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Stay asleep. Stay asleep, she silently begged as she set the ends of the chain carefully down on either side of his neck. He was snoring more loudly now, his body a deadweight on the bed.
With agonizing slowness, she pulled the keys carefully from the open chain. All the while, she kept her eyes fixed on Damon’s face for the slightest sign of a reaction. Her heart was beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
Finally, all three keys fisted in her hand, she slowly, cautiously, climbed off the mattress. She froze in place beside the bed for several seconds, terrified he would leap up and lunge for her.
But he didn’t move a muscle. The guy was apparently down for the count.
Holding her breath, she crouched in front of the night stand. Silent as a mouse, albeit a trembling one, she managed to lift the lockbox from the shelf while still keeping the keys in her hand. Holding the box against her chest, she speed-walked to the bathroom.
He was still snoring as she silently closed and locked the bathroom door. She felt sick with adrenaline, her heart leaping spasmodically in her chest.
Setting the lockbox on the counter by the sink, she unlocked and lifted the lid. There it was—her salvation, if she could just keep her nerve. She stared down at the gun, jittery with anticipation. There was a small box of ammunition beside it. She lifted the weapon carefully from the box and examined it.
It was a basic handgun, similar to ones she was familiar with. After a moment, she found the button on the side of the hand grip to eject the magazine. Sliding the ammo box open, she removed a bullet with trembling fingers and inserted it into the magazine. She added another bullet, and another, until the magazine was full.
All was still quiet on the other side of the door, but he might wake at any moment. Quickly, she reinserted the magazine, pushing it briskly and firmly upward until it clicked into place. Then, using her palm to pull the slide to its rearmost position, she slid a round into the chamber.
The keys. She needed to bring those along, but they would interfere with the gun. If only she had her own clothes—something with a pocket. She glanced around the bathroom. Something of his would have to do. Moving quickly to the clothing hamper, she found one of his button-down shirts with a front pocket, along with a pair of running shorts.
Setting down the gun for a moment, she pulled on the shorts, put on the shirt and buttoned a few of the buttons. Taking the keys from the counter, she slipped them into the shirt pocket.
No longer trembling, she released the safety, moved toward the door and turned the lock.Chapter 21“Wake up, asshole.”
Callie had the gun aimed at the back of the bastard’s head. She had imagined, if and when the time ever came, that she’d have no trouble pulling the trigger. But the thought of his blood, bone and brains splattering over the pillow and headboard turned her stomach. Not to mention, it would definitely complicate matters with the police.
No. She would not let this monster turn her into a killer, even if it was clearly self-defense.
“I said, wake the fuck up.”
“Huh?” Damon slowly lifted his head, fixing Callie with a bleary-eyed gaze. Then his eyes widened, his mouth gaping open. “What the fuck?” he demanded, shifting quickly to a sitting position, his eyes fixed on the gun. “How did you…?” His hand flew to his chest, fingers scrabbling for a chain that was no longer there, his face flushing with anger. He moved as if to lunge for her. “Give me that, you fucking cunt.”
Callie took a quick step back, the gun still trained on his face. “Don’t move! You try anything stupid and I’ll shoot,” she shouted, surprised that her voice was strong despite her jangling nerves.
She half expected him to ignore her command, convinced he could overpower her as he always had before. But she hadn’t had a loaded gun aimed at his face before.
“You wouldn’t dare, bitch,” he snarled, but he made no move to rise.
“Wanna try me?” she retorted.
A small, mean smile lifted the corners of his mouth, though his eyes remained hard and cold. He held out his hands in a placating gesture. “You don’t want to do this, Callie,” he said in a wheedling tone. “You don’t even know how to handle a gun. You’ll end up shooting yourself.”
There were six bullets in the magazine. Making a split-second decision, Callie shifted her stance slightly, and fired at the lamp beside the bed. The bulb exploded and Damon screamed.
“What the hell? What the fuck!” he cried, wrapping his arms around his torso. “You said guns scared you. You tricked me!”
