He slides me out in one smooth motion, my arms above my head.I hear the metal scrape along the floor.I can’t let him take it from me.I can’t.I manage to pull that hand close to my side, flat against my leg.
He rolls me over and presses his weight into me.I’m pinned to the tile.
“If you make any sound at all, I’ll maim you so bad that no doctor will be able to put you back together.”
I say nothing.I just stare into his hideous face as the hate bubbles up in me.
“Since you seem to like the floor, I’ll give it to you on the floor tonight.And I’ll have to punish you for being a little smartass bitch.”
I’m a volcano of hate.Ready to blow.But I wait.Tick.Tick.It’s almost time.He’ll be the one who can’t be put back together.
Fuck you, Humpty-Dumpty.
When his hand slides up into my nightshirt, my hand shoots up from my side.He sees the movement, but it’s already too late.I’ve stabbed him in the face, and now I’m pressing hard, slicing in a downward motion, cutting open his flesh.
His scream shakes the walls.
In an instant, blood is everywhere, all over me, in my nose and eyes.He flops away from me, screaming.I try to scrabble to a stand, but my bare feet slip in the blood.I try again.I get up.
Run for the door.Run down the hall.Run down the stairs.
His scream goes on and on.Now there are other screams.The wife.The kids.So loud.
I unlock the front door and race into the street.I turn and run, blinded by terror and rage.Sidewalks and streets blur under me.I can’t breathe.My legs shake, but I keep running.I can’t feel my feet.I hear sirens as I collapse into a snowbank in front of a run-down trailer.Their porch light comes on.
I use the snow to clean the blood off my skin.
CHAPTER 63
Finn
I’m out.
Out of the depths of sleep.I’m up.
Up out of bed.Feet on the floor, drawer open, knife in hand.
Someone’s in the house.
Door open.In the hall.I force myself to take a moment to listen.If it’s an intruder, they need to believe I’m still asleep.Surprise is always best.
But an intruder fucking stupid enough to wander into a compound occupied by a family of Navy SEALs?That’s another question entirely.There may be time for questions at some point.
Or maybe not.Since whoever is in here may about to be unalived.
I slide with my back against the hallway wall toward Jasmine’s room.My brain has been trained for eight years to hear and respond to every possible sound she makes.I already know it’s not my daughter I hear.But I crack open the door, anyway.
Nothing, just the soft breath of my little girl.Healthy and safe.A nightlight throwing a soft glow on her peaceful face.
Then what…?I cock my head.
No creak.No footfall.And then I hear it.
A horrible cry.A moan.
It’s Emma.
With my knife perfectly balanced in my hand, ready for use, I throw open the door, every nerve in my body on alert and ready to do what needs to be done.
