Bleeding Edge: Elliot Security (Elliot Security Series Book 2) Evie Mitchell (romantic novels in english .txt) 📖

the subject, desperate to distract him from the real issue. “What’s wrong with the way I live?”

“Keys.” He looked at me. It’s The Look. The one which said, Seriously? I gotta point this out to you? My fear ticked over into anger as I jerked towards him, a finger in his face.

“I’m serious. What’s wrong with the way I live? I like my apartment, I like my car, I even like my motherfucking clothes you piece of–”

He cut me off. “Exactly. You like. You don’t love.” He leaned forward, cupping one hand around my ankle. “That’s your problem, Emmie, everything you have is disposable. How old is this couch? I know what you earn, you should be living large, being happy. Instead you work, you crash here, you sometimes go out, and this…” He retrieved another file from his bag.

“What’s this?” I took it resting it on my lap.

“You tell me. The mailroom picked it up.” His eyes were hard.

I opened the folder, slowly flicking through. Bile burned the back of my throat.

Photos and notes. All of me.

The photos showed me laughing, talking, eating, driving. Behind the pictures were notes. Scarily detailed notes. Scarily graphic notes. Scrawled in the big, bold handwriting I sometimes wondered if I’d ever forget.

My throat and chest constricted. I began hyperventilating.

Run.

“When did these start?” I whispered, my body shaking.

“Emmie–”

Run.

I threw the papers down, scattering them across the floor, shattering the peace and safety of my apartment. I reached over to grab Luc’s shirt, hands fisting the material.

“WHEN DID THESE START?”

“Fuck. Emmie–”

“WHEN!”

His hands wrapped around my wrists, trying to hold me still. “Calm down–”

“WHEN!?” I pushed my fists against his chest, attempting to force him to speak.

Run.

“About a week ago.”

RUN!

“You know everything is screened.” His eyes swept my face as he attempted to read my emotions. “We thought maybe a stalker, but I’m guessing you know who this–”

Overwhelming nausea had me surging to my feet, stumbling for the bathroom. I vomited, violent retching followed. A warm hand brushed my hair back as tears streamed down my face.

“Emmie…”

I closed my eyes and slumped back, immediately pulling myself away from his touch.

He crouched beside me.

“Tell me.”

I shook my head, curling into myself. “I have to leave.”

“Why?”

“He’ll find me.”

“Who?”

“My husband.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Emmie

The Past

I slowly slid from beneath the covers of the bed, painfully careful not to disturb the sleeping occupant.

I turned, tripping on the ripped wedding dress bundled on the floor. I landed on my hands with a soft thump. My head twisted frantically back towards the bed, my heart pounded loudly in my ears as I bit my tongue. He grunted then, rolled over, away from me, still asleep.

Thank God.

My cheek ached. My shoulder throbbed. The area between my thighs felt raw, aching painfully every time I moved. My hand hit something wet. My underwear. He’d shoved it in my mouth to muffle my screams.

I snatched them in a fist, gingerly pushing up from the rough carpet. Silently, painfully, I slipped from the room.

It was after 2:00 a.m.; everyone in the house was tucked away, sleeping peacefully.

I moved to the third bedroom, leaving the door partially open. Nothing had been unpacked. The sum total of my possessions was a small duffel bag of clothes. I pulled on a shirt and jeans, covering the bruises that dotted my skin, wishing I could so easily hide the memories of the last few hours, wishing I had time to wash away the sweat and blood. Quietly, I cracked open the old window, inching it up slowly to avoid the frame scraping. I dropped the bags outside, climbing down behind them. I clutched the duffle handles tightly in my hand. Keeping low, I ran through the silent commune, heading towards the entrance of the property. I’d stashed a bicycle down the end of the property’s long driveway. It would be a twenty-kilometre ride to town, but I was confident I could make it before anyone awoke.

You don’t have any other options.

I’d fleeced the old rusted bike from town. It had panniers on either side of the seat and a lopsided basket at the front. I dropped the bag, falling to my knees to dig under the bikes’ front tire. A few inches down I hit the plastic zip-lock bag. A thousand dollars in crisp, rolled notes and a fake license were stored safely inside. It was enough to buy the shitty car I’d lined up and fuel it to Perth.

I hope.

I’d emptied my clothes into the panniers when the snap of a stick caught my attention, freezing me in place.

“What are you doing?”

I whirled, picking out the familiar shape of my brother against the dark brush.

“Abel?” Dread settled in my stomach, my shoulder drooped as he stepped closer.

Caught.

“Why are you here, sis? Did he bring you here?” His gaze dropped to my bag. “You’re running.”

A denial burned the tip of my tongue. Despair crept in, the bike was right here, the cash clutched in my hand.

“Yes.” I closed my eyes, the tears burning.

So close…

“Good.”

My head jerked up at his vicious whisper. “Good?”

“He’s a rapist. A goddamned rapist. I’m gonna kill him.”

“Abel, you–”

“Hush. You need to go.” He lent over, helping me pack the remaining items in the pannier. “Don’t come back. You run, you hide. They’ll try to find you. Don’t use your real name. You got that sorted?”

I nodded.

“Good. They’ll be looking. More so after tonight. All of them will. Don’t get comfortable, don’t trust anyone.” His eyes bore into mine. “I’ll try and find you.”

“Come with me.”

“I can’t.” He shook his head. “I need to protect the others.”

“They’re not like us, Abel.” I spoke truth. Our siblings saw no issue with the way we lived.

“I know. But I have to try.”

A sob broke free. Abel hesitated, his hand coming out, hovering for a moment before he snatched at my arm, crushing me to his chest. He smelt of soap, sweat, and grease. His proximity, his smell, his feel drove home my decision. I was leaving my only family, my