AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Except for the shattered living room window.
Glass is sprinkled across the floor like confetti, sparkling in the last rays of sunlight breaking through the trees.
The house seems to be vibrating around me with noise and movement and violence. It is so intense I almost feel seasick.
But I grab the corner of the couch and listen, trying to pick out any sound that will lead me to Rian or Milaya.
Then, through all of the din, I hear a cry.
At first, I think I must be imagining it. It is just my mind playing tricks on me, letting me hear what I want to hear.
Then, I hear a tiny cough and another desperate cry.
I remember nights spent sitting up with Milaya in her nursery when she wouldn’t go to sleep. When she cried and cried, and I wasn’t sure what to do to make her feel better. All of those moments that, at the time, felt endless and frustrating, were moments I looked back on while I was being tortured and held prisoner and forced to do things I would never do of my own free will.
And now, I know without a doubt my baby is upstairs.
I sprint to the nearest stairs and up them with tunnel vision.
Nothing else matters.
I don’t see anyone else or hear the gunfire. Every single one of my senses is focused in on Milaya and her cries and her needs.
I’m so close to her. So close.
I reach the top of the stairs and pause long enough to figure out where I need to go next.
When I hear her cries again, I barrel towards them, not even bothering to stay quiet.
Then, a door flies open and someone shoots.
The crack of gunfire is so close it makes my ears ring. I drop to the floor, losing my gun in the process, and I don’t realize until I roll over that my back is roaring in pain.
I’ve been hit.
I don’t have time to worry about that, though, because Rian Morrison is standing over me with a gun.
I’ve barely recognized who she is before I swing my legs to the side and kick out at her.
My ankle swipes the back of her knee, and like a tower of wooden blocks, Rian topples onto the floor next to me.
I spin and grab for the gun, but Rian is faster than I am. She pulls it back, sits up, and takes aim. Just as she pulls the trigger, I knock the gun to the side, but it isn’t enough.
Heat courses through my thigh followed by flashes of pain so blinding I can barely see.
I scream and want nothing more than to grab my leg and curl up in the fetal position, but at that very second, Milaya begins to cry again.
I hear it. Her tiny voice cries out, followed by dainty little coughs.
My helpless baby is in the room just a few feet away from me, and I can’t die here.
Not like this. Not when I’m so close.
My gun is too far away and the likelihood that I’ll be able to get Rian’s gun out of her hands is slim. So, before Rian can recover and get into shooting position again, I reach down into my boots and pull free the scalpel I hid between the boot and the inner lining when we were riding in the SUV. I didn’t know when or if I would need it again, but I wanted to be prepared, and now I’m happier than ever for that preparation.
I slash the blade clumsily at Rian’s leg and manage to find purchase. The blade, while small, was created for carving through human flesh, and it does its job, gouging a deep wound in Rian’s ankle.
She screams, her tidy blonde ponytail flailing out behind her like a possessed spider, and jumps away from me.
