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Alex drew in a deep breath. It didn’t matter what he did, death followed him. Taunted him. He couldn’t escape his past and it waited for him around every corner. He knew Sarah wouldn’t understand. But this would end it. The Devils would stop chasing them and maybe… they would have a chance.
Alex lowered his gun.
ChapterThirty-Three
Sarah wanted to close her eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening. But she didn’t dare. It was just her and her would-be killer in this dark, deserted launderette. Alex wasn't coming to save her now.
The man unbuckled his belt and was moving onto his button and zipper. Sarah didn’t have much time. If she was going to do something, it would have to be now. But what? She had no gun and even when she’d had the chance to pull the trigger, she couldn’t do it.
Then again, this was different. This wasn’t pointing a gun at the back of someone’s head like a cold-blooded killer. This was fighting for her life. That, she could do.
He struggled with the button and momentarily looked down. Sarah used the washing machine as leverage and hoisted herself up, kicking out with her right foot as she did. Her boot connected with his nose and blood gushed immediately. Both hands flew to his face and he swayed, disoriented for a moment. She wasted no time and kicked out, again finding her mark. She heard the brittle crack of bone. He stumbled back, losing his footing. His arms went out for something to grab onto but there was nothing and he crashed to the ground, with a sickly crack as his head hit the edge of the dryer behind him on the way down.
Her foot squelched as she landed back on the floor, his blood smeared from her shoe to the concrete. He lay motionless before her. Quickly, she kicked the gun from his hand then swooped to pick it up.
She swung back around, gun aimed at her attacker. The air shook as she released it from her lungs. Every part of her was trembling. How long did she have before he got back up? There would be no second chance this time. Tears blurred her vision as the shaking became uncontrollable.
Jesus, Sarah, just shoot him!
An object on the floor just above the man’s now empty right hand caught her eye. Her gun! She had to get to it. Keeping both hands on the man’s gun, she slowly stepped over his arm, positive he would grab her ankle.
Still breathing hard, Sarah sank low, one knee resting on the floor for balance, while her left-hand reached for her weapon, patting the ground until her fingers felt the cold muzzle. With both weapons in her possession, she scrambled back until she felt the wall at her back, out of the man’s reach.
He still wasn’t moving, so she put his gun in the back of her waistband, taking cold comfort in the familiar grip of her Luger. Now what? She knew she should run, or finish him off, but she seemed incapable of making her body obey.
Sliding down the wall, she drew her knees up to her chin and clasped the gun, grip to her forehead. The tears ran freely down her face now, her body rocking in quiet desperation. What was wrong with her? This man was going to kill her. If any of his cronies found them, they would shoot her without hesitation. She had to do something.
Get up! Run!
But if she ran, what then? He would come for her and Alex again. They would run and have to keep running. But what else was she going to do - shoot him while he was unconscious? She was no killer. Was she?
Sarah hadno concept of time. How many minutes had passed? The silence was swallowing her whole. She forced herself to find something familiar. The clock on the wall obliged with its steady tick, tock. There were no footsteps, no passing traffic. No one called out to their friends in the street. Only the ticking of the clock and her own shallow breathing.
Tick, tock. Tick, tock.
She wiped her eyes and scrutinized the man’s body lying not two meters from her. It was gloomy in here but he really didn’t look right. No sound. No breathing. His nose was definitely broken. She had heard the crunch of breaking bone and cartilage. His breath should be noisy. Like Heather’s was when Ray had punched her.
But there was only silence.
Sarah continued to stare at her attacker. Willing his chest to rise and fall. A new sensation grew like a seed germinating in her belly. Sarah fought the panic. She shuffled forward on her haunches, her gun still pointed at the prone man.
He’s messing with me.She held her breath.
He’s waiting for me to make a mistake and then he’ll grab me.
She kicked his arm and lurched back, expecting to feel a vice-like grip on her leg. There was no response. Sarah teetered back to the wall. Her breathing was erratic as panic sat like a stone in her gut. She kept the gun trained on him, still not willing to believe what was in front of her. This couldn’t be happening.
No light broke through the dark shadows in the launderette. A strong metallic smell wafted through the room, permeating her senses. She raised her head,comprehension dawning. She peered through the din to see thick, dark blood was pooled under and around the man’s head. That didn’t look good.
Sarah crept forward on her hands and knees. She would just see if he was okay, and then she would pull it together and leave. Her hand shook as she tried to get around the worn leather of his watch band and find a pulse. The skin felt cool and waxy, no signs of life throbbed within. Desperately, she lowered her head to listen to his chest. Nothing.
‘Oh my God,’ She brought her hand to her mouth, as if trying to keep the words from spilling out. ‘No, no, no.’
Sarah pumped his chest. She had no first-aid training but she hoped she could somehow, miraculously, jump-start the man back to life.
‘Please, please,’ she begged.
She knelt beside the man who had been sent to kill her. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she whispered. ‘I’m so sorry.’
