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Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I dive for him.
I need to fight, but as if sensing me in some weird hunter versus prey sixth sense, he spins around, and the back of his hand connects with my jaw. “I don’t want to hurt you, Claire.”
I grip the counter, steadying myself as pain rips through the side of my face. A coppery taste floods my mouth and trickles down my chin.
My vision blurs.
Don’t fucking blackout.
The pungent smell invades me, making my head spin.
“You weren’t supposed to be here, Claire. Please believe me. You were never supposed to be involved.”
But he’s too erratic. Not a lot of planning went into this. This was a quick flip. He’s giving me too much of a chance to run.
Keeping my upper body still, my feet slide against the tiles at a snail’s pace.
He’s too occupied with his crazed ramblings when my legs begin to move. I’m running toward the stairs, knowing that if I can just get to Hannah, I can figure something out.
I can’t leave this house without her.
A stab of pain explodes at the back of my scalp as he fists my hair, pulling me to the ground with him.
I punch, I kick, I scratch, I fight.
But he’s stronger.
He’s so much stronger.
“You weren’t supposed to be here, Claire.”
I see it when all humanity fades from his eyes and his fingers wrap around my throat.
No.
This can’t be happening.
“Rob,” I scream.
I fight some more. But the more I fight, the more air leaves my lungs.
I need to stop fighting.
Little legs appear at the top of the stairs.
No. No. No.
“Hannah, get back in the room,” I shout, but nothing comes out.
“Claire, Jake is on the phone. I told him I’m dancing.”
I try to turn to her, but his grip is so tight I can’t move.
“Daddy, what are you doing to Claire? Daddy, stop.”
He doesn’t even flinch.
