It wasn’t until I reached the door that I knew it wasn’t Uncle Chris and Alara talking.
I didn’t recognize the other voices.
For a moment, I wondered if maybe it was some of the Costa guys, if they dropped by to talk about whatever job they were obviously working after Alara got beaten up.
But then I heard a crash, a gasping sound, then a whimpering.
I turned and rushed back to my nightstand, grabbing the switchblade my uncle got me. With a strict warning about not using it unless it was necessary.
I figured if someone was in the house hurting people, that was good enough reason in his book.
Nerves jangled, but in a weird, almost exciting way. Like going on a rollercoaster for the first time.
Maybe that was a bad example.
Rollercoasters made me sick.
But that thrill of the drop—that was what this felt like.
It had my heart hammering and my breath going quick. But my mind seemed to sharpen, noticing everything in detail that I was sure I would normally miss.
Like the creaking of the floorboards.
The tick of the clock on my wall.
Something scraping in the other room. Maybe a drawer in the kitchen.
The three distinct voices.
Two men… and Alara.
Where were Uncle Chris and Charlotte?
My guts twisted.
Because I knew no one would be putting their hands on Alara if my uncle wasn’t knocked out or… worse.
No.
I wasn’t letting my mind go there.
I had to focus on Alara.
So I turned the knob, careful not to make a sound, then peeked out of the crack, trying to figure the situation out… and what I could do about it, listening to what Alara was saying to the bigger guy with the rose tattoo on his forearm.
He was glaring at Alara as she lied to him.
Said something about Uncle Chris having the flu.
But he didn’t.
Maybe Charlotte did.
Maybe that’s where he was.
But before I could wrap my head around that, he was up on the couch, walking over it, looming over Alara, then reaching out to grab her face.
I saw the pain slice across her face as he snarled at her.
