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“Looks like he wants some more,” one of them says.
I lurch toward the door, dodging a two-by-four and stumbling into the hallway. I take off running to the corridor, a space too tight for the men to have much room to swing their boards. I stagger into my parents’ bedroom and lunge across the bed and onto the carpeted floor. The room is dark, but the hallway is lit by the last rays of the setting sun.
I reach for the small gun safe tucked under Dad’s bedside table, but the door hangs ajar.
The gun is gone.
“Looking for this?” one of the men says, coming around the bed.
He pulls Dad’s .38 from his pocket and aims it at me.
“Now stop fucking around,” he says. “It’s time to take your medicine like a man. The only way you’re leaving this house tonight is in an ambulance. But it’s up to you whether your parents join you or not.”
The other one stands on the other side of the bed, holding the two-by-four over his shoulder like a baseball player in the box waiting for his chance at bat.
“Yeah,” he says. “We ain’t supposed to kill you, but no one said nothing about not killing your mom and dad.”
That’s it. I’ve had enough. I rise to my feet. My muscles throb from where they’ve hit me already.
But I ignore the pain.
“Well, come on then,” I growl, raising my fists.
The guy with the .38 tucks the gun into his belt and chokes up on the two-by-four. The one on the other side of the bed seems unsure how to proceed. As he hesitates, headlight beams flash through the window, and we can hear the sound of a car pulling into my parents’ driveway.
“Hang on a sec,” the guy says, and he approaches the window, which is cracked about six inches to let in the evening breeze. The guy peeks through the open window as the other one and I stand ready to fight. We hear a car door open.
“I’ll be damned,” the guy looking out the window says, his voice registering surprise.
“What is it?” his partner asks.
“I’ll be damned if that ain’t Willow Dawes,” the guy says.
“The country singer?” the other asks.
“Looks like her.”
We hear boot heels on the sidewalk as Willow approaches the house.
I take a deep breath and open my mouth to shout.
“Willow!”I roar.“Run!”
CHAPTER 28
“GO GET HER!” the man closest to me shouts at the other, who takes off out the bedroom door.
“Call 911!”I shout to Willow.
The man grunts in frustration and swings his board at me. I lean my head back just in time. I feel the wind off the two-by-four as it passes next to my nose.
So much for this guy’s instructions to be careful and not to hurt me too badly.
Seems like he’s not holding back anymore.
I’m not going to, either.
As he’s getting ready for his next swing, I dive onto him, throwing my shoulder into his body like an offensive tackle sacking a quarterback. I drive him into the wall, shaking it so hard a framed picture of the family crashes to the floor. I keep the guy pinned to the wall and drive my fist into his gut. Air whooshes out of his mouth, and I hit him again.
