A bro in a fedora and V-neck sweater wedged in on Coop. She grew increasingly furious as she listened to the moron relive every snap Coop had fumbled and every ball he’d thrown late. Coop was used to this kind of bull, and he was handling it fine. But she wasn’t. As the bro started in on Coop’s lousy leadership skills, all the horrible feelings churning inside her found their target, and her temper exploded. She shoved between a couple of his pals, reared up on her stilettos, and grabbed the guy’s shirtfront. “Back off, asshole, or I will rip your fucking head off. Do you understand me?”
Coop’s eyebrows shot up. The guy blinked, then jutted out his jaw with false bravado. “Yeah? Who are you?”
“She’s my bodyguard,” Coop said evenly. “Best not to mess with her.”
The guy began edging away. “Who needs this shithole club?”
Bryan quickly separated the jerk from the crowd. Coop looked down at her with displeasure. “Real smooth.”
“He irritated me.”
“Cut it out.”
She couldn’t handle this any longer, and she walked away. One more hour, and her job would be over.
She checked the ladies’ room and VIP. All well. When she finally came back downstairs, she ran into a group of men surrounding Coop near the mezzanine stairs. An especially loud, gel-haired jock type had positioned himself as close as he could and was gesturing toward him with his beer. “You and me, Coop. We know what it’s like. I had a bitch try to nail me once. Just like what happened to you.”
“You don’t say.” Coop turned away.
But the guy wasn’t done. “Bitch was asking for it. She wanted it. Anybody could see that.”
And then the idiot made the mistake of grabbing Coop’s arm. Coop spun and, with no more warning than that, drew back his fist and punched the guy, sending him bouncing into the crowd.
Crap. Piper shot forward. The guy hit the floor and rolled to his knees, cradling his jaw. She knelt next to him and gazed up at her ex-lover. “Real smooth, Coop.”
Coop glared down and threw her words right back at her. “He irritated me.”
Despite his ferocious expression, she nearly hugged him. This is for all the women who told the truth but nobody believed them.
Three o’clock finally came. She slipped off her heels and dragged herself upstairs to spend her last night in the apartment. Tomorrow, she’d be sleeping in Amber’s double bed underneath an Aida poster.
She got undressed and pulled a plain brown T-shirt over her underpants. She gazed down at the alley from her back window. Coop had left, the spot where he parked his car was empty. As empty as she felt inside.
She crawled into her too-big bed and stared up at the ceiling. She’d done the right thing. She might not believe she could hurt any more than she did now, but staying with him longer-hiding how much she cared-would only make their inevitable breakup more agonizing.
She finally fell into a restless sleep only to be plagued by nightmare figures with clown faces, jackboots, and selfie sticks. They chased her into a crimson jungle where dead women hung head down from telephone poles. She had to scream. But she couldn’t find the air. She had to find air. She struggled to find a scream somewhere. Anywhere.
She jolted awake. It was still dark. Her T-shirt stuck to her skin, and she’d drooled on the pillow. Her heart was racing. Only a dream… Only a dream…
Somebody stood in the doorway. A dark, silent silhouette. Her voice came out in a grateful croak. “Coop?”
He rushed toward the bed.
It happened so fast. One moment she was trapped in a nightmare, and the next moment, a man was grabbing her. A man who was not Coop.
She screamed.
“Shut up!” He had her by the arm. Shook her. She tried to fight, but the sheet trapped her. His hard shake wrenched her neck. She freed an arm and clawed at his face. He slapped her. Her ears rang. The struggle was frantic, the only sounds her gasps. And then even those stopped as his fingers closed around her neck and his thumbs pressed her windpipe.
The overhead light blazed on.
The pressure on her throat stopped as the man jerked up and spun around. She rolled off the opposite side of the bed, fighting to free herself from the sheet as she fell. She hit the floor. Seconds later, she was on her knees, eyes blinking against the sudden light.
Jada stood in the doorway, her Nerf gun at her side, staring at the attacker, a man Piper had never seen. Jada’s voice wobbled. “Hank?”
He had a shaved head and a gun. A silver-barreled, nine-millimeter Beretta. Pointed straight at Jada.
And then right back at Piper.
He scowled. He was big, muscular. He might once have been a decent-looking guy, but the ugliness of hate had transformed his long face into a mask of malevolence. “What the fuck… Where’s Karah? Why isn’t Karah here?”
Jada whimpered from the doorway. He backed toward the far wall so he could keep them both within easy range of his gun. He had the wrong apartment. He was looking for Karah. Piper choked out the words. “She’s-she’s not here. I’m staying with Jada.”
He turned the gun toward Jada. “Where is she?”
Piper prayed Jada wouldn’t tell him her mother was asleep in the next apartment.
“I-I don’t know,” Jada sobbed.
“You lying little bitch.”
“She’s… at an overnight seminar,” Piper managed to say. “For a class she’s taking. Now get the hell out of here!”
“You’re lying.” He was sweating, flushed, maybe high on meth. “She’s with Graham. Whoring around with that bastard.”
He jabbed the gun at Piper. “Get over there with her.”
Piper moved carefully toward Jada, who stood frozen, the useless Nerf gun slipping to the floor. She wrapped an arm around the girl’s shoulders and prayed Karah wouldn’t wake up. “Karah’s not here. Now get out. Leave us alone.”
“She’s gonna pay for being a whore. She’s gotta pay.”
“Nobody has to pay,” she said carefully. “Just go.”
“Yeah, you’d all like to make me disappear. Make me forget what she did to me.”
“That’s in the past. Let it go.”
He moved closer to them. The gun steady. His attention on Jada. “And her little baby doll. Not so little anymore.”
Tentacles of dread slithered through her body. And then she heard it. The click of the apartment door opening. Karah. He would kill her. And maybe Jada, too.
She’d never felt more helpless. Her Glock was locked in the trunk of her car, and all the self-defense moves in the world were useless as long as he had that gun trained on Jada.
But it wasn’t Karah whose voice echoed from the living room. It was Coop, and her dread turned to ice. “I couldn’t sleep,” he said.
Hank grabbed Jada, jammed the gun against her temple, and jerked his head at Piper, gesturing her through the bedroom door ahead of him.
Coop froze as he saw them emerging. Piper first, then Jada and Hank. “Coop…” Jada sobbed, terrified.
“He’s looking for Karah.” Piper tried to take a step forward only to have Hank shift the gun from Jada’s head to her own.
“Stay right where you are or I’ll blow your head off!”
The gun barrel pressed into Piper’s skull. She tried to block out Jada’s sobs, fought a terror so stark it threatened to paralyze her. She glued her eyes to Coop’s.
Teamwork.
“Put that gun away.” Coop’s voice was low and ugly.
“You come here looking for your whore?” Hank sneered.
“He’s talking about Karah,” Piper said. “Not me.”
Coop didn’t ask any questions. He was a pressure player, and it was fourth-and-goal with seconds left on the clock. “Drop the gun,” he said, his lips barely moving.