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Stepping up on the porch, I unlock the door and step inside, and toe-off my shoes leaving the door open for some fresh air to come in through the screen door.
I move through my house only to come to an abrupt halt at the sight of a man I’ve never seen before standing in the doorway leading to my kitchen.
“It’s about damn time you came home,” the man sneers and waves a gun in front of him. “Now be a good little bitch and get over here. It’s time I taught you a lesson on not being a whore like you are.”
Oh no . . .
Terror consumes me, and I find it hard to breathe. The air around me thickens with the anger and hatred radiating off this person. He must be . . . no . . . this is the person . . . please someone don’t let him hurt me.
This is my stalker. The one I thought was finally leaving me alone after that horribly vile email.
“Bitch do as your told,” he snarls, waving the gun at me.
“Who are you?” I barely get the question out when gun fire rings in my ears, and I pull my arms up to shield myself in reaction. Shaking in fear, I stare at the man who just shot at me in ultimate terror.
How do I protect myself from him and keep my baby safe?
“You know who I am,” he sneers. “Sending that bastard after me ain’t gonna do any good, whore. You’ll learn your lesson, and you’ll pay for your ways.” His beady eyes shimmer in rage, and he continues to wave the gun in my direction. “Now, get over here and on your knees like the good little whore you are. You’re good with that mouth, and I’m going to show you exactly what to do with it besides speaking about the nonsense you know nothing about.”
I shake my head and take a step back, only to scream when another shot is fired.
“Don’t you try it bitch. I will kill you,” he screams.
I stop in place, unsure of what to do. I know in my stomach if I go near him, he’ll hurt me, if not kill me anyway. I could try to run, but he may shoot me.
Bile burns in my throat, and I swallow it back.
Behind the man holding the gun on me, I notice movement, and it’s all I can do to keep from giving away to my stalker that we’re not alone.
Everything seems to happen all at once. My stalker gets frustrated with me and makes a jump for me as War dives for the other man taking him to the ground.
Standing there, frozen in place, I stare at the scene taking place right in front of me. War came after me. And as he slices a knife, I didn’t even know he had in his hand, across the throat of the man who would have killed me. I couldn’t be more thankful he did.
Though I’m not sure as to why he’s here. I said my peace as he’d said his two months ago. I dare not get my hopes up about him being here and saving not just my life but that of the baby that connects us.
CHAPTERTWENTY-ONE
WAR
Scooping Shyann into my arms, I carry her out of the room. She doesn’t need to see the body lying on the floor in her living room. With Shy being pregnant, I won’t take the chance of her stressing herself out more than the situation already calls for.
I wasn’t expecting to walk into what I did or the fact neither my woman nor the bastard holding the gun on her heard me pull into the driveway. I guess my beatdown warning didn’t last long for him. He looks to have barely healed from all the pain I inflicted on him.
Fuck. I don’t want to think of what could’ve happened here if I hadn’t run after Shyann.
The thought of something happening to her . . . losing her . . . I fucking can’t. She’s my life. When I ended things between us, I did it ‘cause I wanted to save her from what I realized was wrong. She’s not made of glass as fragile as she seems, but she’s still delicate.
“You okay, baby?” I ask, laying her on the couch in the office. I dare not go near her bedroom. I do, and I’ll have no problem getting us both naked and not handling more important things at the moment.
Shyann nods in response, licking her bottom lip nervously as her eyes come to mine. “What are you doing here?” she whispers, and I don’t miss the hurt in her tone.
That hurt goes to my chest, and I know I’ve got to prove myself to her.
Closing my eyes, I lower my head and shake it. “I fucked up baby . . . I fucked up royally.”
“And . . .”
The way she says that simple little word has me lifting my head and looking at her once more to see the apprehensiveness in her eyes.
