Page 78 of Unruly

My stomach turns.

This is the man who married Halle.

This is the same man who made her feel so insignificant that she packed up her whole life and ran back here like she had something to be ashamed of. Like she was the one who did something wrong.

If I find out he’s ever laid a finger on her, he’s a dead man.

Either way, he’s better off a dead man.

I call her. It rings twice and goes to voicemail. I call again. Same thing.

I try Colt next. Nothing. Rhett. Nothing.

Nobody’s picking up.

I press harder on the gas, the truck surging forward. The road blurs; I can barely focus on the lines. Every instinct I have is screaming at me to move faster. My chest feels tight, like I can’t pull in a full breath.

I keep thinking about that pink bike sitting alone in the dark parking lot behind the bar. I keep thinking about how many nights I’ve sat out there in my truck, headlights off, just watching until she locked up and got in safe. I told myself it was nothing—just making sure she was okay. Just a habit.

Bullshit.

I’ve been doing it because I can’t fucking stay away from her.

And right now, every single part of me is screaming that something is wrong. That I spent weeks trying to drink like a goddamn idiot while this piece of shit was circling closer.

I glance down at my phone again, reading the same lines over and over like they might change. Arrested three times. Two different women. Dropped charges. No consequences.

I throw the phone into the passenger seat and grip the wheel with both hands, pushing the truck even faster. The engine roars. The road’s empty—no other headlights for miles. Just me and the white line and seventeen more minutes, if I keep my foot down.

I’m coming, Halle.

Just hold on.

Please.

When I pull into the lot behind The Bar, I see a car I don’t recognize parked near the back. It’s not one of the regulars, and it’s not Halle’s. Something about it sitting there makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

I park farther down and cut the engine. I don’t go through the front. I move around the side of the building and slip in through the back door, as quiet as I can. The stockroom is dark and smells like beer and cleaning supplies. I move through it slowly, listening.

“Halle?” I call out.

No response.

That’s when I hear voices.

I step into the main room and stop cold.

Halle is standing near the bar with the shotgun in her hands, pointed straight at Zach’s chest. He’s got that same smug, ugly look on his face I remember from the day I slammed his stupid fucking head against the hood of his car.

My vision tunnels.

I don’t think. I just move.

I step out where they can both see me.

Zach’s head snaps toward me first. For half a second, surprise flashes across his face. Then that ugly smile comes back.

“Well, well. Look who decided to show up—the little redheaded boyfriend.”