Ella
With every minute that ticks by, my chest tightens. It’s been too long, hasn’t it? Or maybe it hasn’t. I have no concept of how long murder takes, especially mass murder.
I pace, the gun warm in my grip, when I hear something.
My name.
“Ellaaa …”
It’s not Gable. It’s mocking, amused, a voice I don’t know. Motor lowers his ears and growls at the door.
“Ellaaa …”
My skin chills, and I back away from the sound. They’re in the house. They’re in the house, and I can’t hear any commotion that would mean Gable is fighting them.
Three.
Slow.
Knocks.
Then what sounds like nails being dragged down the wood. Horror freezes me in place, and I raise the gun, my hands trembling.
“Are you in there, Ella?” He chuckles. Motor barks furiously, his hackles up, his teeth bared. “Come out, come out, wherever you are …”
The handle twists, and the door is shoved open. It bangs against the wall, and Motor stands between me and a man.
He’s around my age with dirty blonde hair and brown eyes. He’s unshaven but dressed well, a sharp suit and a smug smile.
“Hello, Ella,” he croons. Motor snaps angrily, but the man doesn’t even glance at him. “I’m Ty. Why don’t you come downstairs with me and leave the dog up here?”
“Or how about I just shoot you?”
He chuckles. “Honey, we have Gable downstairs, and I will kill him, slowly, if you don’t do as I ask. Now, come on.” He holds out his hand and flexes his fingers. “No time like the present.”
As a drop of sweat works its way down my spine, I weigh up my options. He could be lying about having Gable, but it isn’t like I have much choice but to go with him.
Because I don’t think I can kill a man.
It might be different if he rushed in, attacked me … but he’s calm. Polite, even.
My morals are biting at my heels.
I lower the weapon.
“Good choice.”
Walking past Motor, I scratch the top of his head. “Stay here, boy.”
He whines softly but doesn’t follow as I step into the quiet hall and close the door. Ty holds his hand out for the gun, and I pass it to him.
“Perfect.” He gestures for me to walk and even puts hishand on my lower back to guide me. I twist away from his touch, and he chuckles. “So shy.”
Each step down the stairs steals a little more of my breath. I picture Gable’s body, mangled and beaten, a hole in his head or chest, and I almost run back to my room.
But when I reach the living room, he’s sitting on the couch. I exhale a cry and rush to him. He stands and I wrap my arms around him, ignoring the blood and sweat over his bare chest.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
