#3 Packed & Dangerous

My suitcase lay open on my bed, half filled with silk dresses and designer heels I hadn’t worn in years. Scotland. Home. The thought made my chest tight and warm all at once. It had been far too long since I’d seen my home, and I wasn’t about to put it off any longer.

I despised and had run from my parents the second I turned 18, let's just say our "differences" couldn't be fixed at the time. I was looking forward to being home though. Perhaps my parents had calmed down a wee bit.

My phone buzzed on the dresser. Cat. “Morning, love,” I answered, shoving a cashmere sweater into the suitcase.

“Morning? It’s afternoon here, and don’t ‘love’ me, I just saw your post about heading to Scotland. Without me?” Her voice was equal parts scandal and mockery.

I laughed. “Ye want tae come?”

“Yes!” she squealed. “I've never been! We’ll drink whisky, terrorize pubs, and scandalize your parents’ fancy friends.”

“Yer in luck then, I’ve got two tickets. Get yer arse over here, I’m leavin’ in two hours.”

“Packing right now, babe.”

I hung up, grinning, and went back to my own packing. Dresses, coats, the heels that made men stupid. I was halfway through folding my favorite red scarf when I heard the metallic rattle of a key in the front door.

My stomach went cold. I padded down the hall and peered through the peephole. Fuckin Cole.

The laugh that escaped me was sharp and humorless. I flipped the latch and cracked the door just enough to look him dead in the eye. “Did ye really think ye could just walk back in here?”

He had the gall to smirk. “It’s still my place Ellie. I have things here I want to grab. I swear babe I'll get them and leave.”

I shook my head slowly. “No, Cole. This is no longer yer residence. Ye’ll be permitted tae enter, collect what’s yers, and then leave. If ye get cute, I’ve got the police on speed dial.”

I opened the door, letting him in only because I wanted him gone. Then I turned my back on him and went right back to packing. “Ellie, come on,” he started, following me into the bedroom. “You’re making a mistake. We can fix this Anya means nothing to me. We built a real life together. I fucking love you babe.”

His voice cut off when his hand clamped around my arm, hard enough to bruise. He yanked me so hard I stumbled, his other hand cocking back like he meant to hit me. My heart jumped into my throat and my body went into survival mode.

Wrong move on his part. I drove my knee up into his balls so hard he folded, then followed it with a clean punch to the throat. As he choked and wheezed, I shoved him into the chair by the wall, wrapped my arm around his neck, and squeezed until he went limp.

Breathing hard, I grabbed the silk belt off my robe and tied him to the chair. Tight. “What a damn psycho,” I muttered, zipping my suitcase. “Comin’ in here tae hit me? Ye must be drunk, ye absolute gobshite.” My pulse was still hammering, I’d fought on stage before, but never expected to need my skills in my own damn bedroom.

I dragged my second suitcase to the door, dialing 911 as I was walking. "I'd like to report an assault. My name is Eilidh MacLeod and my ex husband just assaulted me. I knocked him out and he is tied to a chair in my bedroom." I rattled off the address and hung up, pausing just long enough to give him a sharp kick in the shin as I passed. Fucker. The realtor was already waiting at the front door, her sleek black folder in hand.

“Donate everything inside to a women’s shelter,” I told her. “And I called the police... there’s a tied up drunk ex husband in the bedroom who tried tae hit me. I’ll wire yer f*e, love.” She blinked at me with her mouth hanging open slightly, then nodded like she’d just been given the juiciest story of her life.

I stepped into the sunshine, dragging my luggage behind me, just in time to see Cat hop out of her Uber, wheeling her own bags.

Tall, tan, and impossibly glamorous in an oversized floppy hat, Cat’s green eyes lit up when she saw me. “Ready, babe?” she called.

I grinned. “Oh, aye. Let’s go set Scotland on fire.”