There!
I grab the Louisville Slugger propped in the corner and grip it tightly in my hands.
The bat is solid maple, heavy, and the only thing in this apartment besides my computers that’s worth a damn. Looks like I’m about to find out how Acuna Jr. feels when he swings for the fences.
My hands are sweating. I wipe them on my leggings and grip the bat tighter, moving toward the door.
Every horror movie I’ve ever seen flashes through my mind. The idiots are always running up the steps when they should be running out the front door. Too bad for me I was already up here, and now I’m trapped like a rat.
I press my ear against the door, listening.
Footsteps. Heavy boots on the stairs. Whoever’s coming up here isn’t even trying to be quiet about it.
They want me to know they’re coming.
My security system beeps again, alerting me that someone’s at the door. I wait for a knock, but it doesn’t come.
My heart is pounding in my chest.
They’re just... out there. Waiting.
I should yell through the door that I know they’re out there. That if they don’t identify themselves, I’m calling the cops. If I could stop shaking like a damn leaf, I might do all of that.
Instead, I raise the bat over my shoulder and position myself behind the door. If they come through, I’ll have one chance. One swing, and I have to make it count.
The doorknob jiggles.
My heart is beating so loud in my ears that I’m sure they can hear it through the door. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the air conditioning pumping through the vents.
Shit, crap, damn. I’m too young to die.
The lock clicks.
Wait. The lock clicks? How did they?—
There’s no time to figure out all the whys as the door slowly swings open, and a large figure silhouetted by the exterior light steps inside.
He’s huge! Broad shoulders. Tall. Definitely a dude.
This is it.
Squeezing my hands tighter around the wood in my hands, I catch the glint of something metallic in the intruder’s hand.
Is that a gun? I don’t wait to find out.
I swing the bat with everything I have, aiming for where I think his head is in the darkness.
“What the—” The words are cut off as the bat connects with something solid.
Not his head. His shoulder, maybe? Either way, it’s enough to make him stumble back, and I use the momentum to swing again, this time going lower.
“Jesus Christ!” he growls, and his voice is deep, rough, and definitely pissed off. “Are you fucking crazy?”
Screw him. I don’t care. I swing again, and again. Like I’m trying to hit a home run, and his big ass is the ball.
“Stop—fucking—” He catches the bat mid-swing, ripping it out of my hands with little effort.
Now I’m defenseless, and whoever this guy is, he’s between me and the only exit. Panic claws at my throat.
