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I jackknife off the bed. Someone’s here! In a hurry, I shove everything back into the box before pushing it under my bed. I grab the gun off the nightstand next, then slowly, carefully slip my feet into my bunny slippers and pad silently across the floor. I’ve lived here for four years, and until the other night, never touched my gun aside from periodically taking it to the range to practice and make sure it was still in good condition.
If that’s the guys breaking in again, I’m going to be pissed.
Another thump, followed by swearing.
Someone’s definitely here. Voices. Just like last time. My heart jumps into my throat, and my ears start to buzz. I swallow my fear and make my way to the top of the stairs.
It’s just Alpha, Ripper and Blade.
Alpha, Ripper and Blade.
I’m going to let them have it if they’ve freaked me out again for no reason, but something keeps me from yelling their names. It doesn’t feel right. They have my number now. They know I’m home.
Conversation. Definitely more than one guy down there. The voices are indistinct, but neither has Alpha’s rumble or Blade’s deep rasp.
Are these the same guys who shot at us?
The bottom stair creaks as someone heavy puts their weight on it.
Crap, crap, crap.
I back away from the hall, taking cover behind my couch. With the barrel aimed right at the door, I count as I inhale and exhale to keep from hyperventilating. I don’t want to shoot anyone. I’ve never shot anyone. I wouldn’t even have this pistol if Dad didn’t insist on it, but it does make me feel a little safer. Just not much.
The door that separates my home from the store rattles as someone tries to open it. “Fuck,” someone growls.
“I’ve got a gun!” I yell. “I’ve already called the police!”
Bullshit, but they don’t know that.
They’re not impressed. Heavy weight bangs against the door, the sudden sound making me jump so hard I nearly pull the trigger. On the fourth hit, when the door nearly comes off the hinges, I do pull the trigger, aiming high enough that I doubt it would hit anyone but it might scare them into thinking I mean business.
It doesn’t.
A second later, the door slams open and a long-haired guy in denim and leather rolls in, low to the floor.
I get off another shot, but it goes wide and then he’s on top of me, his big hand wrapped around my wrists and pinning them down. It hurts.
“Nice try, bitch.” With a jerk, he slams my wrists back into the floor, and I let go of the pistol without meaning to. It clatters away from me, useless. I didn’t realize how gentle Blade was with me the other night. It felt scary and violent at the time, but this is completely different. This manwantsto hurt me.
Three more guys come in, spreading out, checking the rooms for anyone else. It doesn’t take them long. “All clear.”
A fifth man strides in like he owns the place. Easy enough, when the only one here is me, pinned on the floor and helpless. His face is a mess. Something hit him hard at some point, slicing a deep, chalk-white scar from above his left eye, through a deep divot in his nose, and then along the side of his mouth before ending off the edge of his cheek. His dark eyebrows are furrowed in a terrifying scowl, and the undamaged side of his mouth twists into an ugly sneer. He’s built square and strong, squeezed into a denim cut with his tattooed arms bare. When his eyes fix on me, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much loathing in a stare in my life.
“So you’re Eagle-eye’s brat?” His voice is a crusty growl, like whatever got his face got his throat too. “Fucker must’ve gone soft, letting you live like this. Where is it?”
I force myself to look him right in the eyes and not glance towards the bedroom. The box isn’t hidden well enough to last even a cursory search, but I need to buy every second I can. I have no illusions about what they’ll do when they don’t need me anymore.
“Where’s what?” I stammer, not bothering to stop my teeth from chattering.
The guy holding me down slaps me across the cheek, snapping my face sideways. My glasses go skittering across the floor. It burns, but it pisses me off, too.
As terrified as I am, I’m not a kid anymore.
“I’d think carefully about your next response, little girl. The next one won’t be a love tap. We want that tape, but we want to send a message to your Daddy even more. If you cooperate, I might leave enough of you to piece it back together.” Their leader spits on the floor while his guys spread out to search.
I try very, very, very hard to not think about what he might mean.
“Shovelhead, in here!” one of the guys calls from my bedroom. The leader’s sneer turns into an ugly grin as he turns away from me. Without my glasses I can’t see the details of their smaller patches, but I definitely recognize the Pit Vipers logo.
