Lyric
Once the meeting with the Russians was over, Reaper announced we were allowed to leave the compound if we wanted. Highway left not long after the Russians, so I decided to go home and collect a few more things.
The door to my home swings open with a groan, the familiar creak giving me a false sense of security. Which soon gives way to apprehension.
Everything iswrong.
“Son of a bitch,” I mutter, stepping inside.
The place is trashed. Cushions are slashed, drawers are emptied, and pictures are smashed on the floor. Memories are spilled out all over the carpet This was my sanctuary, and now it’s a war zone.
“Dammit.” My voice echoes through the wreckage. “Is anyone here? I’ve called the police.” No answer. Just the sound of my shoes crunching over shattered glass.
I move deeper, every room telling the same violent story. Whoever did this was looking for something or sending a message.
Who would do this?
Diablos? Russians? Revenge or a warning?
But who? Why now? The questions claw at my mind as I sift through the debris.
My cell phone rings, and I jump at the noise. Clutching my chest, I pull it out of my back pocket.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?” Highway asks.
“I went home to get a few things.” My voice is a little too high.
“What’s wrong?”
“Someone broke in, and they’ve smashed everything.”
“Stay there, lock the doors. I’ll come as soon as I can. I’m not far away.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’m not scared.”
“You should be,” he says, half-joking. But we both know it’s true. “Lock yourself in the bathroom until I get there. Do not open the door for anyone but me. Understood?”
“Will do.”
I end the call and walk to my bedroom, feeling a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. The sight that greets me is one of utter chaos. The mattress has been violently slashed, its stuffing spilling out like entrails. My personal belongings are scattered haphazardly across the floor, creating a landscape of disarray and violation.
I crouch down and reach under the bed, feeling for the familiar coolness of the metal suitcase I keep there. My fingers close around it, and I pull it out. Quickly, I start gathering a few clothes and personal items, shoving them into the suitcase with hurried, jerky movements.
Suddenly, the sound of something crashing to the floor in another room pierces the silence, sending a jolt of fear through me. With my heart pounding, I abandon the suitcase and dash into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. I lock it with trembling hands and press my back against it, breathing heavily as I try to calm my racing thoughts.
My heart hammers against my chest like it’s trying to break free. Every creak and whisper of movement beyond the bathroom door sends a fresh wave of ice coursing through my veins. I’m crouched behind the shower curtain, barely breathing, my eyes fixed on the sliver of light under the door. It feels like I’ve been in here for hours.
“Lyric!” His voice, rough and urgent, cuts through thesuffocating silence.
Highway.
“Here! I’m in here!” My voice is a strangled whisper, muscles tensed for flight.
The door bursts open, and there he stands, his presence filling the space with raw power and an undercurrent of danger.
“Jesus, Lyric.” Relief colors his tone as he strides in. His eyes scan me from head to toe, assessing, always protecting. “You okay?”
