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With a muted grunt, I struggle as I lower the man’s body to the floor. Turning around, I scramble over to my bag and sling it over my shoulders. Pulling my phone from my pocket quickly, I turn the hall cameras back on a loop, and without waiting one more moment - I run.
“You!”
Shouts echo through the halls, and I don’t stop to see how close they are, I just speed up, sprinting toward the attic. Ripping the attic door open, I stumble up the steps and bolt for the vent opening. When I reach the ropes and carabiner, my sweaty hands fumble with the clip and I hear the attic door fly open, slamming against the wall. The clip clicks into place, and more afraid of bullets than plummeting to my death, I leap from the opening.
My heart bottoms out of my fucking ass as the air is forced from my lungs, and just before I hit the ground, I manage to stop the pulley. I never intended to leave anything behind, but they are too close for me to worry about evidence now. Unclipping, I take off running through the snow as fast as I can. Loud pops ring through the air and a bullet whizzes narrowly past my head.
My chest squeezes, seizing up, but I push through. I don’t stop.
Don’t stop Zeke. Don’t stop.
Once I’m through the tree-line, I dart to the left and jump over downed trees on the way to my truck. I parked close enough that no one on the premises would notice, but not so far that I couldn’t get away in a pinch.
After a few minutes, the sounds of the bullets cease, and I no longer hear voices. I don’t know if that’s a good thing, or if I need to be terrified.
When I reach my truck, the legs of my pants are wet, weighed down from the snow. My entire body aches as I run around the side of my truck and rip open the driver’s side door, sliding into the seat. Struggling to catch my breath, I push the button to start the engine, and peel out onto the back road. Glancing up repeatedly into the rearview mirror, I expect to see someone chasing me down, but there’s no one. Just a dark, empty road.
Chapter fifteen
Zeke
Trudging up the steps to my place, I wrack my brain for excuses. Riot beat me here, so I know he’s waiting. I’m hyper aware that I look like shit and while I told him I had to make a supply pickup for the studio, it’s not going to explain my wet hair, along with the chunks of ice and snow clinging to my pant legs. I can’t do this tonight.
When I reach the top of the steps, I open the door and find Riot dancing around the kitchen to some heavy rock song. I’m not quite sure what it says about me, but my first feeling is a flood of relief, because I can sneak up on him and maybe he won’t notice the state of my appearance. Maybe he won’t ask questions.
Pressing the door quietly shut behind me, I set my bag on the floor and run up behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist.
“Mmm, you’re late,” he mumbles.
“And you’re looking downright fucking delicious tonight,” I change the topic, as I press my lips down to his neck. Strands of my hair fall to the side, and he shivers as icy water drips from my hair onto his shirt.
Shit.
Spinning around in my arms, Riot faces me and when his eyes glance up and down my form, his expression turns to one of confusion.
“Why are you soaked?”
“I,” I look to the side, intentionally avoiding his gaze, “Slipped and fell outside. No big deal, just landed in a shit ton of snow,” I shrug.
“Zeke,” his brow furrows and I bite my lip.
“I was gonna take all this off anyway,” I smile, leaning in to kiss him, but this time he moves his head.
“Come on really?”
“What?” I shrug.
Looking around me at the door, his eyes land right on my backpack and in that very moment, I know that he knows I was up to something.
“What the fuck were you doing Zeke?” he asks. His tone is calm. Controlled. He’s not angry. He’s not yelling. It’s nothing like the last time he caught me in a lie. And that’s the part that terrifies me to my fucking core.
“I told you, nothing.”
“You know what Zeke? I can’t fucking do this right now,” his shoulders drop, and again, he still isn’t yelling at me.
Yell at me. Tell me how stupid I am. Don’t give up on me.
“You were out playing vigilante weren’t you?”
