I close the front door of my house and kick off my running shoes. I'm a sweaty mess after my workout. I glance at my phone and debate calling Ryan, but don't want to seem too desperate. We agreed to go out next week, and I promised I would call him, but want to wait more than a day before I reach out.

I head into my kitchen and go to my favorite spot, the freezer. I pull out a full bottle of Vodka, and help myself to a nice pour.

I probably drink too much. I definitely drink more than a normal person. But I think considering all the shit I have been through in my life, it's okay. I mean, I'm not angry, I don't let it affect my work or my day to day life. I'm not mean or irritable when I'm sober. But it helps me sleep.

Since my first ambulance run when I was just 19, I've always had a hard stomach for poor sights, and I do my best not to let it change me. By the end of the second tour with the Army, I definitely felt numb in some aspects.

I drink when I feel alone. Does that make me messed up? I should have called Ryan. Too late now, as I pour my second glass.

My drinking started with Enrico. The two of us would kill a bottle of wine with dinner. Then we'd have a glass of whiskey by the fire to soothe our full bellies.

When we vacationed we started our mornings with champagne and Bloody Mary's, then ended them with shots lined on the bar counter.

When I was in the desert, Enrico sent me care packages that he smuggled with liquor, which was totally illegal. We weren't supposed to be drinking, but he wasn't the only one who sent things, so, whatever.

When I came back to the states, I was drinking nightly, except now I didn't have anyone to share the wine with. Instead of corking it and saving it, I finished it myself.

Maybe I should cut back on the vodka. I much prefer tequila, but rarely keep it around, as I like to enjoy it poolside with friends, and I don't have many friends here. I have Luna, but she never comes around.

As I finish my fifth glass, I put the vodka away, then head up the hard wood steps from the living room. I reach the end of the hall way and turn right, to find my bedroom door open. It startled me for a second, and I stop to think. I never keep it open. I always close it in my way out.

I shrug it off, and walk inside. My room is my favorite part of the house. I have an awesome master bath, but the master bed is just as luxurious. To my left is a large grey wooden bed frame that holds a King sized bed. My comforter is grey with purple flowers and navy humming birds, and pin stripes. I have a lavender shade of sheets, and an extra fluffy rose gold blanket. On my right I have a teal dresser and yellow sitting chair with a round concrete end table.

I close my bedroom door, then let out a grunt when I feel my pony tail being yanked back. Fuck, I should have known.

A man's hand goes around my neck and presses to my mouth. I can feel the pressure of cold metal against my temple, and I know it's a gun.

I should be able to disarm him, but I'm too drunk to do that. Shit, I was just telling myself downstairs that I need to cutback on the drinking. I should start listening to myself more often.

"If you scream, I'll kill you." I may only have met him one time, but I know that's Sal.

I nod my head, and he lets go of my hair, then turns me around to face him. "Stay away from the cop."

"What are you talking about?" I ask him. He's walking towards me, so I'm stepping backwards to keep the distance between us.

"You were out drinking pretty late last night with a detective. It's one thing to move on from me, it's another to fuck a cop, Haley."

"Move on from you?" I ask, confused. "We hooked up one time. You weren't even rememberable. That's why I never called you back."

A loud smack echoes the room, and my cheek stings. His hands are on my throat, squeezing hard, and I can feel the air slipping from my body.

I will not die this way. I close my right hand into a fist and punch hard against his temple. He falls back, giving me time to stand, and head for my dresser for my own gun. He grabs my hair again and shoves me, my head hitting the edge of the dresser.

Everything is white, and I can't bring myself to stand up. "I'll date who I want, psycho."

He grabs me by the throat again and pulls me to my feet. "You can fuck whoever you want. Except a pig. If his dick comes anywhere near you, I'll slit his throat, and then come here and fuck you with his blood still on my hands."

"I don't know who you are, or why you give a shit about me, but I'll do whatever I want. You think you'll come in here, rough me up a bit, and scare me off? You'll have to try a bit harder than this."

My knee connects with his groin, and he topples over. Who do I know that would do this? What's wrong with dating Ryan? I grab his gun from the floor, and point it at him.

"Get out of my house," I order him.

He stands up, his hands in front of him. Stay away from Wolfe."

My heart is pounding, and I need to get to the bottom of this. Maybe they're targeting Ryan and not me.

Sal is out of the room, and I still have his gun. Well shit. Now whatsI close the front door of my house and kick off my running shoes. I'm a sweaty mess after my workout. I glance at my phone and debate calling Ryan, but don't want to seem too desperate. We agreed to go out next week, and I promised I would call him, but want to wait more than a day before I reach out.

I head into my kitchen and go to my favorite spot, the freezer. I pull out a full bottle of Vodka, and help myself to a nice pour.

I probably drink too much. I definitely drink more than a normal person. But I think considering all the shit I have been through in my life, it's okay. I mean, I'm not angry, I don't let it affect my work or my day to day life. I'm not mean or irritable when I'm sober. But it helps me sleep.

Since my first ambulance run when I was just 19, I've always had a hard stomach for poor sights, and I do my best not to let it change me. By the end of the second tour with the Army, I definitely felt numb in some aspects.

I drink when I feel alone. Does that make me messed up? I should have called Ryan. Too late now, as I pour my second glass.

My drinking started with Enrico. The two of us would kill a bottle of wine with dinner. Then we'd have a glass of whiskey by the fire to soothe our full bellies.

When we vacationed we started our mornings with champagne and Bloody Mary's, then ended them with shots lined on the bar counter.

When I was in the desert, Enrico sent me care packages that he smuggled with liquor, which was totally illegal. We weren't supposed to be drinking, but he wasn't the only one who sent things, so, whatever.

When I came back to the states, I was drinking nightly, except now I didn't have anyone to share the wine with. Instead of corking it and saving it, I finished it myself.

Maybe I should cut back on the vodka. I much prefer tequila, but rarely keep it around, as I like to enjoy it poolside with friends, and I don't have many friends here. I have Luna, but she never comes around.

As I finish my fifth glass, I put the vodka away, then head up the hard wood steps from the living room. I reach the end of the hall way and turn right, to find my bedroom door open. It startled me for a second, and I stop to think. I never keep it open. I always close it in my way out.

I shrug it off, and walk inside. My room is my favorite part of the house. I have an awesome master bath, but the master bed is just as luxurious. To my left is a large grey wooden bed frame that holds a King sized bed. My comforter is grey with purple flowers and navy humming birds, and pin stripes. I have a lavender shade of sheets, and an extra fluffy rose gold blanket. On my right I have a teal dresser and yellow sitting chair with a round concrete end table.

I close my bedroom door, then let out a grunt when I feel my pony tail being yanked back. Fuck, I should have known.

A man's hand goes around my neck and presses to my mouth. I can feel the pressure of cold metal against my temple, and I know it's a gun.

I should be able to disarm him, but I'm too drunk to do that. Shit, I was just telling myself downstairs that I need to cutback on the drinking. I should start listening to myself more often.

"If you scream, I'll kill you." I may only have met him one time, but I know that's Sal.

I nod my head, and he lets go of my hair, then turns me around to face him. "Stay away from the cop."

"What are you talking about?" I ask him. He's walking towards me, so I'm stepping backwards to keep the distance between us.

"You were out drinking pretty late last night with a detective. It's one thing to move on from me, it's another to fuck a cop, Haley."

"Move on from you?" I ask, confused. "We hooked up one time. You weren't even rememberable. That's why I never called you back."

A loud smack echoes the room, and my cheek stings. His hands are on my throat, squeezing hard, and I can feel the air slipping from my body.

I will not die this way. I close my right hand into a fist and punch hard against his temple. He falls back, giving me time to stand, and head for my dresser for my own gun. He grabs my hair again and shoves me, my head hitting the edge of the dresser.

Everything is white, and I can't bring myself to stand up. "I'll date who I want, psycho."

He grabs me by the throat again and pulls me to my feet. "You can fuck whoever you want. Except a pig. If his dick comes anywhere near you, I'll slit his throat, and then come here and fuck you with his blood still on my hands."

"I don't know who you are, or why you give a shit about me, but I'll do whatever I want. You think you'll come in here, rough me up a bit, and scare me off? You'll have to try a bit harder than this."

My knee connects with his groin, and he topples over. Who do I know that would do this? What's wrong with dating Ryan? I grab his gun from the floor, and point it at him.

"Get out of my house," I order him.

He stands up, his hands in front of him. Stay away from Wolfe."

My heart is pounding, and I need to get to the bottom of this. Maybe they're targeting Ryan and not me.

Sal is out of the room, and I still have his gun. Well shit. Now what?