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She’d heard it earlier that evening, but under completely different circumstances. Then, it had thrilled her. Now, it filled her entire being with terror.
It was the sound of metal on leather. A belt buckle being undone.
Metal on fabric. A zipper lowering.
Holy shit.
Move, dammit! Move!
Her blood pounded in her veins, but she couldn’t move. Not yet.
She lay motionless, her muscles coiled tight, as he edged to the right side of her bed. His left hand stretched out above her. It stilled. Fisted. Then, like a snake, it struck out, hammering down. In the same instant, she threw herself to the left, scrambling off the bed. His fist grazed the back of her head.
On her feet, she made a mad, desperate dash for her bedroom door. She’d barely taken three steps when a sharp pain exploded on the right side of her torso. Before she could cry out, the man collided with her, the heavy weight of him sending her to the ground. Noxious body odor and the coppery scent of blood filled her senses, and she gagged.
He flipped her onto her back and straddled her. Her arms flailed, knocking the sticky knife out of his hand. She wanted to buck like a wild bronco, but he was too damn heavy.
Pinned beneath him and desperate, she struggled, grasping and scratching and punching.Anythingto get free. Her hands found the flesh of his face and she gripped it, fingers probing. He tried to shake her off. When she felt the squishy give of his eyes, she jammed her fingers in and clawed.
He roared in agony. His meaty fist struck out and connected with the side of her face, stunning her. A black haze threatened to cloud her vision. Another blow struck her jaw, but this time, the icy hot pain shooting through her head brought clarity.
The man wrenched her across the floor. He pulled up her sleep shirt and crouched over her bare thighs. Freed of his weight and fueled by terror, she whipped up her leg and smashed her knee against the underside of his testicles.
He howled in pain and rolled to his side, clutching his crotch.
She surged to her feet, but his arm shot out and tripped her, sending her sprawling across the room. On her hands and knees, she crawled to the dresser and leaned against it. Blood filled her mouth, and her abdomen cramped, stealing her breath.
She was so damn close. The door wasright there.
The man limped toward her. His face was streaked with blood, his eyes filled with rage. She tried to push herself up, but her knees wobbled and her right arm gave out. Falling back to the floor, her hand brushed against metal. The man’s bloody knife.
Get up and run, dammit!
With the knife clenched in her hand, she forced herself off the floor and through the bedroom door. She rushed down the hallway toward the stairs, but her limping stride was no match for his. Her scalp burst into flames when he grabbed her by the hair. She swung out blindly with the knife, striking flesh.
He gasped, then stumbled.
She twisted the knife out and struck him again. And again. He fell backward, down the stairs. But his fist was still locked in her hair, and he yanked her down on top of him.
They tumbled in a heap. Something in her knee popped, and her shoulder exploded in pain. Then everything was in slow motion. Her gaze fixated on the bottom banister post as she hurtled toward it.
There was a deafening crack, then everything went fuzzy and dark.
Sound muted as if she were at the bottom of a swimming pool.
She thought she heard Quinn calling her name. But his voice kept getting farther and farther away until finally, there was only silence.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
“So, you and Alex, huh?” Joe asked with a grin.
They trudged up the front steps to Alex’s house—well, technically Joe’s—and Quinn didn’t bother trying to hide his big, goofy smile. “Yeah. I know it’s been fast.” He shrugged, his stupid smile widening. “But she’s fucking amazing.”
Joe fished his keys out of his pocket. “Had I known you’d swoop in on her when I sent her here, I definitely would have...” He frowned, keys seemingly forgotten, as he leaned in to look through the front door’s side window.
Quinn reached for the Sig in his ankle holster. “What is it?”
“Fuck!” Joe drew his weapon and kicked at the front door.
