The rest of the day passed as a blur. I hung out on my own a lot. My parents had arranged a ‘special dinner’ as they called it, but essentially it was just another dinner in the White House. They ate like this every night, as far as I could tell. After dinner, I went to my room and had a long bubble bath. I should have felt different somehow, but to me it just felt like any other day. Another day without Ashton.

When I finally crept into my bed, I glanced at my phone to see I had another text from Ashton. I sighed; he didn’t seem to be getting over me at all. Maybe my idea of Nate and the boys helping him through wasn’t going to work out the way I’d planned. Every message from him hurt worse than the last because they just reminded me that he wasn’t here. The texts somehow made the time pass slower; the minutes seemed to drag between messages. My life blurred into one big, long, horrible, Ashton-less day that was broken up by messages I received from the love of my life.

I opened this new one to see that it was him asking me to text him again because he was worrying. The message had been sent while I was in the bath; it was almost eleven in the evening now. I opened up a new message and texted him back that I was fine and thanked him for the gift, just so he would relax.

After I sent it, I rolled over, trying to get comfortable. He didn’t text me back, so I assumed maybe he was asleep, or working nights, or maybe even that he just didn’t want to text me. The last thought hurt the worst.

Six agonising weeks had passed since I’d sent him away and, if anything, it only got worse. The dreams that I had every night were terrible. Every night I saw him die in front of me, and every night I would wake up screaming and sweating, with my heart trying to break out of my chest. Dean would look at me sympathetically, not knowing what to say or do. He was doing a good job of being near guard, living in the bedroom next door, but I preferred my own miserable company, so I hid in my bedroom most of the time, only coming out for school or meal times.

Ashton still called and texted me every day. He sent me a bunch of white roses every Friday morning with a little poem or limerick attached. He sent me music for my iPod, books, chocolates and stuffed animals. Every weekend I would get an emailed love letter, begging me to reconsider, telling me how lost he was without me.

I knew that he contacted Dean a lot too. Thankfully, I’d made a deal with Dean: he wouldn’t tell Ashton how much I missed him, and in return, I would behave and do everything he asked me to without question.

I was so incredibly tired every day. Once I’d had the nightmare of Ashton being killed, I refused to go back to sleep, so I had on average about four hours sleep a night. I went to the gym twice a day and threw myself back into my old training method of exercise until I dropped. I wanted to be able to protect myself if Carter did come after me. It was my hope that if he did, that this time I’d be able to kill him. Then I’d be free to beg Ashton to forgive me for pushing him away and ask him to give me another chance.

What with all the exercise I did and the fighting training I’d received, I thought I would be prepared for the day he would come for me again. Unfortunately, I was wrong.

Chapter Forty-Six

I was yanked from my sleep by a loud bang in the hallway outside our apartment. My heart leapt into my chest as Dean ran into my room and over to my bed. His hands closed around my upper arms so tightly that I was sure to have finger-shaped bruises there in a few hours. I squealed as he pulled me from the bed, shoving me against the wall. My mouth popped open, shocked at the abrupt wake up and the force he was using. Wordlessly, he grabbed the heavy reading chair from the corner of my room and dragged it over to me, placing it in front of me as he grabbed my hand and made us both duck down behind it.

“Dean, what’s-”

“Be quiet!” he interjected. My eyes widened as he pulled out his cell phone, frantically dialling someone. “Shit,” he hissed, before he tried another number. This one must have connected as he spoke words that sent a mortified chill down my spine. “Someone’s here. Get in here, now!”

Someone’s here…

That was when I heard gunshots. I screamed and quickly clamped a hand over my mouth. Dean dialled his phone again, his eyes and gun both trained on the door to my bedroom. “It’s Agent Michaels. The jewel’s in trouble, send more people, now!” he growled as he snapped the phone shut quickly.

I couldn’t breathe. Silent tears were falling down my face as Dean positioned himself between me and the door, with his gun pointed there ready. I heard more shots and then the bedroom door swung open quickly, slamming against the wall. Dean let off a couple of shots and the intruder immediately jumped back against the door frame, out of sight.

My breathing was coming out in pants as panic made my head swim. I tried my hardest to count my heartbeats so that I didn’t have a panic attack. I needed to remain in control in case we needed to run or get out quickly.

“Put your gun down!” the guy ordered from outside the door. I whimpered, and Dean shushed me again. “Put your gun down, and you won’t get hurt,” the guy tried again. A cold trickle seemed to run down my back. I recognised that voice, I couldn’t remember the guy’s name, but he had dark hair. He worked for Carter. “We have one of your agents. We don’t want to hurt him, but we will if we don’t get what we want. All we want is Anna,” he continued.

My blood ran cold in my veins. One of our agents? Oh God, please let us get out of this, please!

Hesitantly, Peter stepped into the doorway, looking terrified, his hands up in an ‘I surrender’ fashion. I immediately saw the reason for the pose. There was a gun to his head. His eyes found us immediately, his jaw tightened, and he seemed to be holding a silent conversation with Dean. I had no idea what the intense look on his face was; all I could see was panic and fear. The dark-haired guy stepped close behind him, using Peter’s body as a shield as they both stepped into the room. The gun pressed harder into Peter’s head, making him wince.