I nodded in agreement, my throat constricted so tight that words felt impossible, my tongue thick and useless in my mouth.
"Is there a back exit?" he asked, his voice dropping to barely more than a rumble, as though conscious of being overheard by something—or someone—lurking just beyond the walls.
"The back stairs," I whispered, my hand lifting to point toward the rear of the kitchen where a small doorway stood hidden in shadow. "It leads down to the alleyway behind the house."
"Good," Xabat grunted, a sound that vibrated through the darkness. His touch left my face, his large hands settling on my shoulders with a pressure so slight it was almost reverent, yet firm enough to convey his intent. "Stay down and stay silent."
I gave another nod, my body responding, shifting into a low crouch that made my thighs burn. Xabat's warmth left my side, the sound of his footsteps carrying him across the floor toward the front of the house, near the door.
Outside, the wind screamed like something alive and furious. The rain hammered against the tin roof with such intensity it sounded like John Bonham unleashing a drum solo. Each gust made the house shudder, the walls groaning inprotest. But inside, in the pitch-black kitchen where I crouched, the quiet was absolute. The kind of silence that comes just before something terrible happens, when even the air seems to hold its breath.
A sudden, sharp crack split the air, not from the storm, but from somewhere closer. Too close.
I went absolutely still, holding my breath.
Footsteps, and the small creak of my front door opening. I chided myself for not locking it, but I doubted it would've made any difference.
A flash of light from a nearby streetlight as they entered revealed a silhouette. Not one but four figures. I'd been a cop's wife; I knew what tactical gear looked like. But there was no sign of a badge, no insignia that identified them as police or military. Private security, maybe, but why?
One of the figures moved with practiced precision, sweeping the room with a flashlight. The beam cut through the darkness, dancing across walls and furniture as it searched.
"Clear left," a low voice muttered.
"Nothing here yet," another responded.
Xabat didn't make a sound. But I felt the sudden shift of tension in the room, like electricity crackling just before a lightning strike.
Then, so quickly I almost missed it, he moved.
The first man went down with a wet thud that sounded like a side of beef hitting a butcher's block. No cry. No shout. Just that sickening impact and the clatter of something hitting the floor.
The second man's flashlight spun wildly, its beam cartwheeling across the ceiling before he too crashed to the ground. I heard a sharp exhalation—not quite a gasp, more like all the air being forced from lungs in one violent instant. Then nothing.
"Contact—" the third man started, but the word died halfway through. There was a sound like fabric tearing, a brief scuffle of boots on hardwood, and then silence so complete it made my ears ring.
The fourth man was smarter. He didn't speak. I heard him moving, backing toward the door, his breathing rapid. But Xabat was faster. There was a dull crack—bone, I realized with nauseating certainty—and then the sound of a body sliding down the wall.
Ten seconds. Maybe less.
Four armed men, and Xabat had ripped through them like they were made of paper.
The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the storm's relentless howl and my own thundering heartbeat. I couldn't see anything in the darkness, just vague shapes and deeper pools of black. But I could smell it now—the sharp, coppery tang of blood mixing with that warm cinnamon scent that clung to Xabat.
"Harper," his voice came from somewhere near the door, calm and steady as if he'd just finished folding laundry instead of... whatever the hell that was. "Stay where you are. There may be more."
I obeyed without question, my muscles locked in place, frozen not by fear of Xabat but by the terrifying certainty that something far worse lurked beyond my walls, waiting in the storm-torn darkness.
The minutes crawled by with agonizing slowness, each second stretching into an eternity. The old kitchen clock on the wall ticked steadily, its rhythm a metronome counting down to something I couldn't name. My legs cramped, my calves burned, but I didn't dare shift position. When I finally heard Xabat move, my heart hammered so hard I thought it might bruise my ribs from the inside.
"We have to go. There are more coming," he whispered, his voice urgent but controlled. I heard him grab my backpack from where it lay on the kitchen counter, then the soft suction of the refrigerator door opening just wide enough for him to reach inside. The wrinkle of plastic water bottles being stuffed in the backpack meant he'd left my fridge empty.
His hand found mine in the darkness, large and warm and impossibly steady. He pulled me to my feet effortlessly, his fingers interlacing with mine as he guided me through the darkness. I stumbled once, my hip catching the corner of the counter, but his grip kept me upright as we moved toward the small doorway that opened onto the back staircase. The wooden steps creaked under our combined weight as we descended.
The back of my house opened directly onto the narrow alleyway, a cramped space barely wide enough for two people to walk side by side. The air was thick with the smell of rain and garbage. My neighbors' trash cans had been knocked over, contents scattered across the wet pavement. At the far end of the alley, perhaps fifty yards away, a small roundabout connected to a hidden pathway that ran along the Intracoastal Waterway, the route concealed by overgrown oleander bushes and wild palmettos that thrashed violently in the wind.
The rain hit us immediately, sheets of water driven sideways by wind so strong it nearly knocked me off my feet. My clothes were soaked through in seconds, my hair plastered to my face. But Xabat's hand never loosened its grip on mine as we ran.
What terrified me most wasn't the fact that I was rushing headlong into a hurricane, hand in hand with a man I'd met less than an hour ago. It wasn't even the four bodies lying motionless in my living room, or the way Xabat had dispatched them with such brutal efficiency.
