My heart sinks and even though I don’t feel empathy for her at all right now, I know firsthand how strong Warren’s effect can be. His power to bring out the best in people is special and I’d probably fight for that too if I lost it.
I damn sure wouldn’t hold anyone at fucking gunpoint, though. There’s got to be more at play here.
“Don’t look so scared and confused. It annoys me like you wouldn’t believe,” she says and rolls her eyes. “This will be over quickly and we can all go back to how things were beforeyoushowed up and ruined everything.”
There’s a crazed flare in her eye that makes me nod. I don’t dare flick my gaze toward the various cameras around the frontof the house. She may have already seen them and simply doesn’t give a shit that they’re there. Either that or she’s already attempted to disable them. Silently, I pray that isn’t the case.
My backside is sore and throbbing from my rough landing, and I shift my weight. That was a mistake.
“Stay. Right. There,” Emma spits. “Was anyone following you?”
“No,” I shake my head. “I came to pick up a few things and then go back to the ranch.”
In hindsight, that was a stupid thing to say because her face is instantly inflamed.
“You won’t be going anywhere. Where is your phone?”
I look to my right, realizing I had dropped it when I fell. Slowly, I point to where it lays face down on the cobblestone-style porch flooring.
She waves the gun in her hand toward the phone and then back to me.
“Pick it up.”
I tentatively crawl toward the phone, turning it over in my hand only to see that the screen is cracked. It’s not shattered, and it still lights up, so at least it isn’t completely damaged.
“Now unlock it and hand it to me,” Emma demands with her hand outstretched toward me, waiting for me to do as she says.
I look up at her realizing what she’s about to make me do. I’m desperate to change her mind but she’s clearly manic and determined. With a gun pointed in my face, I’m not sure I have any option other than to follow her directions.
The Face ID isn’t working, so I manually type in my passcode, revealing the home screen. My eyes slam shut as I hold it out in her direction, hoping whatever she plans to do with it has nothing to do with Warren.
Without lowering her hand with the gun in it, she yanks the phone out of my hand and begins furiously scrolling and tappingon the screen. She hisses as the broken glass cuts her finger. The recognizable sound of letters being typed in a text message chimes through the space.
The phone buzzes, but she stabs at the screen as if she’s declining a call.
Several more minutes pass by with her splitting her attention between keeping me on the ground and typing on my phone.
Finally, with a satisfied grin, she stuffs it in her back pocket and walks out of the doorway to stand behind me.
“Now get up and walk through the house. Slowly. Don’t even think about trying anything or I won’t hesitate to shoot.”
A part of me doubts that threat, because her voice subtly trembles.
Does she even know how to use that thing? I can’t comprehend the current situation, but I’m not sure it’s worth the risk of finding out whether or not she’d put a bullet in my foot for not listening. Or worse.
As I bend my knees and lean forward to stand, my eyes lift to the tiny camera in the top corner next to the doorframe. I’m not sure if it’s working, but in case it is, I plaster on the strongest expression that I can manage at the moment so that whoever might be watching knows that I’m okay. For now.
With light steps, I walk through the small cottage. Instinctively, I scan the space for something that I might be able to swipe and use as a weapon, but the barrel of a gun sticking in my back reminds me not to be reckless right now.
The back door slams closed behind us and we walk out into the yard. Barely visible behind the large oak tree and the greenhouse, I spot Emma’s silver Mercedes.
“Stand by the trunk,” she snarls.
I stop behind the car just as the trunk pops open. Emma pulls out a bag of zip ties with her free hand. For a moment she doesn’tmove or say anything, but she eventually places the gun down in the trunk while keeping her eyes trained on me.
“I’m going to restrain you now, but the gun isrighthere, so don’t move.”
I nod, but note the tremor in her hands and the redness that rims the edges of her eyes. Her hair is frazzled and damp and her movements are jerky.
