A lack of key won’t be an issue soon from how hard Alex is ramming into it. I can hear his grunts through the thick wood paneling, smell his determination. It is only a matter of seconds before he saves me—again.
When I advise my attacker that, a loud ricochet zooms around the room. I startle to within an inch of my life when a bullet flies past my ear, rustling my shoulder-length hair on the way by. I want to say the shot was fired from outside of the room, but unfortunately, that isn’t the case. It came from my attacker’s direction.
“Rae!”
Alex’s scream breaks my heart more than the thought of dying. He sounds truly wounded, as if the bullet shredded through my stomach instead of the door jamb a few inches right of my head.
Bile scorches my throat when a deep voice behind me warns, “If you enter, my next shot won’t miss.”
The bangs on the door stop, but I know Alex hasn’t left. I can hear his deep breaths, smell the sweat slicking on his skin. His scent is so profound, the fine hairs on my nape prickle.
“Turn around to face me.”
With my arms held out in front of my body and my heart in my throat, I spin as the unnamed man demanded. As suspected, he has a gun, and it’s pointed my way.
“Don’t make me do this,” he pleads when he spots the tears in my eyes dying to stream down my face. “This isn’t what I want. I came here to help you.” His words are as shaky as his hands. They fill me with panic, even more so when I notice his finger is curled around the trigger.
“Okay.” I lower my tone before suggesting, “But we can’t achieve that with violence.”
I smile, hoping it is as effective on madmen as it is on admirers. It works—somewhat. It has him directing his pistol to just left of my chest instead of directly at it.
I suck in three long breaths before asking, “What do you want to help me with?”
His eyes bounce between mine to check the sincerity of my question. Happy with what he sees, he replies, “They’re taking it too far.” His voice is weaker than mine, more timid.
“Who?” I have a million more questions to ask, but with my mouth failing to cooperate with the prompts of my brain, I have to settle on any they’re willing to express.
The man’s eyes drift to the door Alex was in the process of breaking down before he fired a warning shot.
“Alex?” I ask through the lump in my throat.
“Yes.” He stops, swallows, then says, “Well, not entirely. . .”
He stares at me as if he’s seeking assistance. I don’t know why in the world he thinks I can help him. I’m as lost as he is.
“Tell me more!” I choke out in a scream two seconds later when a commotion at his side gains his attention.
I could be wrong, but I’m reasonably sure the noise came from the bathroom attached to my room—a bathroom with a window large enough for a grown man to climb through.
“Did someone send you here? To help me?”
He shakes his head, its quiver as violent as his chin is shaking.
I hear my heart in my ears when I ask, “Did someone send you here to hurt me?”
He continues shaking his head. “Not this time.”
“There was a before. . .?”
Chaos ensues before the entire sentence leaves my mouth. A flurry of blond charges through one door as the wood from another splinters at my feet. The air leaves my lungs in a grunt when a thick arm bands around my waist two seconds later to drag me to the ground. I hit the wooden floorboards with the same loud thud as the unnamed man, but it isn’t my body slamming into the ground without concern of injury. It’s Alex’s.
After gathering me into his chest, he rolls over, sheltering my body with his. I feel his blood surging through his body, smell the testosterone on his skin. It is a virile, manly scent, one I’m certain I’ve smelled before. His smell makes me woozy; I’m just unsure in my spooked state if it is a good thing or not.
Sometimes, just catching the slightest whiff of a familiar smell causes me more lightheadedness than the strongest alcoholic concoction. Other times, like yesterday afternoon, it bombards me with disturbing memories. Before I can decipher which one this is, Alex pulls away from me, taking the memory with him.
I settle my skyrocketing heart rate before peering in the direction the man once stood. He is hogtied to the ground, his face as red as mine as he strains to breathe through the heavy weight of Grayson kneeling on his back.
“Is she alright?” Grayson asks Alex, who has plucked me from the floor so he can frantically search me for a bullet wound. His quest is so thorough, it’s as if he incorrectly counted the number of shots fired in his room.
