Page 281 of Good Boys Don’t Bite

Ronan almost laughed.

“Suddenly my ruler isn’t stupid.”

“Your ruler remains stupid.”

Another step. Closer. Elliot crossed to the closet. Ronan didn’t stop him this time. He reached behind two folded blankets and pulled out the flashlight. Ronan looked at it. Then him.

“You put that there?”

“Emergency.”

“For what?”

“Apparently tonight.”

The hallway outside went quiet. No more steps. That was worse. Elliot switched off the bedroom lamp. Darkness collapsed around them. Ronan whispered, “What are you doing?”

“Making it harder to see us.”

Moonlight barely reached through the closed blinds. Elliot moved beside the door. Ronan caught his shirt.

“Stay with me.”

The words landed strangely. Not command. Fear. Elliot looked at him.

“I am.”

“Don’t do anything insane.”

“No promises.”

“Elliot.”

“I’ll try.”

Ronan stared. That answer apparently satisfied him more. They waited. Five seconds. Ten. Twenty. Nothing. Elliot could hear Ronan breathing. Could hear his own heartbeat. Could hear movement outside. Shouting. Radio chatter. Police. Good. Then the bedroom doorknob moved. Slowly. Ronan’s grip tightened around the ruler. Elliot lifted the flashlight. The knob stopped. Neither breathed. Then turned again. The door opened two inches. Three. A shape filled the gap. Black. Tall. Face hidden. Elliot moved first. He slammed the door outward. The figure stumbled. Elliot drove the flashlight into the side of their head. A grunt. Male. The intruder caught Elliot’s arm. Strong. Fast. Ronan hit him with the ruler. The metallic crack was absurdly loud. The man swore. Ronan looked almost offended.

“See?”

Elliot would have laughed if the intruder hadn’t immediately lunged. The three of them crashed into the hallway wall. A framed print fell. Glass shattered. Elliot felt a hand close around his throat. His body reacted. No fear. No hesitation. Everything narrowed. Wrist. Elbow. Weight. Breathing. Elliot struck the man’s forearm, turned beneath the grip, and drove him shoulder-first into the wall. Ronan froze for half a second. Elliot noticed. No time. The intruder recovered. Fast. Too fast. He swung. Elliot ducked. The fist hit drywall. Ronan grabbed the back of the man’s jacket and pulled. The hood slipped. Dark hair. Short. No face yet. The intruder twisted and drove an elbow into Ronan’s ribs. Ronan grunted. Elliot saw red.

Not metaphorically. Something inside him simply turned. He grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him into the wall. Hard. The intruder’s head struck wood. Once. Elliot did it again.

“Elliot.”

Ronan’s voice. Distant. The man clawed at Elliot’s wrist. Elliot tightened. Again.

“Elliot.”

He wanted the face. Needed the face. He ripped the hood backward. A black fabric mask covered everything below the eyes. Not porcelain. Not copied. Just cloth. The man stared at him. Brown eyes. Familiar? Maybe. Elliot leaned closer.

“Who are you?”

The man laughed. Actually laughed. Elliot tightened his grip.

“Wrong answer.”

“Elliot.”