“Harper!” I bellowed into the phone.
“I-I’m s-sorry. I’m okay,” she said between hitching breaths. “I promise.”
“Doesn’t sound like you’re okay. What the fuck is going on?” I demanded.
“I’m fine. Really, I am. I was watching a movie, and it’s really sad. The main character just died when you called,” she explained. I was damn sure she was lying to me. She didn’t watch those kinds of movies. If I remembered correctly, she said they pissed her off.
“Oh, well, I was just calling to make sure you got home okay. I know you were pretty tired when you left. I’ll let you get back to your movie,” I lied right back to her.
“I’m home, and all is well. Thanks for checking on me, Chase,” she said softly.
We ended the call, and I started gathering my stuff. My girl was not okay, and I was going to find out why. In less than five minutes, I had my shit packed and was climbing onto my bike.
Dash was coming through the gate as I was about to pull out. “Going somewhere?”
“Yeah, I’ll be back in a day or two unless I’m needed before then,” I answered.
“Where you headed?” he asked, raising a brow.
“Better if I don’t say,” I said flatly.
He shot me a knowing grin. “Have fun and tell Harper I said hello,” he said before he revved his bike and rode past me. There was no way he missed the look of surprise on my face at his words. Fuck it. I’d worry about that later.
I rode hell-bent for leather all the way to Harper’s place. Damn, she really needed to move closer. It wasn’t that far, but it was too far when something was wrong, and something obviously was.
The first thing I noticed when I pulled into her driveway was that every light in the house was on, as well as her porch light and floodlights. The outside lights I could understand if it was dark out, but it wasn’t.
I climbed off my bike and strolled to the front door. I rang the doorbell and waited. No answer. I rang it again and knocked twice. Still no answer. I knocked loudly and called her name. Nothing. After listening for a moment and hearing no sounds of movement inside the house, I lost it.
I beat on the door once more for good measure before I raised my booted foot and kicked the fucker in. Then, everything happened so fast. I crashed through the door. A gun went off. I grabbed the shooter by the throat, knocked the gun out of their hand, and slammed them to the ground, following them to the floor. My fist was flying, halfway to its intended target, when I realized it was Harper beneath me.
I jumped to my feet and pulled her up with me. “Fuck! Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”
“N-no, you didn’t.”
“What the fuck was that, Harper? You fucking shot at me? I could have killed you,” I roared. I was pissed—not about being shot at. I had been grazed or missed by bullets more times than I could count. I found it sort of morbidly fascinating that so many people missed a target as big as me. What had me raging was the fact that I could have seriously hurt her coupled with the obvious fear on her face.
“I didn’t know it was you, you big beast!” she yelled right back, even as she clung to me.
“You would’ve known it was me if you would’ve answered the damn door! Or looked out a fucking window! What the hell is wrong with you?” I didn’t intend for my words to come out as harsh as they did. She was scared, and I felt a primal need to protect her and eliminate the threat.
Her reaction was not what I expected. “I’m fucking scared, okay? I was already scared, and you scared me more!” she screamed as she pulled away from me, tears streaming down her face. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
“Baby,” I said softly, reaching out to cup her cheek, “I’m fine. Why are you so scared?”
She leaned into my palm, and her face crumpled even more. “Someone broke into my house while I was in Croftridge. The police said it appeared to be personal,” she cried.
“Why do they think it’s personal?”
“Follow me. I’ve cleaned up some of it, but I still have a good bit left.” She turned, and I followed her through the house as she showed me the damage that was done to her home.
When we got to her room, I surveyed the area, rubbed my eyes, and looked around the room again. “Peas?” I asked.
“I know, right? If it hadn’t happened to me, I might find it funny, but at the moment, I keep finding the fuckers everywhere. And let me tell you, you can’t vacuum up mushy peas. No, they have to be picked up by hand!”
“So, let me get this straight. Someone broke into your house, painted dots on your living room wall, broke a bunch of picture frames, and covered your bed in peas?” I asked, not believing the words coming out of my mouth. “Anything else?”
She chewed on her bottom lip before answering me. “The picture frames...only the ones with pictures of my parents and Duke were broken.” She shrugged. “It’s probably just a coincidence.”