Page 14 of Reclaimed

All of the sudden, the front door rattles, someone banging on it harder than necessary. My dad charges out from his room, hunting rifle in hand as he looks out the peephole.

"Registry Enforcement."

Sheer panic is etched in his features as my dad turns to face me. "Run, Jersey. You run and don't you dare look back."

"What?" I worry my bottom lip. "Where?"

"Just run, okay? I need you to run. Can you do that for me?"

The pounding on the door continues, harder this time. "Jeremiah Ellis, by order of The Registry, open the door."

A sick feeling heats my throat, and I can't talk, I can't move. I just stare at my dad, tears welling up in my eyes.

"Jersey!"

Wood splinters as they start to force open the door. My dad cocks his gun, leaning his weight against it in a feeble attempt to buy just a few more seconds.

"Run. Just run!"

Metal groans, pulling me from my thoughts as a rusted bolt at the top of the ladder suddenly snaps. I yelp as it pitches to the side, slamming against the building.

I curse under my breath.

I wonder if he heard that?

Who am I kidding? Of course he did, the whole West side heard it.

I grit my teeth, slowly tilting my head up towards the window.

Please don’t be there, please don’t be there…

A set of icy blue eyes lock onto mine as the Repo Man’s lips curl into a devious grin that sends a ripple of terror through me.

Shit.

My knuckles whiten, grip tightening as the fire escape sways, the behemoth of a man clearing the window in seconds. My boot slips past the bottom rung, palms skidding across the pavement as I catch myself. Scrambling to my feet, I reach for the strap of the duffle bag and loop it over my neck as the ladder creaks.

Fuck, is he part cat?

He jumps down, rocks and glass grinding beneath his boots as he lands with unsettling ease behind me. I take off running, barely making it two steps before heat prickles across my scalp. His fist tangles in my hair, wrenching me backward.

"Not so fast," he growls, whirling me around. Tightening his grip, he jerks my head back, ragged breaths sawing from my lungs as he forces me to look up at him. His eyes are impossibly blue, a jagged scar cutting over the left one. "And where do you think you're going, little stray?"

"None of your business," I snap, twisting in his grip.

He arches a blond brow, watching with twisted fascination as I thrash and shove against him.

"Let go, Sasquatch," I spit, clawing at the hand buried in my hair.

"Keep it up," he taunts, lips quirking with amusement. "I've got all day."

Muttering a string of curses, I drive the toe of my boot into his shin over and over, throwing all my weight into every kick. The fucker doesn't so much as flinch. My motions slow, chest heaving as a frustrated snarl rips from my throat.

"That all you got? The struggle’s my favorite part." He smirks, head dipping down. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he adds, "And my dick was just starting to get hard."

An unwelcome flush heats my cheeks, and he chuckles in response, the sound low and thick with dark satisfaction. This asshole thinks he’s won, but I’m not done yet.

My fingers close around the handle of the letter opener and I pull it from my hoodie pocket, plunging it into his thigh. It makes a slick, wet sound as I yank it free, blood dripping from the blade.