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Ignoring her warning, he walked towards her on his knees.
Maria choked up on the bat. With two hands on it, she could really swing.
Turner dove just in time to miss getting his head bashed in.
“You mean it,” he said, almost amazed. “You crazy, fucking bitch. You’re really trying to kill me!”
He climbed quickly, awkwardly out of the bed. Her blanket tangled around his foot as he stepped back, dragging it with him. He kicked it aside, leaving it on the floor, before taking a few hesitant steps backward.
She followed after him, stalking him like a lioness. “Get out now or, so help me God, I will.”
Turner took one moment to gauge his odds. Maria was slender, delicate, but she was nearly his height. She might even be taller than him. He had the muscle, the strength. She had a fucking bat and an untapped fury he never would’ve expected from her.
Holy shit. She would kill him.
He held up his hands. The tent in his boxers started to go down as his excitement deflated. He slid his gaze to his left, trying to see how far he was from the door. In his arrogance and his haste, he left the door open. Afraid to give her his back but aware he had no choice, Mack Turner cursed out loud, turned for the door and ran.
She wanted him to go. Needed him to get out of Ophelia. But his flight set off some predatory instinct in her. It wasn’t enough for him to dash away. She absolutely needed to race after him.
Blinded by rage and fear, Maria swung her bat high as she chased him out of her room, down the hall and through the foyer.
She knew the layout of the house far better than he did. He was still faster than her. Sprinting as if the devil himself was on his tail, he reached the front door seconds in front of Maria. It was enough. He flung the door open and, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, Mack Turner ran out into the cool summer night.
For one second, she debated continuing the chase. Her sanctuary was already breached—why not follow his path, escape from Ophelia, and make him pay?
Because, the little voice inside her yelled as it struggled to be heard over the pounding in her skull, she was better than that. Gripping the edge of the front door, Maria slammed it behind him. A full body tremble coursed through her.
Dio mio. Oh my God.
What should she do now?
Call Lucas.
She returned to her bedroom, pointedly avoiding the sight of the disturbed sheets, the blanket on the floor. Her radio was on her nightstand. Too far away to be any good when she was fighting Turner, but right where she needed it now.
Her hands were shaking so bad, the communicator slipped right out of her grasp. Not the bat, though. That sucker was all but glued to her palm. Maria didn’t think it was possible to pry her fingers from the death grip they had on the handle. If that figlio di puttana dared to come back, he’d find her ready for him.
And, this time, she wouldn’t miss.
Angling her bat so that the top of the barrel was tucked beneath her arm, Maria swooped down, cursed again when the radio slipped through her fingers, then snatched it off of her floor with so much force that she made the heavy-duty plastic groan.
A twist of one knob, a flick of a switch and then her thumb jammed the button on the side. She didn’t waste time on a page. She had a direct line to Lucas’s private channel and if she could use it when she wanted to tell Lucas about the time she added salt to her snickerdoodles instead of sugar, she could damn well call for her brother when she needed him.
“Luc? Lucas? Are you there?”
Please be there, she prayed. Struggling to catch her breath, her chest kept rising and falling as she tried to calm down. The heft of her silver cross lying against the frantic thump of her racing heart was a comforting weight. Please, please, please.
There was a crackle, then silence, before she heard a slightly rough voice echo through her communicator. “Maria? Is that you? What time is it?”
He sounded like he’d been sleeping. Her page must have woken him up. The relief caused her to sag against the bed frame. Still, she clung tight to the saving grace that was her Louisville Slugger.
“Lucas, yes!” Her voice, already so throaty, went thick with unshed tears. “Thank the Lord you answered!”
“Okay, okay. Wait. You never buzz this late. And you’re never this happy to talk to me.” Lucas swore under his breath—in English, of course—before demanding, “What happened? What’s wrong?”
His sudden panic and utter control reached out, almost like it slapped at her through the radio. Maria took in a deep breath that managed to calm her more than anything up until that point. So focused on simply getting Lucas on the line, it never occurred to her that she’d actually have to admit the reason why she paged him.
It suddenly struck her that calling her brother might not have been the smartest thing she could’ve done. He’d been watching out for her his entire life. He would blame himself for what Turner tried to do. Of course he would.
