Page 26 of Time Bomb
Parking behind her building, I’m surprised when I see a sign on the store saying it’s closed until further notice. That is not like her. And given the fact that she isn’t returning my calls or messages, I shoot right to her house.
Screeching to a halt in front, I notice all the curtains are closed, there don’t appear to be any lights on, and her mail hasn’t been checked.
A thread of worry slithers through my veins. She’s not ordinarily like this. Ophelia is obsessive about how she maintains her surroundings. Constantly checking the mail, loves her curtains open for direct and natural light.
I knock on her door, waiting a few minutes before I pound harder. If she’s sleeping, I’ll beg for forgiveness later. Right now, I need to know she’s okay. That she’s safe and maybe just not feeling well.
“Ophelia!” I call as I pound again. Nothing. Retrieving my phone, I try calling. It goes straight to voicemail which tells me she’s shut it off. Or it died.
“Come on, Philly. Open the door so I know you’re okay!” I try a number of times until my fist feels bruised.
We hadn’t exchanged keys or anything, so I’m limited to two choices: break in or beg Laken for the spare. Glancing behind me, I find the woman in question standing on her front porch with Jesse at her side.
Jogging over to them, I’m not looking for small talk, and she’s prepared. “I haven’t seen her since the day after dinner, Torque. That’s not like her. She’s locked up in there, and I don’t know why. She’s not even answering my calls or messages.”
There are tears in Laken’s eyes. Much as I want to comfort the woman I love like a sister, I can’t, not right now. “Call your dad, Jesse,” I tell the boy, and I know he will. No one in our family likes it when Laken’s upset. Her life was too shitty before for any of us to stand for it.
But right now, my focus needs to be on my own woman. Something happened, and it’s got her going sideways. If she thinks for a second that whatever has her so upset will stop me from barging through her door, she’s dead fucking wrong.
Ophelia Montgomery is mine, and there’s nothing that’s going to stop me from claiming my girl. I need her like I need air to breathe. She’s as essential to me as water is to keep the world going.
Knocking again, louder than the other times, I call out, “Ophelia, I’m coming in!” At least she’ll have a little bit of warning.
Unlocking the door, I shove it open and find a fucking disaster. Furniture is ripped apart, walls are shattered and a mess. Nothing is straight the way she likes it. It’s dark and dim. The total opposite of my sweet girl. She would hate this.
Which strikes fear through my heart. “Ophelia!” I scream as I rush to the second floor, needing to lay eyes on her. Upstairs is just as torn-up as down. I don’t know what the fuck is going on, but I’m not leaving until I do.
“Where the fuck are you?” Searching each room, I find her on the shower floor in her guest bathroom. Pillows and blankets surround her. Exhaustion and tearstains make her appear rumpled. Her arms and hands are cut to shit, and dust and plaster coat her hair.
“Philly,” I stroke her cheek gently, and she jolts awake. Her eyes are wild and filled with fear as they search for something.
Finally, they settle on me. But nothing changes except to add sadness to the maniacal look. “What are you doing here?” Her tone is curt. Not what I’m used to from her.
“Are you kidding me right now?” I’ve been worried fucking sick about the damn woman. “I was banging on your front door for thirty minutes before Laken had mercy on me and gave me a key.
“You should go,” she says, sitting up straighter before climbing out of the tub, ignoring the hand I offer to help her out. “I don’t want you here.”
That stings. “What the fuck is going on, Philly?” This bathroom is the only room in the house that hasn’t been demolished.
“I don’t want you here. Please leave.” Walking away from me, I’m momentarily stunned. She’s out of my sight for a minute, but my feet move when I hear another door slam shut and then the sounds of pounding. She’s tearing apart another area.
Following the sound, I find her in her room, in the closet. “You need to talk to me, Ophelia. I can’t help if I don’t understand what’s happening.” I attempt to keep my voice gentle, but I’m losing my fucking patience.
“I said leave!” she shouts at me, her chest heaving with the exertion of her fury.
Raising my hands, I take a step back, but I don’t back down. I never have, and I’m not about to start now. “You need to tell me what the fuck I did wrong before you throw me out of your life,” I hiss. Reining in my anger is more challenging than I thought. Must be the exhaustion I’m feeling from my long-as-fuck shift.
A fierce laugh erupts from her. But there’s no amusement in it. No, it’s filled with rage and agony. “What you did?” she repeats. Swinging the hammer above her head, she knocks out a portion of the wall. “Cameras.” She swings again, drywall flies around her. “Pictures.” And again.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” The only picture I took of her was her sweet cunt dripping with my cum, and I sure as hell didn’t share that with anyone.
Dropping the sledgehammer, sweat is already trickling down her neck, and I’m the sick fuck who wants to lick it, despite how mad she is. Her legs are as cut up as her arms, and when she lifts her shirt—my shirt—to wipe her face, I notice bruising along her hip.
“What happened?” I take a step closer, reaching out to touch her. I need to fucking feel her in my arms now, but she flinches away.
“You have cameras in your house. Cameras I didn’t know about.” Her jaw is clenched so tight I can almost hear her teeth grinding together.
“I do,” I admit. “For when I’m working. In case someone breaks in.” I’ve had them for years. My captain suggested it after he was robbed and his place got trashed. No one ever found the asshole. Seemed like good insurance. I don’t understand what her problem is or where this is coming from.