Tagged & Ashed(78)

He grips me by the hair when his rushed pace forces me to stumble, and I let out a painful yelp when he jerks me too hard. He shows no mercy, no remorse, as he continues to painfully drag me down to the water.

The silhouette of a woman comes into view just as he throws me down, making my knees burn and grind against the harsh grit of the unforgiving sand.

I stare at her - her dress whipping in the wind as she carries a bundle in her arms.

Trip.

He’s too quiet, too wrapped. I get sick, worried, and dizzy as she nears. He doesn’t like strangers, but he’s not crying.

Then her face comes into view, and I turn pale as I stare up at her once she’s just a few feet away from me.

“It’s you,” I gasp in horror just before my breath intake grows panicked and shallow, forcing me to black out.



***

Tag





My arm stretches out to pull Ash to me, but her side of the bed is empty. I rise up, wiping my sleepy eyes, to see the pitch black night still in play.

“Ash?” I murmur a little loud, but she doesn’t answer.

I climb out of bed and check the bathroom to find it as dark and empty as her place on the bed.

She must not be able to sleep.

I head toward the kitchen, wondering if she got hungry, and I hear light chuckling coming from the closed doors of the den. I head in, expecting to find Ash, but run across Bity and Shannon instead.

“Hey. Couldn’t sleep?” Bity asks as Shannon slips out of his lap and onto the couch beside him.

“No, um, have you seen Ash?”

“Not since you guys went to bed. Why?”

“She’s not in our room. Why are you guys in here?”

“Trip woke up, very unhappy with a terrible diaper, and we couldn’t go back to sleep. We decided to come down here and talk instead of waking up everyone else.”

“Where’s Trip?” I ask, feeling a pang of worry.

Bity picks up the monitor and waves it lightly.

“He’s still in bed. We’ve been checking in on him, and we brought this down here.”

I sigh, feeling relief, and then I walk over to the window.

“I’m going to go find Ash. You don’t think she went outside, do you?”

“No. The alarm would have sounded, or at least beeped when she disarmed it,” Bity says with a shrug.

A car pulls in and shuts its lights off before the glow can hit the house. I realize it’s Russell when he gets out, and I tilt my head curiously. Where has he been? He’s not supposed to leave while on duty.

I’ll definitely talk to Troy about that. I start to walk out the door, then remember the alarm. When I reach the pad, however, I realize it’s not armed, and it hasn’t been… all night.

“Shit.”

“What?” Bity worries.

My eyes fall on Russell, ready to blast him as soon as he reaches the house. He left it unarmed so he could sneak back in and pretend like he was doing his job instead of running off in the night for whatever in the hell he’s up to.

I walk out, and my heart jumps in my throat when I see Troy’s body collapsed in the bushes beside me. He’s still, two bullets in his head, and I feel the chunks rising to my throat when I see two more men’s feet sticking out from under the bushes.

I rush back in and slam the door shut while pressing the arm button on the pad.

“Call the cops, now!” I demand while rushing around the house.

“What’s going on?” Bity panics.

“Call the fucking cops!”

I hear Shannon’s distant voice doing as I’ve commanded as I scream out, “Ash!”

No one answers me back, and I get sick when I reach Bity and Shannon’s room. My son. Oh please let him be here.

“The cops are on their way,” Shannon murmurs while my hand hesitates over the doorknob.

“What’s wrong?” Bity urges.

I finally burst through, and I rush over to the crib. Tingles of anxiety spread and attack me fully.

Quickly I rush out, and I grab up my phone to call the detective.

“What’s wrong?” he asks in a tired voice as I head back to the crib, my whole body shaking.

"That bitch isn't dead."



***

Ashiara



“I was wondering if you were ever going to wake back up,” she grumbles as she steps toward me, still holding my baby in her arms.

She’s holding him too tight. He should be crying right now from her grip. He hates to be held tight.

Oh, God, please let him be alive.

“You’re such a little bitch,” she snorts, brushing her pale blond hair from her brow.

“Why are you doing this?” I cry out.

“Really?” she scoffs. “You know the answer to that question. Dyllan was my life, you conniving little whore.”

I swallow hard as I stare at the pale woman who barely resembles the shattered woman I saw at the bar that night—the night I realized the man who took my virginity was married.