“Don’t even think about it,” he says, almost too calmly, while I’m surrounded by pure panic.
My fingers hover over the handle, every part of me screaming to run out onto the porch and yell for help, but something tells me I won’t make it three feet.
The moment his eyes bounce from the door back to me, I run toward the stairs, not even sure what the hell my plan is. I take off toward the bedroom because that’s the only place that feels like an option.
But I only make it halfway up before he’s behind me, his boots hitting the stairs with a pounding rhythm. I grab the banister and try to haul myself faster, but he catches my ankle and yanks.
I fall hard. My forehead smacks the step, and light bursts behind my eyes. My fingers scrape for something, anything, but he drags me down the stairs, my body slamming against each step, palms burning as I try to claw free. The gun clatters somewhere behind us when he switches his grip, his gloved hand fisting the back of my shirt.
I twist, shove, kick, but he’s stronger. He pins me on the floor, one knee on the wood, the other pressing into my stomach while he reaches into his pocket and pulls out duct tape. The sight of it knocks the air out of my lungs.
If that tape touches my wrists, I’m not getting out of here alive.
Pure survival takes over. I dig my nails under the edge of his mask and find skin, clawing through as I let out a scream.
“Bitch!” He slaps me.
Instead of backing down when he draws closer, I lift up and bite the side of his cheek through the fabric, tasting blood. My legs kick wildly, and I knee him in the balls, slipping out from under him before rushing toward the front door like every inch of my life depends on it.
I get my hand on the knob, turning it halfway before he reaches me again. A scream sticks in my throat as his fisttangles in my hair, pain lancing through my scalp so fast my vision blurs.
The blow comes next. A hard, brutal crack to the side of my head that sends the world tilting away from me.
The door slips from my grip. The floor rushes up. Everything folds into spinning shapes and fading sound, darkness swallowing the hallway.
And the only thought that comes next is that I’m about to die.
But I didn’t. I woke up on the floor, and he was gone. No sign of him either. No blood except my own. It was like someone had wiped the whole place clean.
The only proof left behind was the gash on my forehead and the terror still lodged in my throat.
When the cops arrived, they found nothing. No forced entry. No weapon or prints. They called it a failed robbery attempt, but I knew better.
Whoever he was, he didn’t come for my things. He came for me. This wasn’t random. It was personal.
The next day, I turned my home into a fortress. Alarms on every door and window. A camera by the entrance. Reinforced locks. Paranoia made tangible.
Then, several weeks later, the letters started coming. At first, I didn’t think they were connected to the attack. But now? I’m certain.
The letter slips from my fingers and lands on the counter with a soft flutter, but the sound is deafening in the quiet. My nerves buzz as I pinch my temple and head toward the electric kettle to make some tea, needing something to calm me.
My cat winds between my legs, his soft meow tugging me from my thoughts. I scoop him up, burying my cheek in his black fur.
“I’m fine,” I whisper.
He meows again, as if calling me a liar.
“It’s really not cute being such a know-it-all, Poe.”
He flicks his tail and jumps down just as the kettle clicks off behind me. I reach for a mug when my phone vibrates across the counter.
Emilia’s name appears on the screen. Or should I call her Mrs. Marinova now, being that she’s the wife of a Mob boss?
The thought alone makes me sick. My best friend married to a psychopath. Aleksei’s whole family is crazy.
I swear, I think she lost her mind when she decided to stay with Konstantin. Every day, I worry that something will happen to her or she’ll get caught up in whatever illegal dealings he’s involved with.
She used to walk the straight and narrow, a damn good agent for the Bureau, until her brother got arrested and everything spiraled. It’s hard for me to get over it all. I can only imagine how hard it’s been for her.
