Ford
THERE'S SOMEONE HERE WITH US.
Back when I was younger, our house had these little noises—so generic for a house now that's long since settled—that constantly caught me unaware, jolting me. Sometimes my parents would be in the lounge downstairs and I swear I'd hear the floorboards on the landing outside my room creak. But there was never anyone there.
Even in the dead of night, there'd be the groaning of pipes, especially in the winter. Doors squeaking as they flirt with the hinges if there's a breeze traversing the house, only lightly billowing the doors. Curtains that tremble against an open window with that inherent scuffing sound. House noises that terrify you when you're young, but make you alert as you grow.
It's invited a shitload of training for me now, because I'm craning my ears to see if I can distinguish footsteps around us. But I never heard the door open, and if they never entered, that must mean they're round the back of the building at the generators, considering they've cut the electricity.
Right now, I hear absolutely nothing.
Genevieve's hand is small in mine, but I can barely focus on that. My eyes whip around the training gym, and aside from the occasional streaks of light outside breaking through, it's virtually all plunged into darkness. There's no proper street lighting outside the training gym because it's situated at quite an off-piste location.
"I think they're outside," I mutter.
"You think it's Carson?" Genevieve's voice matches mine in pitch, but the fear is palpable in her tone.
"Yes. If I tell you to stay here, are you going to listen to me?"
"Probably not."
I nod. I should have predicted that. "Noted."
Just as I'm about to guide her to one of the doors at the back of the building near the bathroom and shower area, there's a thunderous bang against one of the windows near us. Genevieve jumps out of her skin, but my fingers clamp around hers. While my heart skips a beat, my exterior is calm and composed, immobile in wake of the torment.
There's no one at the window, but there's a slight smudge to the glass upon the impact of hitting it. Then I strike into action, scooping up the spare keys to the building—curtsey of Renner—and locking the front door, effectively trapping us inside. Genevieve's silence persists as I navigate her to the backrooms. The backdoor is still locked, but I unlock it as quietly as possible with one hand. The fucker could still be outside for all we know, pugnacious on the other side of the door.
Shoving the key into my pocket, I carefully open the door. The chill that sweeps into the room is shiver-inducing, but I push back the urges and step out. Eyes canvassing the back parking lot, I'm somewhat taken aback by the Ford Expedition that's parked to my right, prepared for a quick getaway. From first glance, there doesn't seem to be anyone inside.
The tension trickles through my veins, stiffening my gait. It's a shitload less quiet outside and it's thwarting being able to ensure the vicinity is safe.
Striding out of the training gym, I hate how there's a sharp corner a mere six feet away to my left that someone could be concealed behind. But someone could easily just be hidden behind the Ford Expedition too, and while I can't get a good view at the license plate, it's undoubtedly Carson's. So why the fuck is he taunting us like this?
How did he know we were here?
"I'd feel a whole lot better if you stayed inside, princess. The front door's locked," I mutter.
