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I swallow down hard, my legs trembling. “Yes.”
“Get your knife and get out of the house. If the motherfucker gets to you, slash him, and don’t stop until he’s dead. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hangs up and the sudden lack of sound has me shaking worse.
Tucking the phone into the back of my jeans, I tiptoe to the bed and dig out the small knife she gifted me after I was able to cut her with it. Said I earned it.
But it’s one thing to fight an opponent you know isn’t trying to kill you and another to go against an intruder who most certainly is. Because anyone sneaking into my house can’t be up to anything good.
I plaster myself to the wall and listen. The stairs are wooden and noisy, something I complained about on the rare occasion I snuck out. I’m not complaining now.
When I don’t hear anything, I risk stepping out of my room. Slowly, my eyes glued to the stairwell, I make my way around.
The dragging of an object, maybe one of the chairs that flank the table in the foyer, has me ducking into Skye’s room. My lungs burn as I try desperately to control my breathing, the knife held tightly to my chest.
Whoever is down there—and now there’s no doubt in my mind that someone is—coughs. A door is opened, followed by the sound of a low male voice. “Power’s out.”
“Johnny said he saw a flashlight,” says a second voice and I have to stifle a gasp.
There are two men down there. Everything Scarlet taught me this past week may help me, and that’s a hugemay, against one man. But two?
“We need to clear the house,” the second man says. “Make sure the bitch hasn’t returned.”
“I’ll finish down here. You go up.”
I sink further into the room, carefully placing one foot behind the other. The stairs begin to creak and groan as the man ascends.
My heart climbs into my throat as I enter the Jack and Jill bathroom Skye and I shared. It’s all I can think to do that won’t have me cornered, a freaking sitting duck waiting to be slaughtered.
He’s upstairs now. It might be my overactive imagination, but I can almost hear him breathing.
Tears well up in my eyes, and I hate that I’m such a chicken right now. All the action movies I ever starred in in my head, all the different comic characters I created and saw myself as, and I can barely keep myself from crying.
But it’s not a matter of being brave or scared. I either sit here and do nothing, or I fight like hell.
His steps round the corner, and I back up into my room again, pointy end of the blade up and ready for when the jerk appears.
However, the attack doesn’t come from the front like I expect it to. It’s from behind, and I never stood a chance.
A hand wraps around my wrist as another covers my mouth. I’m about to scream but am silenced by the voice in my ear.
“Shh. It’s me. Scarlet.” She pulls me back slightly, then releases me. When I turn to look at her, relief flooding me so fast I swear I’m going to pass out, she places a finger to her lips.
I nod. Then she mimes, telling me there’s one man in my room but three downstairs.
My eyes bulge as I realize how much trouble I was really in.
She indicates for me to follow, and I go into the bathroom with her. When she presses herself against the wall beside the door that leads into Skye’s bedroom, she lifts her hand, and I stop beside her.
That’s when I notice the knife she’s carrying. It’s so big, it makes mine look like a toy. She holds it loosely in her right palm. Then, taking a deep breath, she glides into the room.
I’m not sure if the man sees her coming. There are a few thumps and a sickening gurgling that makes me nauseous just to imagine. I already have the memory of one death in my mind, and it will never go away. Because I don’t need another, I don’t peek. I wait where Scarlet told me to until she appears, her knife dripping crimson liquid on the floor.
Again, she motions for me to follow. I remain close to her, my only shield against the remaining men.
We step out into the hall and are about to head down the stairs when one of the goons decides to come to us. Scarlet moves us out of view so that he’s not aware of the danger until it’s too late.
Before I can shut my eyes, she attacks. It’s so fast, so fascinating, I’m not sure I would have looked away if I could. She grabs him by one arm at the same time that she whirls, her blade slashing through the air. Two quick hits, one to the crook of his neck and shoulder, the other to his back, and it’s over. He slumps forward, eyes unseeing. She catches him and helps him land softly.
Tilting her head, she listens intently for a moment, as if pinpointing the location of the others. She motions for me to stay put, then descends the stairs. But I’ve never been accused of being a good listener, especially not when I’m interested in something. And I’m very interested in not being left alone.
