Macey
I PACED THE floor of the bedroom, my anger and frustration intensified, probably due to my current hormonal situation. Regardless, I felt out of control again… like I had no say in which direction my life was taking.
“Honey?” Dallas called, knocking on the door.
“Go away, Dallas.”
“Can we talk?”
“No, because it doesn’t seem to get us anywhere.”
“Mace.” He pushed open the door.
“What, Dallas?” I snapped.
“Put the melodrama aside,” Dallas crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, “and let’s hash this out.”
“No.”
“Babe,” he admonished.
“I hate it when you do that!”
“Call you ‘babe’?”
“Talk to me like you need to calm a feral cat.” I caught his grin which he tried to cover unsuccessfully. “Fuck you, Dallas.”
“Fine!” he growled. “I’m trying to keep you safe, Macey, and you’re fucking throwing it in my face! Forget talking about it, then. Because this conversation is over.”
“Shocker… said me never, because it’s always all about you!” I slammed the door again and resumed my pacing. Right now, I wanted out. Out of the house, out of Newport, out of the vicinity of Dallas Stone. I grabbed my burner phone and shut myself in the bathroom, staring at it for several seconds before I dialed Payton’s number.
“Hello?”
“Hey, it’s me,” I whispered.
“Macey? Are you okay?” Payton asked.
“No.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Dallas is being a dick. Can you come get me?”
“I don’t even know where you are.”
“Newport.”
“Where are you calling me from?” Payton asked.
“Burner phone.”
“Oh my god, Mace. You’re calling me from the burner? Are you high?”
“Don’t you start, too,” I demanded. “I need you to back me up right now.”
“Mace, I’m on your side. Always. But you have a burner for a reason,” Payton said. “I’m hanging up now. We can talk when you get back into town.”
“Payton.”
But she was gone. I let out a frustrated growl, sat on the toilet lid, and dropped my face in my hands. I was suddenly feeling really claustrophobic.
Before I could dwell on my current situation, however, the bathroom door flew open.
“You called Payton?” Dallas ground out.
I scowled. “So what if I did.”
“Pack your bag.”
“What?”
“Pack your fucking bag, Macey.” He turned away from me. “We’re leaving.”
“Why?” I stood and followed him into the bedroom.
“Because Payton’s phone is tapped. Which is why I gave you a fucking burner.”
“What do you mean?”
Dallas faced me, his face tight with anger. “Payton’s phone is tapped, Macey. As is my parents’ and your grandparents’.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’m not a fucking idiot, Macey.”
“Outside of the fact you’re not a fucking idiot, Dallas,” I snapped. “How. Do. You. Know?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. “Hey, Brock. Yeah. No. Ten. Okay.” Dallas sighed. “Fine.” He hung up.
“What’s going on?”
“Pack your bag.” He grabbed his bag and shoved his clothes into it. It didn’t take long, and he left the room before I had even opened my suitcase.
I threw everything I’d brought with me into my luggage, closing and dragging the bags out to the front room. Dallas was walking through the house, securing doors and windows, and shutting off lights. He grabbed his keys and our bags and walked into the garage, tossing everything into the back before opening the passenger side door for me without comment.
I climbed in and buckled my seatbelt.
“Phone,” Dallas said.
“What?”
“Your burner.” He held his palm out. “Give it to me.”
I sighed and slid the phone from my purse, handing it to him. Dallas pulled the SIM card out and smashed it, then did the same with the phone.
“A little melodramatic, don’t you think?” I grumbled.
He frowned, but didn’t answer as he closed my door and made his way to the driver’s side. Climbing in, he opened the garage, started the car, and pulled out into the driveway. Closing the garage door again, he left the little house behind and drove a block down the street, flipping a U-turn, and parking with the house in sight.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Dallas still didn’t answer me, but he pulled his cell phone out and put it to his ear. “Yeah, we’re out.” He glanced at me. “No, we’re gonna wait here for a few. Yeah. Thanks, Brock. ’Bye.”
“Why are we going to wait here for a few?” I asked.
Dallas nodded toward the house.
I rolled my eyes. “So, you’re not going to talk to me at all?”
“Watch the house, Macey.”
I crossed my arms with a huff.
“Seriously, Dallas, why are we here?” I asked after we’d sat in the car for close to half an hour. “I have to pee.”
“Hold it.”
“Well, that’s helpful. Thank you.”
Dallas shook his head. “Watch the house.”
“Why? Why are we sitting here watching the house? We’ve been sitting here forever and nothing’s happening!”
He shook his head again and I seriously considered murder. Slow and tortuous, with no proof since there would be no body to discover, but murder all the same. Before I could share my thoughts, however, flickering lights drew my attention. I narrowed my eyes and leaned forward to see. “What’s that?”
Dallas pulled out his cell phone again. “Brock? They’re here.”
“Who’s here?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking.” Dallas nodded. “Yeah, Jax took care of it yesterday. Okay. We’re leaving in five. ’Bye.”
“What’s going on?” I asked.
Again, he didn’t answer as he backed the car up and around the corner, out of sight of the house. “Those lights, Macey? They’re in the form of flashlights held by men who found that house because you called Payton.”
“Really?”
He turned to me and his expression scared me. I’d never seen him like this. He’d been irritated or given me his ‘I’m being patient with you’ look, but what I saw right now was unadulterated rage. Albeit contained, but very much present as he took a deep breath.
“I’m going to say this one more time, Macey, and then this conversation is over. None of this is a fucking joke. Someone wants to hurt you. When you called Payton, you set in motion that,” he pointed toward the house, “and the reason we are sitting in this fucking car and not already on the road back to Portland is because I need you to see just how fucking serious this is. Someone is trying to shut you up and we don’t know why. So, until we know why, you don’t call anyone, you don’t see anyone, and you sure as hell don’t put yourself where you’re ‘getable.’ Got me?”
I stared at him. I didn’t really know what to say.
“Do you fucking get me?” he repeated.
I nodded. Dallas slipped the car into gear and drove it slowly away from the house, using side streets instead of the main drag, before finding an alternate on-ramp and heading back toward home.
“I really do have to pee, Dallas. I didn’t go before we left. Can we stop?”
He didn’t answer.
“I get that you’re pissed at me,” I continued. “But I doubt the FBI wants urine on their leather seats.”
Again, nothing. However, he did pull off the freeway and into a McDonald’s parking lot, exiting the car and opening my door. I climbed out and didn’t miss his hand on his holstered gun as I headed into the fast food bathroom.
After doing my thing, I washed my hands and stared at myself in the mirror. I realized now that I had set in motion things that, had I taken a few minutes to think at the beginning, wouldn’t have happened. This wasn’t like me. I’d known Brock and Dallas long enough to not act so impetuously and I couldn’t logically figure out why I’d called Payton. It was stupid.
A bang on the door made me jump, effectively pulling me from my internal perusal. I dried my hands and pulled open the door to find a frowning Dallas. He jutted his head toward the car and I led him outside where he opened the door for me. I climbed in, he followed, and we were back on the road again.
The hour-and-a-half drive into Portland was torture for me. Dallas said nothing. He’d never gone so long without talking to me. He didn’t even grunt. I turned on the radio, he turned it off, so we were stuck with seething silence until his phone buzzed through the speakers.
“You’re on speaker,” Dallas said in greeting.
“Hey, Macey,” Brock said.
“Hi,” I grumbled.
“Head to three,” Brock said.
“Seriously?” Dallas snapped.
“I’ll meet you there,” Brock said.
“Fuck.” Dallas hung up.
“What’s three?” I asked.
“Safehouse.”
“We’re not going home?”
He looked at me as though I’d grown three heads.
“What?” I snapped. “It’s a logical question.”
Dallas shook his head, again without answering my question, and continued over the bridge into Vancouver. He guided the car into Orchards and pulled up to a non-descript, run-down house off Eighty-Fourth.
Brock slipped out of the house and walked toward the car, opening my door. “Hey, Mace. Come with me. We’ll get your stuff later.”
I slid out of the car and just as I closed the door, Dallas pulled away from the curb and took off. “He’s leaving?”
“Yeah. Come inside.”
I nodded and followed him into the house. I was pleasantly surprised by the interior. It was clean with fresh paint, new carpet and an updated kitchen. Nothing fancy like granite or stainless-steel appliances, but still, nicer than the outside indicated.
“Mace?”
I turned to see Payton walking out from the mouth of the hallway.
“Hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
She grimaced, glanced at Brock, and then back at me. “Your phone call meant I’m here too.”
“Shit,” I whispered, and flopped onto the sofa, dropping my face into my hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’ll let you two talk,” Brock said.
“Brock? Where did Dallas go?” I asked.
Brock sat on the coffee table in front of me. “He needs to cool down, babe. Once he has, he’ll come back and bring your stuff with him.”
“He’s that mad?”
“Honey, he’s petrified,” Payton said, and sat beside me. “If he hadn’t got you out…”
“I get it,” I whispered.
“Do you?” Brock challenged.
“Don’t you start, too.”
He didn’t listen. “What the hell were you thinking calling Payton?”
“I needed to talk to my best friend, Brock! It’s what you do when you’re pissed at your boyfriend and need to verbally process.”
“Well, that conversation could have gotten both of you killed,” he said.
“Brock,” Payton warned.
“No, Payton. Macey, you need to hear this. What you did was stupid and selfish, not to mention, dangerous.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” he challenged.
I scowled at him. “Yes, Brock, I fucking know, okay? I’ve just spent two hours locked in a car with a man who won’t speak to me… at least with words. But his disgust is written all over his face. So, thanks for driving home what a fucking moron I am, but you didn’t need to, because I already know!” I burst into tears and dropped my face in my hands again.
“Okay, Brock, that’s enough,” Payton said, and wrapped an arm around me.
Brock rose to his feet and stared at us for a few seconds before heading out of the room.
“It’s okay, Mace,” Payton whispered.
“Dallas was so mad at me, Pay. He wouldn’t talk to me.”
“I know, honey. He’s just worried. You know what he’s like.”
“I thought he loved me.”
“Oh my God, Mace. He does. This is why he’s acting the way he is.”
I looked at Payton and wiped my tears away. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. Why are you even questioning it?” Payton asked. “He’s scared. The thought of anything happening to you is too much for him to process.”
“I guess.”
“You look exhausted. I’ll show you where you’re going to sleep, okay? Everything will look better in the morning.”
I nodded even though Payton’s sunshiny attitude grated on me. I followed Payton down the hall and into a small bedroom at the back of the house. There was a queen-sized bed and bureau inside, but not much else would fit.
“Bathroom’s down the hall and there are fresh toothbrushes in the top drawer.”
“Thanks, Pay.”
Payton hugged me. “Dallas will calm down and you two will work it out. You’ll see.”
Payton left me, and I took a few minutes to brush my teeth before removing my yoga pants and bra and climbing into the unfamiliar bed. At least it was comfortable. I stared at the window for what seemed like forever and then sleep finally took me.