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Glancing at the phone still in my hand, I dial triple zero and press it to my ear while I strain my ears to hear thudding footsteps bounding up the stairs.
“Police, fire or ambulance?”
The female voice startles me, and I focus on the phone, knowing I can’t speak loudly.
“Police,” I whisper.
“I’m sorry I can’t hear you properly. Did you say police?”
“Yes.” I hiss a little louder.
“What address, please?”
The footsteps stomp past the closet, and I freeze, holding my breath.
“What address, please?”
“Vixen’s Lodge, Fox Pines.” I hiss quietly. “They are going to kill me. Send help, please.” Then I place the phone on the timber floor, leaving it connected and crack the closet door open.
Yelling from the direction of the master bedroom meets my ears, and I take that moment to bolt. Pushing the door open, I dash to the stairs, taking two at a time as the foyer and front door come into view.
My heart is pounding in my chest, blood thrashing in my ear as the possibility of escape draws closer. When my feet land on the ground floor, I dart toward the front door, only making it a few steps when a hard body crashes into me, lurching me forward to crash to the floor right in front of the door. The wind gets knocked out of me, and for a few long-drawn-out moments, I can’t breathe.
“I don’t fucking think so, Kitten.” Brock hisses in my ear.
No. I’m so close.
As soon as air fills my lungs again, I thrash under Brock, trying to squirm free from his pressing weight and his hand fists in the back of my hair, trying to hold me still. With my face smooshed to the timber floor, I reach my hands out, trying to find something, anything, to use as a weapon.
“Get off me!” I scream, the action sucking in the faint tinge of smoke in the air. Yelling floats down from upstairs as Master and Julie obviously try to put the flames out, but unless they have a fire hose, their attempts will be futile.
“What the fuck have you done?” Brock hisses, his weight lifting a little, his fist letting go of my hair.
The action frees me enough to strain a glance over my shoulder to see Brock’s eyes trained on the top of the staircase, watching smoke rush across the ceiling.
My eyes dart around, trying to figure out a way free, when they land on a cast iron doorstop in the shape of a fucking heart.
Yep, that’ll do.
Reaching forward, I manage to squirm enough to get a good grip on it, and as Brock turns back to me, I swing backwards with everything I have, the motion throwing him back before the heavyweight slams into the side of his face.
I gasp at the crunch I feel as the cast iron connects with Brock’s head, and he flies back, giving me room to get up. With the doorstop still in my hand, I lunge for the door, tugging on the handle before I’m reefed back and fall on my arse.
I momentarily drop the doorstop but scramble to pick it up as my eyes connect with Brock’s. Blood pours from his brow, and he blinks rapidly, trying to shake off a daze that my blow rattled him with.
He now stands in between me and freedom, with the door at his back. I could run through the house, but I know I’ll only make it a few steps before he’s on me again.
No. I need to fight.
Baring my teeth, I hiss at him. “Move!”
“Not going to happen.” He mutters, frowning and giving his head a shake.
Shit, I really did shake his brain.
I make like I’m going to run for the dining room off to the side, and he lunges in that direction, stumbling a little. I don’t think as I swing the doorstop at his head again. He grabs me as he tumbles to the floor, his head bouncing off the front door as he lashes his fists out. I rear back and swing the heavy doorstop again, feeling it connect with his hand and his shoulder before I find another opening to slam it into his head. There’s a sickening crack, and blood sprays up over my face. A feral scream lurches from me as I repeat the action before his arms flop to his sides and his body falls limp.
A loud crack pierces the air, and something whizzes past my ear before a bullet lodges in the front door next to Brock’s head. I scramble back, running for the dining room before another bullet splinters the timber frame of the door.
