FIRE & BLOOD • EVAN 'BUCK' BUCKLEY / 9-1-1

70.

{Hey guys! just wanted to let you know there are chapters from my other story Forbidden that contain chapters that align with this current story line. If you would like to read them and get a peek from Ayla's perspective, it will from chapters 'We're going to L.A' to 'The Pier.' The next chapter for both stories will be the last one for this small crossover <3)

STELLA

Dinner seems to last an eternity as I try and fail horribly to tuck away my new reality away into a small box in the back of my mind as my parents hound me with questions about my life in California. I didn't even have an appetite to eat my favorite dish. My mother knows I like the top layer of cheese a little more on the cooked side but for some reason it was hard to get any bite of the lasagna to go down. Because I am pregnant. There is life growing inside of me and I have not only put my own life at risk by coming to Florida but my unborn childs life as well. I manage all the bites that I could before telling my parents I'm beyond exhausted from the long drive and my body is demanding I go to bed early. Thankfully, they don't put up much of a fight for me to stay and watch a movie with them after dinner.

Nausea rolls through my body as I throw the comforter of my bed over me, a whirlwind of emotions threatening to climb up my throat and come out as vomit. I couldn't focus on just one single feeling. I was anxious, scared, nervous, angry, confused. Mostly scared. Would it be too late to hop in my car and drive back home to my safe place that is Evan and let the detectives handle this? Was I way over my head thinking I can do this on my own? What if Dylan knows I am here? There isn't any solid proof that Dylan is behind every single horrible thing that has gone wrong in my life since I moved to California but there is a horrible inkling sensation in the pit of my stomach that tells me it is him. The answer I can't seem to figure out is why? Why go through all this trouble to make my life hell? Why hasn't he come directly at me? People are dead and more could possibly join that list. My heart squeezes at the thought of it. Of Evan being on that list. Gigi. Maze. Amanda. My parents. Victor. All of them. Dylan will use them all against me to get whatever it is he wants. I just have to figure out what it is that he wants before he hurts anyone else that I love and care about.

The sound of a vibration pulls me out of my thoughts. My phone vibrates again from my nighstand. I heave out a sigh as I reach for it, expecting another hundred calls and texts from Evan. I feel horrible for not answering him and everyone else that has tried to contact me but it's for the best. At least I like to believe it is. I jerk upright on my right elbow when a photo from an unknown number flashes on my screen. My heart drops to my stomach as I stare at the photo of Gigi bound to a bed in what looks to be a dingy motel room, a gag in her mouth, her feet were bound too. Her head was hanging off to the side as if she could barely hold it upright. She's unconscious in the photo. No. I read the text underneath the photo.

We will meet tomorrow at the pier. Midnight. If you don't show, Gigi won't live to see the following day. Oh, and do send a hello to your parents for me. How I miss your mothers lasagna.

I jump out of bed and rush out down towards the stairs. I skip every other step and push my arms out towards the wall, stopping myself from slamming into the front door as I struggle to get it unlocked. The noise from the living room pauses, followed by rushed footsteps. "Stella, what are you doing?" I ignore my mother's question as I swing the door open and step out onto the porch, the air caressing my skin indicating a cold front is coming. My eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness as they scan the front yard. The street is completely quiet and empty, no sight of any cars. I stride over to the right side of the porch, peeking over towards the back. I narrow my eyes as I scan the bushes that line the side of the house. No movement. There is a huge oak tree in our backyard, a few feet away from the shed. The shed. Grant has made it his little mancave since Mom wouldn't let him turn the garage into his den of messy projects. Seems like a perfect spot to hide and watch without being seen. "Stella?" My mother calls out, reaching for me but I sprint past her and towards the shed.