But her next text had shot worry through me. It wasn’t so much an ultimatum as a final goodbye. And still, I’d thought it was a ploy. Not a real cry for help.
By the time I’d convinced myself to check on her, it had almost been too late.
She’d been lying under the bleachers, pale and lifeless, covered in blood I’d had trouble staunching.
All the while I’d held my shirt to her wrists, all the while I’d waited for help to arrive, the truth had repeated through my mind. Delilah had almost bled out because I’d been unable to give her my love. I was as responsible for her scarred wrists as the blade she’d used.
And since that day, that truth had never left my side.
No way in hell would I repeat that history with Maisey.
Regret and self-reproach coated my tongue with bitterness as I followed Maisey up the porch steps.
I was yanked out of my spiral by the sound of my easygoing dog growling inside the house. I hadn’t even processed the frantic edge in his bark before Maisey’s startled gasp pulled my eyes to the orange paint dripping down my front door.
Poor choice. End it now or else.
The note forced the anger that had been simmering in me over Chelsea’s texts, my weak resolve, and the entire situation to boil over.
Maisey had been threatened. Again.
And the asshole had damaged my house to deliver their message.
I whipped around, scanning the empty street much like I had on Monday when the note had been on her car, and just like then, there was no one around. The road was as quiet as ever.
But someone had been there long enough to slop paint all over the fucking place.
There was a slim chance one of the neighbors had seen something, but we were pretty isolated at this end of the cul-de-sac. The Helmers’ place was the closest, and even it was across and down a bit. Plus, who knew if the renters were even there today?
I cursed myself for not installing a doorbell camera, but I’d never felt like I needed one. Swift Rivers had always felt like a safe community. I might not let my female friends wander around at night by themselves, especially after drinking, but I hadn’t ever been afraid of being robbed or violated.
Because that was what this was. A violation. Not only of my home but of Maisey’s peace of mind.
“Fuck,” I hissed.
I grabbed the doorknob, and my hand froze. We’d left it unlocked. That shouldn’t have mattered—we were only next door—but it had given whomever this was free rein of the house.
Thrusting open the door, I barely had time to grab my snapping andsnarling dog before Maisey bolted into the house, straight for the guest bedrooms.
“Wait!” I shouted, but she didn’t slow down.
I slammed the door behind us, dragged Vader inside, feeling his claws dig into the floor, his wild energy thrumming through me. The air hung heavy, charged with a sharp edge.
The asshole probably wasn’t here—no one would dare face a near-rabid Vader—but the thought that someone could be, someone targeting Maisey, sent ice into my veins. My pulse hammered in my ears, every breath a ragged inhale.
“Stop, damnit!” I commanded, every second stretching too long as I fought to catch up.
She tore down the hall as if she hadn’t heard me, calling for her father with the same fear and desperation in her voice that I felt. “Dad?!”
Lewis poked his head out of the guest bath, brows raised. “Yeah?”
The relief that sped across her face at the sight of him seeped through me.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
He raised his burned hand. “Just trying to figure out how to wrap it.”
“Stay here,” I ordered, all but shoving them both into the bathroom and yanking the door shut.