Get Dirty (Don’t Get Mad Book 2)
Get Dirty: Chapter 9

BREE LAY ON HER BED, STARING UP AT THE CEILING. WITH HER phone confiscated by Olaf and the password for the wireless changed, she was basically cut off from the world.

It had been six hours since her release and she still had no idea how Margot was, no clue as to what had become of Christopher Beeman. Were her friends safe? Or was he still after them? She’d been half-expecting to discover another manila envelope on her bed when she got home, taunting her, and was almost disappointed when all she found was her bedspread and pillows. At least it would have been some acknowledgment that she still existed.

Bree sighed and rolled onto her stomach, cradling her head in the crook of her arm. She just needed a touchstone. Someone who could be her eyes and ears on the outside. If John had gotten her texts, maybe he would—

Ding-dong.

Bree vaulted out of bed. Someone was at the door. She glanced at her alarm clock and saw that it was almost three o’clock. School let out exactly twenty minutes ago.

She sprinted down the stairs, hydroplaning on the Persian runner in the hallway, then stopped short. The colossal bulk of Olaf blocked the wide-open front door.

“What do you want?” Olaf asked.

“I’m here to see Bree.”

“John!” she cried, racing up behind Olaf. Her heart almost burst from her chest at the sound of his voice.

“No visitors,” Olaf said. And before either of them could protest, he slammed the door in John’s face and threw the bolt.

“What the fuck?” Bree yelled. She made a dash for the door, but Olaf’s massive arm was around her waist before she could reach the handle. He tossed her over his shoulder like a bag of potting soil.

“No visitors,” he repeated as he traipsed down the hallway.

Bree tried to wiggle out of his grasp, but it was no use. Olaf’s arm was like a vise, pinning her to his shoulder. He mounted the stairs two at a time and deposited Bree on her bed with a heavy bounce.

“Olaf following orders,” he said as he left and slammed the door behind him.

“Olaf following orders,” Bree mocked in a deep, hollow voice. “Dick.”

“Olaf hear that,” came a muffled voice from the other side of the door.

Ugh. Bree went limp on the bed. Was she going to be trapped in the house for God only knows how long with Olaf the Gorilla as her prison guard? This was so not going to work.

Tap. Tap tap.

Bree turned toward her bedroom window in time to see several small pebbles bounce off the outside of the glass. Tap. Tap.

John! Bree threw open the window. Below, on the gravel path next to her house, was her best friend.

“Hey!” he said as soon as she poked out her head. “I got your text. Tried to call but it went straight to voice mail. Are you okay? Are you out for good? And who the hell was that douche at the front door?”

Bree held her finger to her lips—apparently, Olaf’s superpower was excellent hearing—and pointed toward the servants’ entrance at the back of the house. With any luck, Olaf hadn’t thought of that yet.

John gave her a thumbs-up and headed around to the backyard. Now all Bree had to do was get there too.

She tiptoed across her room and cracked the bedroom door a fraction of an inch, just enough to see that the hallway wasn’t blocked by two hundred pounds of muscle. She listened intently for the sound of his mouth breathing; then, emboldened by the lack of noise, she swung the door open enough to stick her head into the hallway.

A quick sweep from left to right showed her that the coast was clear.

Bree was down the stairs in a heartbeat, through the laundry room to the back entrance. She yanked the door open and saw John’s beaming face.

“I wasn’t sure if I should—” he started, but Bree tackled him before he could finish, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck.

John stumbled from the force of impact, carrying her with him into the backyard. Almost instantly, an alarm blared. “Warning!” an electronic voice cried from the security pad next to the door. “Perimeter breach. Rear exit. Warning! Perimeter breach. Rear exit.” Rinse, repeat.

“What the hell is that?” John said, still holding Bree’s weight in his arms.

She slid down his body, until her toes touched the hard concrete. Pulling up the leg of her pajama pants, she saw a red light blinking on her anklet.

“Son of a bitch,” she said, pointing at it. “They’ve hooked up the GPS on my anklet to the home security system.” So much for one hundred meters. Someone wanted to make sure she couldn’t leave the house at all.

“Damn,” John said. She felt his arm slip around her waist and pull her close. “I’m sorry.”

“Warning! Perimeter breach.”

“Oh, shut up!” Bree cried in frustration. As if on cue, the alarm switched off and Olaf appeared in the doorway.

“No visitors,” he said, a broken record. “Olaf—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bree interrupted. “Olaf following orders. I get it.”

John leaned down and whispered in her ear. “Is this guy for real?”

“He comes with the parole.” Bree sighed as she gazed up at John. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to see you again.”

“You’ll see me again.”

“Promise?”

John’s hazel eyes sparkled with mischief, as he sung a line from one of Bree’s favorite songs. “And if I had to walk the world, I’d make you fall for me. I promise you, I promise you I will.”

“Now!” Olaf barked.

Bree turned to go inside, then suddenly realized she had the messenger she’d been hoping for. She thought of her near-death experience on the way home from juvie, of the seat belt buckle that had clearly been tampered with. If Christopher had been behind it, she needed to warn the girls, and John was her best chance. She flew back to him, arms wrapped tightly around his neck. “I need you to deliver a message,” she whispered.

“Huh?” John asked.

“Olaf carry you now.” She felt Olaf’s meaty hands on her shoulders, but held tight to John for one more second.

“Tell Olivia Hayes that he’s not done with us.”

Then Bree released John, and watched him stare at her in confusion while Olaf dragged her into the house.