Halfway down the passage, I hear another sound. Closer this time.
Maybe it’s a normal sound in this place. The floorboards or the walls settling. But to me, it sounds like something else…
A footstep.
Inside.
My pulse kicks up, fast but controlled.
I don’t call out. I don’t move right away. Instead, I head silently back into the living room where Donovan left it. The weight of the gun centers in my hand—cold, solid, real.
Not unfamiliar. I’m prepared. More than a year of gun training and self-defense training under my belt.
It was the one way I pushed myself beyond my comfort zone. So that I could protect myself and others if push came to shove.
Like the afternoon at Lacey’s grandmother’s house—when her father tried to take us both hostage.
I swore I’d never be on the wrong end of a gun again.
Maybe tonight’s the night.
But how?
I smell him before I see him—musty weed and sour sweat. I don’t startle, just settle back onto my heels, knees slightly bent, ready.
He stands just inside the doorway like he belongs here. “Ms. Ocasta,” he says—mock authority and hollow manners.
He looks different, more wiry, more desperate. And more…certain.
That puts a shiver down my spine. My breath hitches in my throat.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I say. My voice doesn’t shake. Not this time.
He grins, broken teeth and bad face tattoos creasing. “You’ve always been predictable,” he says. “Same patterns. Same habits. Always looking for authority to protect you.”
My grip tightens on the gun. “Don’t come any closer.”
His eyes drop to it, then back to me. “You gonna use that?” he asks.
“Yes.”
He chuckles, moving one step closer. I dare him to keep coming, nostrils flaring. “You ruined my life,” he says. “Stuckyour nose where it didn’t belong. What kind of woman breaks up a family like that? Tears a daughter from her father?”
“You did that yourself.”
A flicker of something crosses his face. But it’s gone just as fast as it came. “Looks like you’re doubling down on that decision.”
“She was mine,” he says.
“No,” I answer. “She wasn’t.”
His jaw tightens. There it is… the crack in his cool outer facade.
“You took her from me,” he says. “Right when I finally had her back. When I talked my mother into letting me take her.”
“I protected her,” I counter.
“You think this—” he gestures vaguely “—makes you a hero?”
