Mine to Keep (NOLA Knights #3) - Rhenna Morgan Page 0,4

too easily, the grunts and scuffles she’d heard replayed in her head.

If you think Bonnie’s gonna have enough to bail you out with Pauley, you’re out of your mind.

No way.

Pauley and his goons weren’t the types to bust heads. More like B-grade loan sharks who annoyed you into paying outstanding debts.

Unless Pauley was out of options and was tired of her dad’s crap. Yeah, Kevin might be able to hold his own with someone out to rough him up, but Dad didn’t have a prayer of sticking up for himself.

One thing was for sure—someone was going to have to stick their neck out and figure out what to do next. Per usual, no one else was showing up for the job.

With a deep inhale and a slow exhalation, she eased her backpack out of the way and felt for the release latch in the dark. The cold metal was a welcome brush against her fingertips, but the tiny click that came as she slid it aside felt gunshot loud.

She paused and listened, the air from her father’s bedroom swooshing through the tiny crack she’d created and gently stirring whips of hair against her face and neck.

But other than that—nothing. No movement. No voices. Just an absolute void of activity.

She nudged the door just wide enough to slip free and ducked beneath her father’s clothes. One painstaking step after the other, she rounded the unmade bed to the open bedroom door. A peek down the hallway showed absolutely nothing but the tan shag carpet that should’ve been replaced five years ago and a beam of overcast light from the side window Kevin had uncovered.

Sticking close to the wall, she tiptoed forward, pausing at the two bedrooms along the way to glance inside. Her heart pounded and her lungs clamored for air as if she’d sprinted a mile. At the corner where the hallway opened up to the living room, she hesitated, closed her eyes and braced. Whatever was on the other side, she could handle. She’d had more than ample training dealing with crap like this her whole life. This was just another drop in the bucket.

She pressed one hand to the wall and leaned forward...

Nothing.

Not a single soul.

But the bills and junk mail that had littered the coffee table were all over the floor and her dad’s recliner was turned at an odd angle. The front door had been left open just a crack with only the screen door keeping the cool January air at bay.

So, what? They just left her here? Forgot she was hiding in the closet?

No, her family was crazy and unreliable as hell, but they weren’t so callous as to leave her behind. Not unless they were drunk, anyway. Which had been known to happen a time or two growing up when a special school event had clashed with a roaring party.

With a sharp huff, she slid her backpack off her shoulder, sat it in front of the end table and went to shut the front door. The last thing she needed was someone else unexpected showing up while she tried to figure out what the heck was going on.

She shoved the door flush with the jam—and froze.

Was that blood?

Reopening the door to let in the light, she shifted for a better look.

It was blood. A decent-sized streak of it that carried across the door jam and was roughly the same height as her dad. A quick check outside showed two fat drops on the stoop as well.

Her stomach lurched and a mangled cry lodged in her throat. She slammed the door shut once more, threw the bolt and scrambled well out of reach.

This was bad.

Very bad.

Wiping her hands on her hips, she paced to the open side window, scanned the street outside and pulled the blind back down.

Okay. She just needed to think things through. Figure out the right thing to do.

“The cops,” she said to the empty room. “Everyone calls the cops.” She hustled for her phone in her backpack, pulled it out and fired up the screen.

Um. Tiny problem, hot rod. This is your dad and Kevin we’re talking about. You call the cops and there’s no telling what trouble you’ll bring down on them.

She stared at the phone a beat longer, punched the button to put it back to sleep and dropped into the spot she’d cleared out for herself on the sofa. Even if she did risk it and call the cops, they’d probably rope her into the mess as well—guilty