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Sher shot her head in the direction of the sound, her nostrils flaring, pupils dilated like a predator on the prowl. Kirsten looked over, too, her heart whispering a faint truth she was willing to cling to.
Sher slammed her hand into the wall, leaving an indent and briefly waking up Zara.
“Now you get to stay here and listen to me tear your new man to shreds,” she hissed through sharp teeth.
Sher blasted out of the room and tried to slam the door shut. But in her haste, Kirsten realized that she didn’t close it fully. It had bounced back a bit, so the lock did not click into place. It was sitting, barely an inch ajar, calling to her the way Henry’s soul had called the moment they met.
Kirsten knew she had to act immediately. She could hear Henry below them, roaring, bellowing, and demanding to know where she and Zara were. She had to go, or she would risk losing Henry and even her own life.
She looked down at Zara, who had only wriggled slightly when Sher bashed her hand against the wall. Her little eyes were so round and shiny that one could have mistaken her for a doll.
Kirsten smiled, then kissed the baby’s sweet, delicate head. Zara blinked at her, so innocent and unaware of the disorder surrounding her short life thus far.
“We’re going to get back to daddy, okay?” she murmured to the child. “I can promise you that.”
Zara settled back into her arms like it was a sunny afternoon. Kirsten promised Zara and herself that they would be back to him in no time.
She inched herself up from the wall she had been pinned to. The pain from being pulled by her hair was still pulsing like a bruise. But Kirsten was a warrior. She pushed through it, then searched the room for another blanket.
She found a blanket that could keep Zara strapped to her chest in case she needed the use of her hands. She wrapped it around herself a few times, tested it out by jumping and shaking, then finally crept her way back to the open door.
This time, the hallway wasn’t empty. She could still hear Henry yelling, likely at Sher, in a way that was far less reasonable than he had initially. She understood that, yet, she had great empathy for Sher. She was a woman who so desperately wanted love that she had become corrupted by it.
It wasn’t something Kirsten found difficult to imagine happening to her, should anything horrid be threatened against Zara or Henry.
She needed to go on and get to Henry, to have a fighting chance. Ahead of her were two guards, holding batons, facing away from her, and gazing down the steps at the commotion that was going on below them.
Kirsten took advantage of their distraction and took a running start, slid along the carpeted ground, and smashed directly into the shins of the man on the left.
She wasn’t someone who would consider herself athletic, necessarily. If she needed to be, she could, but she enjoyed more of a brisk walk than a long jog any day. The slide across the carpet would surely leave her with rug burn, but hell, it was all going to be worth it in the end.
She prayed.
“FUCK!”
The man whose shin she slammed into plummeted to the ground the way Kirsten had been hoping. She had time to scream as the second guard spun around, realizing that she was the woman they were supposed to be watching.
“Henry!” she screeched. “Henry, I’m up here!”
Everything started to move in slow motion from that point. Kirsten began to crawl backward like a crab, thankful that she had taken the time to make sure her hands were free. Zara jostled on her chest, and she moved like lightning. The guard before her was somewhat panicked, but he was coming for her anyway.
“I’m coming, Kirsten!”
The sound of his voice gave Kirsten a burst of confidence. Suddenly, she stopped moving, which confused the man holding the baton high in the air. By some kind of magic, she grabbed hold of the baton, ripping it from the man’s grip, then smashed it into one of his kneecaps.
The shriek that he emitted was slightly comical, followed by the hollow drumming of the same weapon against the side of his head. He fell like a bag of dirt next to his friend, who was still clutching his shin.
Kirsten breathed rapidly, looking over the chaos she had caused by her own hands.
FORTY-THREE
HENRY
Henry stood at the bottom of the stairwell in the lobby, fists clenched in rage, his t-shirt nearly splitting down the front from the tension in his muscles. The man he had nearly killed returned from the top of the stairs with a furious Sher in tow.
But he didn’t care. Not in the slightest.
“Where is she?” he said, his voice low and husky.
