metallic copper of blood. The smell of it conjured awful images that made my stomach pitch.
“Where is he, you stupid cunt?”
Somehow, the part of my brain that could be offended even in the face of pain and the kind of terror that made an immediate sweat break out over every inch of skin, cringed at that word. Again.
But that thought was replaced instantaneously with another.
That was a female voice.
“Answer me!” she shrieked, yanking back again, then, as I raised my hands to brace another blow, slammed me forward, the force with which she did it that of a grown man.
My vision swam, flashing in and out of focus, the pain making bile rise up my throat.
The hand yanked again, and I knew this blow would knock me out. Or worse.
But before she could slam me forward again, there was a shriek, and an accompanying low, lethal, vicious growl.
All I could think as the hand released me, and I sank down to the ground, vomiting onto a pile of leaves, was that maybe he didn’t exactly like me, but Quin was right – I controlled the can-opener. So he would protect me.
I heard the growling, the cursing from the woman, then shuffling.
My head jerked to the side, fighting the swimming the too-quick motion caused, trying to get at least a bit of a view, something, anything to tell them, to give them to go on.
But it was dark.
All I saw was a large woman in a tattered, almost ankle-length heavy jacket, with brown and gray hair around her shoulders.
Then she was in the woods, steadily chased by my little protector.
My hand planted on the house, trying to give me some leverage as I forced my legs to take my weight, willed my vision to stay steady.
Because I couldn’t just stay here.
Not even with Mackey to protect me.
What if she came back with a gun?
What if she shot him, and then came for me?
I had to go.
I had to get help.
And the only help I had, apparently, didn’t want to deal with me.
“Ow ow ow,” I whined, moving as quickly as I could around my house, wincing as the lights flashed on, irritating the migraine already slamming behind my eyes, in my temples. My hand reached into my pocket, grabbing the burner, hitting the call button when I found Quin’s stored number. “Pick up pick up pick up,” I begged as I went up my stairs, reaching inside to grab my purse and keys, locking, then making my way toward my car.
