Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
There’s a thump upstairs, and the sound of muffled voices. Shit.
Normally, there’s a sign that reads “PRIVATE” hanging on a chain strung across the stairs, but it’s been unhooked. Someone’s up there.
They’re in my home.
The humid, summer weather isn’t enough for me to be sweating this hard, and my heart’s beating like it’s trying to break its way out and run away.
I won’t be afraid. I won’t be afraid. I chant in my head, trying to convince myself that it’s not a lie, then I take the first quiet step on the stairs.
Nicky would tell me to call the cops, but that’s another lesson I learned young. Maybe in some places it’s different, but around here they’d take one look at my family and write us off as biker trash. This is my home, my space. And it’s been invaded. I’ll never let anyone take my agency away from me, ever again. I might have to lock myself in the closet and cry later, but I’m not going to back down now.
I climb the stairs like a ghost, knowing exactly which steps creak and which don’t. A ghost with a gun in both hands and my jaw set in determination.
Another thump, and someone curses. There’re at least two guys, but I can’t make out what they’re saying.
I should run. I want to run. But I want them out of my house even more. White-knuckling the pistol hilt, I take the last few steps up to the inside front door. Nudging it with my foot, I ease it open, leading the way with the gun barrel.
No one’s in the little hall, or the living room past it. Nothing seems out of order, other than the voices coming from the bedroom—my bedroom. If there’s anywhere that’s my innermost shelter against the big world, it’s the bedroom, and whoever these bastards are, they’ve invaded it.
My fear mingles with sheer fury, and every step grows more and more determined as I get closer to my room.
“You fucking broke it,” growls one of the men in there. “Leave no trace, remember?”
“It’s not broken. It fell out. Just gimme a sec. Fuck.”
I crouch behind the door frame, peeking around to see what I’m dealing with. A quick glance shows two men with their backs to me. My pulse spikes at the sight of leather and MC patches. I should’ve known that box was going to be trouble.
Aiming my gun at the back of the closest one’s head, I step into the room and settle into a firing stance. Dad always said to bark like the biggest dog in the park when you have nothing to lose, so I do my best. “Get the fuck out of my underwear before I paint the wall with your brains, motherfuckers! Hands in the air!”
My voice cracked a little in the middle, but I think he’d be proud.
The bikers freeze. The broader of the two raises his hands, very slowly. In his hand is Ollie, the little purple stuffed elephant that I’ve had since before I can remember. Somehow, that feels even worse, more personal than the bras spilled onto the floor.
The one holding the drawer nods. “I’m putting this down. No sudden moves, okay?” He doesn’t sound scared, really, but cautious.
“Do it,” I say. “And drop the elephant.”
The big guy gently tosses Ollie onto my bed while the other one crouches slowly and sets the drawer on the floor. Then they both put their hands up. “We’re not here to hurt you.”
“Excuse me if I don’t take your word for it, thank you very much,” I snap. The barrel of my gun stays pointed straight at them, but the end wobbles a tiny bit. These guys are way bigger than me. If I screw this up, I don’t stand a chance. “Turn around.”
They do, slowly. God, I’m so screwed. What do I do now? March them outside? Tell them to jump out the window?
A thick arm comes around my throat from behind, just as a hand locks down over both of my wrists and yanks my arms up so the gun points at the ceiling. I gurgle in panic and struggle with all I’ve got, but his grip is like steel.
I can’t breathe.
Black dots dance at the edge of my vision, and buzzing fills my ears.
Not now. I can’t let it happen right now. Hands become rope, and my jaw aches where two of my baby teeth were knocked out, all those years ago. I try to concentrate on what I’m seeing and not the horror movie in my head, but it’s too close to the worst night of my life. No amount of mindful breathing will pull me through this.
“You’re fucking choking her!” One of the men in front steps closer and yanks the gun from my numb fingers.