Their Kitten: Chapter 26

I can barely sit still as Tristan and I race to Cleo’s location. My mind is conjuring up every worst-case scenario that can possibly happen.

“Think it’s that ex-boyfriend she mentioned once?” Tristan asks, breaking the silence that fills the car.

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” I mumble. I remember Cleo telling us about him when we’d asked her why she had her original apartment in our mom’s name instead of hers. My worry increases when I remember Cleo telling me how he’d gotten violent with her when she rejected him, and it makes me wonder if the guy saw her with us and wanted to hurt her because of it.

“Can we drive any faster?” I ask.

“Getting stopped by the cops won’t help us get there any faster either,” he replies. “Just relax. We’re almost there.”

But I can’t relax. I won’t be able to until I know she’s okay. My mind is so conflicted right now. I don’t even know why I care to begin with. After our last conversation, I was ready to write her off and never talk to her again. But knowing she’s in danger only tells me that I care about her more than I’m ready to admit.

The GPS on the dash alerts us to an upcoming turn, and I see the house in the distance, my heart racing. As soon as I got the photo from Cleo, I knew something was wrong. The house didn’t look like any place she would go, and after everything that’s been going on between all of us lately, she wouldn’t have reached out unless she was in trouble. I’m still surprised that Tristan was the first to jump into action. I was prepared to argue with him about it or even to go alone due to him refusing to go, but the moment I showed him the text, he grabbed his keys, and we jumped in his car.

Since I have her phone number, it isn’t hard to get her location. Tristan and I arrive at the house in no time, my heart hammering in my chest. My gut tells me that whoever is responsible for this is probably who broke into her hotel room, meaning they’ve probably been stalking her long before we even realized it. I have no idea what kind of scene we’re going to walk into. My heart drops at the thought of her being hurt or worse—dead.

“We can’t go in there without some kind of weapon,” I say. “I’m sure he probably has something.”

Tristan reaches under his seat and retrieves a gun. “Duh. You think I’d come to a situation like this and not be prepared?”

“Never know with you,” I say.

We get out of the car and look around. The house is in the middle of nowhere, and it’s eerily quiet out here. It reminds me of the silence in horror movies right before something bad is going to happen. The good thing is that I don’t hear any screams or voices, so hopefully we aren’t too late.

“Ready?” Tristan murmurs to me. I give him a quick nod and follow him onto the porch. Tristan kicks the door in and immediately raises his gun, checking the first room before moving forward. I keep my eyes and ears peeled for Cleo, praying to hear sounds of life instead of preparing to find a body. Muffled screaming comes from the back of the house, and we follow the sound. We push the door open to find Cleo tied up on the bed in nothing but lingerie to cover her top. Her bottom half is bare, her legs spread, and there is a streak of blood around her pussy. That fucking bastard is going to die.

That alone is enough to make me want to kill, but it’s the fear in her eyes that breaks me, and it’s a look I know I don’t ever want to see on her again.

Her words are muffled behind the gag in her mouth as she starts to sob. I quickly move toward her, only for the bathroom door to open and a man walks out, pointing a gun at us.

“Back away from her,” the man says, his voice low and dark. He has an unhinged look in his eyes, one that tells me he’s not above shooting all of us if he has to.

“You can either let us take her or I can kill you where you stand,” Tristan says.

The guy laughs and shakes his head. “Well, isn’t that touching? Did you two come here to play hero for this whore?” He chuckles some more. “I have a better idea: how about none of us have her?”

“No!” I shout as he aims the gun toward Cleo. I charge toward him and knock his arm upward, sending the fired bullet into the ceiling. Another bullet rings out, but I don’t know if it’s from his gun or Tristan’s. “Tristan, take a shot at him!”

“I can’t! You’re still in the way!” I can hear the helplessness in his voice, and I continue to fight with this guy, trying to make sure that he and I wrestle to the ground as Tristan moves out of view to help Cleo, but I can’t focus on them.

“How pathetic,” the man growls. “You’re willing to die for this bitch?”

He gains an advantage over me for a split second, and that’s enough to allow him to fire again, shooting me this time.

“Fuck!” I shout. Pain radiates through my shoulder and moves down my arm as I continue fighting with him to take the gun.

“Talon!” Cleo screams. I grab a nearby steel-toed boot and hit him in the head with it, disorienting him enough to finally pry the gun from his grip. I quickly scoot back across the floor and fire the gun twice. The man stares at me with wide eyes before looking down at the two holes in his chest. Blood stains the plaid shirt he’s wearing before he slumps over to the side, his eyes open but lifeless. Adrenaline rushes through my body as I come to terms with the fact that I just killed a man.

“Where’d you get hit?” Tristan asks, appearing in my line of sight. He touches the spot just below my wound, and I groan in pain. “Shit, you’re losing a lot of blood. Don’t move.”

I try to focus on my breathing and not the stinging pain in my shoulder or the stench of blood in the air. The room starts to swim around me, and it feels like I’m losing more blood than I should be. I can hear Tristan urgently telling Cleo what to do after he finishes untying her, but the words don’t make sense in my head. I hear Cleo’s voice—either talking to Tristan or on the phone.

“Tristan,” I say, but I can barely hear myself. I watch as Tristan calls the police and helps Cleo off the bed. She quickly gets dressed in her own clothes and comes over to me, cradling my face in her hands.

“Help is on the way,” she says, tears in her eyes. “Thank you. For everything.”

I only nod. There’s so much I want to say, so much I want to tell her, but I can’t muster up the energy. I groan when Tristan applies pressure to my wound. “Just hold on, Talon,” he says.

And it’s the last thing I remember before I succumb to the fatigue weighing me down.