~ 11 ~
PEYTON
My eyes fluttered part of the way open, just in time to see the hulking figure that approached my bed. He came silently, deliberately, moving through the blackness of what amounted to the dead of night.
As he bent to slip his palm firmly over my mouth, I was ready.
My hand shot beneath the pillow in one smooth movement. It was a simple thing to locate the kitchen knife I’d placed there, shortly after my arrival. It was a similarly easy thing to sweep it upward, angling the blade until it was right up against my intruder’s throat.
He stiffened, then took his hand from my mouth.
“So your balls are feeling better, I guess?”
Ripley froze, staring down at me. He chuckled gruffly.
“I’m flattered, but I’m not here to fuck you.”
He was whispering. For some reason, I whispered back.
“Oh no?”
I scrambled to an upright position. It was dark, it was late, and I didn’t remember going to bed. The last thing I remembered was laying down to close my eyes.
“You need to get dressed,” he whispered, dropping his voice even lower. “We might be in trouble.”
Alarm bells flashed. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, only to find him thrusting my boots at me.
“Don’t turn any lights on. And stay quiet.”
I dressed quickly, as Ripley slipped from the room. My head felt better, but my heart was pounding like a war drum. I didn’t have to ask what kind of trouble we were in. I already knew.
Donovan.
Back in the living area, I found Theo bent over the quaint little desk I’d hoped to enjoy when I first booked the place. He was wearing a jeweler’s loupe over one eye, and holding a pair of tiny steel instruments. Then I saw the locket.
“What are you—”
His wrist flicked, and the little hammer he was holding slammed home. It drove the mini-screwdriver straight through the elaborate filigree, and into the heart of the silver locket.
CLINK.
Theo hissed out a heated breath; one he’d been holding in for way too long.
“It’s done?”
I almost didn’t notice Colson standing near the window, back flat against the wall. He was holding the curtain back with a sleek, long-barreled pistol.
“Yes,” sighed Theo. “The tracker’s disabled, but everything else should be intact.”
Colson didn’t look so enthused. “Shouldbe?”
“Look man, these aren’t the right tools. The best I could hope for is—”
“No time for this,” Ripley came flying in from the kitchen. “They’re here.”
A hand slipped into mine, thick and reassuring. I followed their lead, keeping my head low as we scrambled out through the side door. The crunch of gravel betrayed us, as we traded caution for speed. A moment later, I was being shoved into the back of a charcoal-colored Suburban.
“GO!”
