“The truck will detect the key fob in your pocket,” he whispered. “All you have to do is press the button under the door handle and it will open. The engine’s a push-button start. You remember, right? You’ve got this.” He framed her face with his hands. “All you have to do is run, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks as she looked into his beautiful blue eyes. “Bryson, I—”
Another squeak sounded outside the room. Lowe was getting restless, working up his courage for another assault. Then there was another sound, something scraping across the floor. Something heavy. What was that?
Bryson pressed a quick, hard kiss against her lips. “You can do this,” he whispered next to her ear. “Don’t let me down.”
Her pulse was rushing in her ears so loudly that she almost couldn’t hear him. She grasped the windowsill. It was awkward with the ridiculous towels wrapped around her arms. But she managed.
Grabbing the sheet off the bed, he shook it out, quickly rolling and twisting it, holding it in both hands like a length of rope. It shook her to her core when she realized what he was doing: planning to use the sheet to defend himself against the knives. Her heart slammed in her chest so hard she marveled that it didn’t crack one of her ribs.
She hated this, hated the thought of abandoning him. And yet, if she stayed, she’d be a distraction that could get him killed. All she could do now was follow his instructions and pray he was able to defeat Lowe.
With a concussion.
A bum hip.
Stitches both inside him and outside. Bruises all over.
With nothing but a sheet to defend himself against a madman with butcher knives and a pistol likely in his pocket.
This was insane.
A thump sounded against the door.
Get ready, he mouthed.
She clutched the stupid can of deodorant and prayed that a better plan would come to her than leaving him here to his likely death. But what could she do? How could she help?
Something heavy crashed against the door. The already cracked frame exploded in a hail of wooden shards as a side table from the family room flew through the ruined opening. Bryson ducked, then lunged forward, arms outstretched with the sheet between them as he grappled with Lowe. Both men moved backward into the family room, a flurry of flashing knives andbillowing cloth as Bryson ducked and weaved and wielded his sheet in an effort to avoid being diced into pieces.
“Now, Teagan,” he yelled, furiously fighting Lowe’s flailing arms. “Go!”
She let out a sob and jumped.
WITHTEAGANSAFELYaway, Bryson focused his undivided attention on the psychopath trying to hack him to death with a knife in each hand. Bryson wrenched his left arm up, using the sheet to deflect yet another blow. This time he twisted the sheet, then wrenched it back. The butcher knife in Lowe’s right hand flew across the family room, skittering onto the floor with a metallic twang.
Lowe dropped to the floor. Without his weight as a counterbalance, Bryson’s hip gave out. He crashed down on top of Lowe. A sickening scrape sounded and white-hot pain lanced through his side. Lowe’s mouth curved in a delighted smile as he grabbed the knife now embedded beneath Bryson’s ribs and yanked it out.
Bryson gasped, fighting for air now as he twisted and rolled with Lowe, desperately trying to gain control of the knife. He grabbed Lowe’s wrist, muscles burning and shaking as he slowly won the tug of war, turning the man’s hand. Bryson swiped the blade across the man’s neck. A thin red line immediately formed. But it was only superficial. Lowe didn’t even blink. He kept straining against Bryson, trying to turn the knife the other way. Muscles bunched and cramped as Bryson fought back.
The floor turned slippery with sweat and blood. They rolled like two alligators in a death roll, each struggling to get the upper hand. Lowe was strong, and big, but he still wouldn’t have been that difficult for a man Bryson’s size to defeat. Except that Bryson had begun this match in a much-weakened state.And Lowe’s knife had done considerable damage. His lifeblood was seeping from his side. A cold numbness spread across his middle, making him shiver. If he didn’t end this, soon, it would be lights out. For him.
He threw everything he had left into fighting back. But his muscles ached. Weakness crept relentlessly through his body. It was a struggle just to hold up his arms.
Lowe gave one of his guttural yells, this one of satisfaction and triumph. He was winning. It was almost over. And he knew it.
Taking advantage of Lowe’s distraction, Bryson managed to twist and jerk the man’s knife hand again. This time he sliced deep into Lowe’s biceps on his right arm. But before Bryson could follow up with a killing blow, Lowe twisted and rolled on top of him. Bryson couldn’t get traction on the slippery floor. Blood saturated the knife handle. Bryson lost his grip. Lowe plunged the knife deep into Bryson’s side again, and twisted.
Bryson arched off the floor, an inferno of lava-like pain scorching him from the inside out. He dropped back down, gasping, struggling to catch his breath. The rest of his strength seemed to drain away, leaving him limp, muscles twitching in agony as he squinted and blinked, trying to focus.
Lowe was a dark blur, climbing to his feet, staggering and clutching himself as he lumbered out of Bryson’s sight-line. He rolled his head to the side, trying to follow the other man’s progress. Cold. He was so cold. His teeth chattered as he frantically pushed against the floor, like a fiddler crab, trying to slide away. But all he could manage was a few inches.
His nemesis stopped by one of the couches and leaned down. When he turned around, Bryson blinked, trying to see what was in the man’s hand. A gun. Probably Bryson’s own pistol.
He held it up, no doubt gloating with triumph. Bryson could no longer see well enough to make out the man’s expression. Maybe that was a blessing.
“Chris said you’d put up a good fight and you did.” He spoke for the first time since their fight had begun, his words choppy as he too struggled to catch his breath. “I was his one call from jail. Imagine that. He called me instead of a lawyer.” He shook his head. “What a gift. And I’m here paying him back. This is for what you did to Chris.” He held his gun arm out toward Bryson. “After you’re dead, I’ll enjoy that girlfriend of yours. I’ll gut her like a fish.”
