Page 25 of Deadly Blooms (Psychic Unraveled #1)

CUSTER’S LAST STAND

Graham

Rain tapped steadily against the windshield, softer now that the storm had worn itself out.

It would soak right through you if you’d let it—cold, clingy, and unforgiving.

The wipers ticked rhythmically, dragging back and forth like a metronome for my patience.

I adjusted the rearview mirror and scanned the porch again.

Maggie hadn’t texted in over an hour and a half. The lights were still on in the house, and so far, so good. No screaming. No smoke.

I shifted in my seat, the leather creaking beneath me.

The inside of the SUV was warm but stale.

It smelled like leather, cheap air freshener, and a hint of wet dog—probably me.

I rolled my shoulders. Sitting this long always made my hip ache.

But I wasn’t leaving her alone. Not until I knew what the hell was going on in that house.

Headlights flared into the driveway. I sat up straighter. One car. Sedan. It drove slowly, too slow. The tires crunched over the wet gravel as it crept closer.

My hand drifted to my holster. If anything happened to her while I was out playing sentry, I’d never fucking forgive myself.

The car slowed to a stop, the door opened. A man stepped out, tall, almost as big as me, late twenties, maybe early thirties. Hoodie, jeans, work-boots. Walked with too much confidence.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door. “Identify yourself.”

I flipped the safety off with a quiet click and kept my hand near the grip.

He took his time but finally froze halfway to the gate, keeping his hands in his pockets too long before raising them above his head. My gut didn’t like him. But my gut had been wrong before.

“Hi Officer Locke, I’m Chad McNeil,” he said, his voice a little too confident for someone showing up to a séance. “Maggie’s expecting me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Anyone else with you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Laila’s working late, but she’ll be here soon.”

I didn’t move and let the silence hang. He had the right names, and technically Derek could have texted them to let me know I was here.

“Go ahead,” I said finally, and stepped back toward the SUV. “I’ll let her know you’re here.”

I turned, opened the car door and leaned in to grab my phone?—

And didn’t see the asshole move.

Pain cracked across the back of my skull, white-hot and sudden. Metal met bone. My vision sparked, legs buckled, and everything went sideways.

“Motherfu—”

My gun raised halfway, but I was too slow.

Maggie’s face flashed behind my eyes. One second. Just long enough to feel like I failed her.

Then—blackness.

Maggie

A knock rattled the front door, like a gunshot in the quiet. I jumped, heart slamming against my ribs as a fresh wave of dread crept up my spine.

Katie froze beside me, her hand hovering mid-air before she moved toward the door. “It’s probably just Laila and her boyfriend,” she said.

She slid the curtain back just a sliver. A tall figure stood there, broad shoulder hunched under a soaked hoodie, work boots planted squarely on the welcome mat.

“Does that look like Laila’s boyfriend to you?” I whispered, edging closer.

Katie’s lips pressed into a line. She didn’t answer.

The figure knocked again, two sharp raps, then silence.

Chester hissed, then darted from the armrest where he’d been grooming, tail puffed, eyes fixed on the door. His low growl buzzed against the floorboards, and my gut twisted. That sound wasn’t just fear—it was a warning.

Katie squared her shoulders and opened the door just a crack. “Can I help you?”

His eyes flicked past her and through the crack in the door to me, where they stayed. “Is Maggie Maxwell here?” he asked, his hood casting shadows across his face.

Something about him felt off. This guy didn’t look like he was one for having sex in strange places with his girlfriend, but I could have been wrong.

Behind me, the hallway light flickered once.

Katie didn’t move.

A gust of air blew past my ankles, cold and wet, like the slinking fog had seeped under the door.

Derek stepped out from the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed. “Everything okay?”

The guy tilted his head. “I’m Chad. Laila’s boyfriend. Graham said I could come in.”

That stopped me cold. Graham?

Katie looked back at me, doubt scribbled across her face. She opened the door an inch wider. “Where’s Laila?”

“She’s coming. Had to work late,” he said, like it was nothing. But his voice lacked warmth. No apology. No smile. No shift in his weight like normal people do when they’re explaining something.

I stepped forward. “Did Graham text you? Or call?”

The guy’s eyes locked on me again—too still and focused. “No, we talked in person.”

A chill climbed my spine.

Chester yowled—loud, sharp—and bolted upstairs, claws skittering against the hardwood.

That’s when I knew.

I texted Graham.

Hey, is this guy cool?

Then I called.

Nothing.

He wasn’t supposed to be here.

He didn’t belong.

And Graham… wasn’t answering because he couldn’t.

Derek’s stared at the man until his voice cut through the quiet. “That’s not Chad.”

I turned to him. He wasn’t guessing. His stance had shifted. Relaxed confidence now replaced with defense and tension building just below his skin.

Chester’s yowl still echoed in the back of my mind.

That wasn’t nothing.

The man at the door didn’t move. But his jaw ticked.

Katie blinked. “What?”

“I met Chad,” Derek whispered. “Twice. He’s got a different build. Different eyes.”

The guy gave a slow shrug, calm smile still plastered across his face. “Maybe I’ve got one of those forgettable faces.”

Derek didn’t blink. “I don’t forget faces.”

Silence settled, sharp and heavy.

Katie moved to shut the door?—

The man didn’t wait. He surged forward, slammed Katie aside without hesitation. Like she wasn’t even there.

Derek moved fast—faster than I thought he could. But not fast enough.

The guy caught him mid-stride, lifted him by the neck, and drove him into the wall with a sickening crack.

Derek collapsed in a heap.

He yanked Katie up like she weighed nothing, one arm locked across her chest. With the other, he pulled a damp cloth from his pocket. The second it covered her mouth, her legs buckled.

“I’m right fucking here!” I shouted, voice cracking under the panic. “Let her go!”

“Good,” he muttered.

Katie went limp. He dropped her at the doorway like trash.

“Katie,” I gasped, stumbling forward. My pulse roared in my ears. She didn’t move. Not a twitch. Fuck.

He turned on me, arms outstretched, slow and certain like I was already his.

I darted low, heart pounding, feet slipping on the hardwood as I dove through the front door.

The rain hit me like a wall—cold, relentless, soaking through my clothes in seconds. My bare feet slapped against the porch steps, then the gravel, sharp stones digging in with every step.

The SUV was just ahead.

The driver’s door hung open.

No.

No, no, no.

I couldn’t breathe as I ran to it, legs burning, heart pumping.

Graham lay crumpled beside the open door. His body half-twisted in the driveway, one arm under him, the other outstretched toward the door frame. A dark smear streaked down the side of his temple, mixing with the rain.

“Graham!” I dropped to my knees, grabbing his jacket and shaking him. “No, no—please—Graham!”

He didn’t respond.

I stared at the blood. At his gun lying near his hand.

The man’s boots squelched in the mud, each step dragging closer to the cruiser—closer to me. Icy dread crept up my spine, its claws digging in, leaving deep wounds. My heart pounded so hard I swore it was trying to claw its way out.

Adrenaline surged. My fingers found Graham’s gun—too heavy, too big for hands like mine. But I picked it up. I turned, and aimed it at the bastard, anyway. Hands shaking. Breath gone. Fuck him.

His eyes darted to the gun, then he laughed. A sick, low sound. His grin warped into something cruel as he kept coming.

Every step he took sent another shock through my chest. I couldn’t think. Only react.

It was so heavy. My hands weren’t strong enough to handle this gun. I had to stretch my finger all the way just to reach the trigger, the damn thing trembling like it wanted to run without me. But I held on. Because fear didn’t matter anymore. Survival did.

“Stay back!” My voice cracked. “I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Go ahead. With that grip, you’ll miss me by a mile.” He sneered.

I tuned him out. Took a breath, and pulled the trigger.

The blast cracked through the night. The gun bucked. My eyes slammed shut.

He laughed again, louder this time. “Told you, not even close.”

My hands trembled, but I kept the gun raised. “What the hell do you want?”

“You don’t belong here.” His hand dipped into his coat, pulling out a silver revolver, and cocked the hammer. “It’s my job to make sure you never find?—”

BANG!

A shot louder than mine. The man’s body jerked.

The bastard stumbled, clutching his chest. But he didn’t drop. He raised his gun, eyes burning with rage.

I froze, the gun heavy in my hands, my wrists aching and on fire from that first shot.

Tears blurred my vision—then a second shot cracked the air behind me, the concussion hitting my side.

Graham—on his knees, barely upright—had the shotgun braced to his shoulder. Smoke curled from the barrel. The man crumpled to the ground, half his face unrecognizable, blood pooling fast.

I dropped down beside Graham, pressing his pistol into his hand. Blood smeared my fingers as he set it down.

My heartbeat thudded in my ears. It was welcome. It meant I was still alive. The ringing on the other hand, that meant someone wasn’t.

“You’re a shit shot,” Graham said, wincing in pain.

I ignored his remark.

“What happened?” I asked, nodding to the gash in his forehead. My stomach turned.

He wiped the blood streaking his temple.

“Didn’t even feel that one,” he muttered.

“Guy showed up and said he was here for you. I told him to go on in—next thing I know, I’m waking up and you’ve got my SIG.

He peeled back his coat, hissing. A knife stuck out from under his vest. “Left me a parting gift.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “Let me call someone?—”

“No,” he rasped. “I got it. Just—get the mic.” He laid back down, clutching at his side.

I shakily reached into the car and handed him the mic.

“Judy, it’s Locke,” he said through gritted teeth. “Send a bus to 121 Primrose. I’ve been stabbed. Suspect’s down. Dead.”

Graham’s eyes began to droop, his skin gone pale. I panicked. “Katie and Derek are hurt too!”

His gaze flicked back to me, just barely, and he rasped into the radio, “Two vics in the house. Request M.E.”

With a weak toss, he flung the receiver back into the SUV. It bounced once, then hung there dangling from its coiled cord.

“Shit, that’s a lot of blood…” My voice cracked as I whispered to no one.

I stayed with him—soaked to the bone, heart hammering—until the first ambulance arrived.

Time stretched, minutes felt like hours in the rain.

Graham drifted in and out, and I didn’t dare take my eyes off the body.

Not because I thought the bastard might get up—but because I couldn’t believe it was finally over.

I saw death tonight.

I saw it wearing Graham’s face—slack-jawed, bleeding, eyes rolling back as the rain pooled around him.

And the worst part wasn’t the blood or the screaming, or even the gunshots.

The worst part was knowing I almost didn’t get the chance to figure out what this thing between us could’ve been.

Whatever it was.

Whatever it might’ve turned into.

I didn’t even know if he liked me.

But it would’ve really sucked if he died before I got a chance to find out.