Path To Retaliation (Fighter's Den, #2)

Chapter 9 - Avery

*Trigger warning: this chapter contains minor content of domestic abuse. Please read with caution or skip over select scenes entirely.*

Two weeks later...

My phone rings yet again, this call making it the tenth one I've received today, and I continue to ignore it. I don't even spare the screen a glance as I look out the window of my bedroom, lost in thought.

To say today was a shitfest is the understatement of the century.

A tired sigh leaves my mouth when I recall the morning I had.

"Shit!"

My eyes bugged out at the numbers on my alarm clock. I looked at them in despair and without blinking, as if they might just change. No such luck. When I accepted that I slept in for an entire hour, leaving myself only twenty minutes to get ready, I tumbled out of bed and just about started bawling. I ran into the bathroom and quickly snagged my toothbrush, hurriedly squeezing some toothpaste onto it. I brushed my teeth in rapid succession as I sat down on the toilet and went about doing my business. I flushed, spit, and hopped in the shower to take the fastest shower of my life.

Once I was out, I braided my wet hair and squeezed into my work clothes of the day. At least I picked out my outfit the day before. I released my hair from its braid then quickly applied my makeup, keeping it as minimal as possible. I grabbed a coat and my purse from my closet, running into the kitchen to grab the house keys off the counter. Breakfast would have to wait today. I briefly caught the time on the living room clock and groaned. Work started in five minutes and it was a half hour drive away. I hopped into the first pair of boots I could find and locked up behind me.

With my luck of course, there was still no turn of events. Traffic was insane and my car hadn't moved once in the last ten minutes. I dropped my head on my steering wheel and screamed my frustration. I whipped my head back up when I felt a stare on me and sure enough, I looked to my left to find a middle-aged man leering at me. He licked his lips once we made eye contact and I didn't even bother hiding my disdain, flipping him the bird and crossing my eyes to make what I hoped was a bat-shit crazy face. It worked. He turned away, clearly muttering something under his breath.

"That's right, fucker." I mumbled back.

My Bluetooth rang out and I grimaced, knowing my boss was going to rip me a new one.

"Yes?" I answered as sweetly as possible. Buttering him up was the way to go, given our flirtatious past.

"Ree?"

I froze.

Feedback.

That was the only noise ringing in my ears as everything else around me, honking horns, skidding cars, shouts and cusses, faded to a dull murmur. Feedback and the sudden pounding of my heart.

The combination felt like somebody was drumming my brain.

I swallowed some spit down my suddenly parched throat. Even that took all my energy because it felt like there was a bulldozer lodged in there.

Ree. That fucking nickname.

It was a slap to the face and then some. Only one person called me that.

I sucked in a huge and painful breath after what seemed like hours without oxygen. A weight settled on my chest that made it hard to do anything but sit still in shock. A long silenced passed where I willed myself to exhale but kept failing.

C'mon babe, I urged myself, breathe.

"Ree? You there, girl?"

The air left me in a harsh whoosh as my brain continued to comprehend the caller's voice. A burning sensation immediately formed at the back of my throat, making it hard for me to speak every time I tried.