And squeezes.
Darkness webs my vision.
My throat burns.
My hands tremble as I try to release myself from his grip.
And I wonder why.
What did I do?
Why is he doing this?
Does it matter?
I squeeze my eyes closed, tears spilling down my cheeks, and I think of my dad.
My dad who taught me to fight, who tried to prepareme for the horrors of the world. He’ll think he failed me. He’ll blame himself.
I open my eyes again and decide if I can’t fight, I can at least look my killer in the face as I die.
A shadow behind him catches my eye. Movement. A familiar face.
Gable.
Air.
I choke, the intruder’s hand loosening before he’s yanked away from me.
My feet meet the floor, and I fall to my knees. I try to scream, but it hurts too much, and I lift my head and watch Gable punch the intruder—hard. His knuckles crack against cheekbone and I wince as the sound reverberates off the walls.
“You picked the wrong night to piss me off,” Gable growls.
And he attacks.
My eyes widen as I watch Gable throw fist after fist into the intruder’s face. It’s relentless, a bloodied, frenzied hammering of knuckles until I can’t watch anymore. Closing my eyes, I start humming, anything to block out the sound of splitting skin and breaking bones.
You’re okay, Ella. We’re okay.
A snap.
Like a twig in a dead forest.
Silence.
Hands grip my shoulders, and I shove at them, letting out a rasping screech as I try to scramble away.
“Gibson, it’s me!”
My eyes meet Gable’s dark ones, his gaze piercing into mine. His face is peppered in blood, his hands on my upperarms to keep me steady. Hands he just used to kill the man on the floor.
A murderer.
He frowns. “I’ll get Asher?—”
I let out a sob and cling to him, wrapping my arms around his neck. My tears soak his T-shirt, my grip ironclad, and he rests his hands on my back.
A killer, yes. A violent one.
