AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Chapter Thirty-One
Francis Turner isin my kitchen. We stare at each other, neither of us moving. I blink. He’s still here.
How the hell did he get past the guard and alarm system?
The tea dripping from the wet filter onto the floor is the only sound in the room. Holding my breath,I'm waiting for the panic to kick in, but there is...nothing. Why is there nothing? Maybe it's the shock of seeing him in front of me, in my father's house in Los Angeles. It's got to be. I'm alone with no one to contact to help me. Definitely shock.
I glance to the side, mentally measuring the distance to the knife block by the stove. Too far.
Following my gaze, he cocks an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth pulls up in a smirk. "I wouldn't do that, little girl."
My phone is where I left it on the counter—also on the other side of the kitchen. Why did I have to go to the trash can right this second? I scan everything in my vicinity. The white porcelain fruit bowl—which probably costs more than my old Jeep—is the closest item in my reach, and I lunge for it.
Unfortunately, he anticipates the projectile and ducks to the side. The crashing sound of the bowl is equivalent to the demolition of a high-rise in the quiet house. It also is what my brain and body need to catch up with the severity of the situation. Turner pulls something out of his pocket, and my adrenaline level goes through the roof.
Please don't let it be a gun.
My heart beats in my throat, and I take a defensive stance. I’m trained to defend myself against almost every weapon, but no one can match a bullet. I follow his movement like a hawk, ready to dive behind the island. When he pulls out a small object, I narrow my eyes. What the hell is—a syringe? This can’t be real.
Every nerve ending in my body is buzzing with energy. This asshole is not going to get me. Through his evasion maneuver, Turner is now farther from the knives than me, and I don't hesitate. I sprint around the island, swiping my phone as I pass it and clasp my hand on the first handle I can reach. What I don't anticipate is for this tall and bulky guy to be so quick. An arm sneaks around my stomach just as I pull my weapon out of the block.
"Ahhhhh!" The sudden connection sends my system into overdrive. Goosebumps erupt where he touches me, and I fight the urge to scream and thrash uncontrollably. I'm trained for this. I need to be smart—in control.
My feet leave the ground, and his other arm comes around my upper body, immobilizing me. Expelling all my air, I throw my head back, but he's too tall, and I hit his chest.
Shit!
"Nice try, princess," he sneers close to my ear, and his breath of stale alcohol and cigarettes penetrates my nose.
I swallow hard not to start gagging.
He fumbles with the syringe, attempting the right grip to administer whatever he has in there. Using the opportunity, I flip the handle around in my hand—blade pointing backward—but almost lose hold of it, my palms being coated with sweat. Before it slips from my grasp, I push it into the closest body part.
"Fuuuck! You little bi—" He stumbles and drops me.
I keep my fingers curled around my ticket out of here. The knife dislodges from wherever it entered his body, and I spin, holding my weapon in front of me with my other hand raised in defense. I follow his gaze down to his thigh, where his dark pant leg begins to look wet. Blood.
"What is it with you women and stabbing me in the legs?" he growls.
Huh?
Turner trains his ice-blue eyes on me, and his glare sends chills down my spine. It's at that moment that I realize I dropped my phone in the struggle. Crap, crap, crap. I flick my gaze across the floor, making sure not to take my focus off of my opponent for more than half a second.
Unable to spot the device anywhere, I take a step back to bring more distance between us. His pained expression turns into a shit-eating grin, and he leans down without breaking eye contact.
"Looking for this?" He wiggles my phone between his thumb and forefinger. My heart is pounding like a jackhammer. He lets go, and I hear it smash into the tiled floor. No! He glances down, back up at me, and shrugs once before he brings his heel down on the screen. I don't have to look to know that my phone has been rendered useless—the loud crack made it clear.
I'm breathing heavily, running through possible ways out of this situation in my head. Then something hits me: the alarm system. It has a button to notify the security company and most likely send an alert to Nate. The closest panel is about thirty feet away, next to the French doors to the back patio. Turner is on the other end of the kitchen, and I have a straight path to the keypad. Before I can think more about it, I push off and sprint toward help, using the coursing adrenaline to my advantage.
I'm almost on the other side, reaching out my hand, when something hits me in the back, and I go down. I try to brace my fall, but with the knife in one hand, I'm only able to block the fall with the other one which, by the force of my impact, doesn't do much good. My forehead hits the floor, and everything goes black for a moment.
Do not pass out.
As the darkness clears, the room is spinning from the impact, but I force myself on my hands and knees.
I need to get up.
My thoughts are sluggish, and I shake my head in an attempt to clear the fog. Footfalls behind me announce Turner coming closer. Suddenly, my head gets yanked back by the hair. A sharp prick punctures my neck, and I fall to the side, dropping the knife.
