Page 17 of Havoc

“She fucking better.” I grit my teeth and peel forward on my bike.

Aimee needs to survive. I refuse to accept any other outcome. And when she does, she’s going to tell me whythe Iron Sinners are going through so much damn trouble to get her.

Even if it’s trouble I understand.

6

Aimee

For a minute, I’mfrozen. My back stiffens, and I’m dragged back to that night fourteen years ago.

Shattered glass.

Blood.

An alarm ringing.

Wrapping my arms around my stomach, I can still feel hands grabbing me. Dragging me away. There was no one to stop it then, and there is no one now.

It takes me a moment to snap out of it and find my feet. To remember I’m not helpless anymore.

I hurry to the nightstand and slide the drawer open, grabbing for the gun Levi left sitting on the counter when he headed out the other day.

When I came downstairs and saw it sitting there, I was annoyed that he thought I might need it. What’s the point of a safe house if the Twisted Kings can’t keep people safe? But then again, what was the point of the largegates and security that surrounded my father’s wealthy neighborhood if they couldn’t protect me either?

I grip the gun and quickly shove open my bedroom window, hoping they’ll think I slipped out. It’s unlikely, as it’s a two-story drop, but anything to confuse them or slow them down will help.

With the window propped open, I slip into the closet and carefully brush the clothes aside so I can squeeze behind them without shifting how they hang evenly spaced on the rod. I wedge my body behind the sheet of drywall I carried in here when I first arrived at the safe house, hoping the darkness masks the small gap on either side.

Once I’m seated, I pull the drywall parallel to the back wall.

If anyone pushes from the other side, it will collapse, but so long as they just swing the closet door open to look inside, they’ll see an empty space and move on.

Voices start to echo through the house. Boots thunder up the stairs. Doors are swung open one by one until they reach mine. But when they try the handle, it doesn’t turn like the others, and the men on the other side begin shouting.

I left my phone on the nightstand, so I don’t have any sense of time as I stay crouched.

The men work on breaking the lock first. It takes at least a few minutes for the handle to release. Then they pile against the door to shove with enough force to finally push the dresser aside.

“Search the bathroom. Under the bed. Every inch. She’s got to be here.”

They move through my room, and I hold my breath when the closet door swings open. It doesn’t close right away, and my heart races, wondering if my faux wall is obvious.

But then the door closes, and I let out a sigh.

“Maybe she went out the window.”

“It’s two stories up.”

“It’s Aimee. I wouldn’t put it past her. One of you sweep the neighborhood. We need to be quick about it.”

I recognize a couple of voices but can’t put faces to them. They’re definitely Titan’s men.

Footsteps drown out with the distance as they walk back downstairs, but I don’t move from where I’m sitting. Even as my legs start to cramp, I close my eyes and count the seconds. I listen to every whisper in the night—the sounds of the house I’ve memorized these past few weeks—until the familiar creaks and groans are all I hear.

Only once silence has long settled do I slowly push the drywall aside and stand. My arms and legs ache as I stretch my limbs.

When I step out of the closet, I find the bedroom empty and my dresser toppled to the side. Clothes spill out onto the floor, but none of them are mine. The entire room is filled with items that are left here for whoever might need them. Shirts, pants, and pajamas of all sizes.