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My fists come up, and the intruder smirks. “Come on, now. You don’t really think you’re going to?—”
I center my weight, exhale, and then I give him my best right hook.
It happens in slow-motion. Maybe it’s my brain in panic mode, or maybe it’s adrenaline, but my fist lands on his nose. I feel a sickening crunch, and blood fountains from his nostrils. He keels backward and grips his nose.
And my path to the door is free. I run out into the living room, screaming like a woman possessed, and head for the door.
But arms grab me around the waist and pull me back a second later.
“You fucking bitch.” His breath is hot against me neck. “I’m going to fucking kill you for that.”
I ram my head backward and it makes contact with him. His arms release me, and I start for the door again. Carter! It’s a mental plea he will never hear.
He trips me, I flail and fall down, blocking my fall with my hands. Pain flares through my right palm, and I notice, in a half-dazed state, that one of my fingers has a cut across the front and is bleeding.
Fingers twist through my hair and pull my head back. “Bad move,” he growls.
“Let go of me,” I scream. “Help! Somebody help!”
“Nobody’s going to hear you,” the man growls, and drags me to my knees. “Nobody’s coming to save you.” He shuffles me backward until my back hits the coffee table.
The baby.
Terror lodges in my throat. I won’t let this happen.
I kick and scream as hard as I can, wrenching free from the man’s grasp, and get up again, backing away through my living room, my fists up, my stomach churning with fear.
The guy laughs, blood trailing from his nostrils, over his lips, down his chin. He doesn’t care. In fact, his eyes are wild, his grin wide.
Nightmare. This is a nightmare.
All you have to do is stall. Marci will be back soon.
But the last thing I want is my friends in danger along with me.
I put my armchair between us, but the guy doesn’t move, he simply watches me like a bird of prey who knows that the little mouse can’t possibly escape.
“You,” he says, pointing at me, “are interesting. I never thought Savage would take another wife after what happened to the last one.”
I’m too afraid to answer him. I swallow, but my dry throat won’t work.
“What do you say we give your man a call?” he asks, taking a phone out of his pocket, casually. “I’m sure he’ll be excited to hear your voice. Your screams.”
“Who are you?”
“Does it matter?” he asks. “You’re going to die anyway.”
“Are you from that motorcycle club?”
His grin widens, his teeth stained with blood. “That’s right. He told you about that? But did he tell you all the evil things he’s done in the name of our club? Torturing men, beating people into submission, running drugs?”
My stomach turns.
“Ah, so he didn’t tell you.” The guy taps away on his phone completely unconcerned by me.
I glance around desperately. There’s got to be something I can do. A way out.
“You know, out of all the shit he did when he was a part of our club,” the guy continues, “there was one mistake he can never go back on. One thing that I will never forgive.”
