I heard Betty scream and struggle, igniting a second wind inside me. I heaved Ron’s body off me with an adrenaline-fueled shove, scrambling over him and landing another heavy blow across his face. He froze, momentarily shocked by the force I’d delivered across his jaw.
Betty was still on the mattress, but Derek had her by the wrist, shaking the hand holding the taser. She was struggling to break free from his grasp, yelling a stream of expletives as Mr. Beans tried to help, hissing and spitting at Derek and swiping at his legs with claws exposed and sharp.
“Betty!” I yelled.“Getou…” air burst from my lungs.
Ron, having regained his composure, punched me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me. Doubled over, I coughed and retched, spewing bile onto the wooden floor. I couldn’t breathe, feeling as though he’d collapsed a lung with that hit.
Chapter 10
Betty
I was horrified to see Gray lurch forward and vomit on my wooden floor. It was unclear whether he’d been stabbed or punched, but it was enough to draw my complete attention.
Blood?
To my relief, there didn’t appear to be any, at least not enough to prove he’d been stabbed.
“Okay. Gray wasokay,” I tried to assure myself.
The man holding my wrist took advantage of my momentary lapse and knocked the taser from my hand. My head whipped back in time to watch it fall in slow motion to the ground. It landed with a clatter and slid halfway across the room.
Fuck.
I quickly recovered, unable to afford the distraction, or Gray and I would end up dead. Knee bent, as my self-defense teacher had taught me, I drove it up into the giant asshole’s jaw, using my height from the bed to land an exacting shot.
His teeth felt as if they shattered when his mouth snapped shut. He reeled back, hitting the floor with a thud like a felled redwood. The house itself seemed to shudder as he landed. I leaped off the bed and bolted for the bathroom without further hesitation.
I slid across the threshold, fuzzy socks gliding on the tile floor, and grabbed the sturdy brass door handles for balance. Glancing back, to my horror, the enormous man was already on his feet. He had a malicious sneer on his face, anger knitting his brows as blood trickled from his mouth where I’d kneed him. With hope, maybe he’d bitten his tongue off.
I slammed the door shut and locked it just as he lumbered forward, picking up momentum. A moment later he barreled into the slab, rattling the hinges, the sound of strained and crackling wood filling the bathroom. Backing away from the door, I scanned the space, mulling over my options and searching for anything I could use as a weapon.
I spotted the hand soap, a plan formulating as I scrambled to the sink. My hands trembled as I grabbed the dispenser and twisted off the lid. Soap coated my hands, dripping onto the counter and floor as I tossed the spout into the sink. With a tip of my hand and a squeeze of the bottle, soap poured out and across the tile floor between me and the door.
The man burst through. Wood splinters exploded everywhere. The door fell entirely off its hinges and slammed against the wall.
I dropped the bottle to the ground with a hollow clatter.
He lunged, but his eyes widened in sudden shock. His heel met the soap, eliciting a slurping sound as his feet went flying out from under him. He crashed to the floor, tailbone first, sliding like a curling stone straight in my direction.
Large, soapy feet met my shins, knocking me off balance and sending me tumbling backward into the toilet room behind me. I curled into myself and crashed against the wall at the base of the toilet. Toilet paper spun off the roll, pooling beside me.
Frantic for a new weapon, my eyes immediately spotted the toilet brush. I grabbed it from the holder; it was still wet with bleach water from a few days prior. Inspecting the end, the bristles would have to do.
I gripped the flimsy handle in both hands and brought it down hard on the man’s balls as he lay on his back on the floor at my feet. Aiming low, my blows elicited a high-pitched scream that undermined his bulk. The last thing I needed was to end up trapped in this tiny space. Still bristling and battering the hell out of his nether-region, I clambered over him and out of the room, all the while screeching a series of high-pitched, bleating goat screams.
I stumbled back against the sink, slipping on the ice-rink of a floor, and grabbed a wet washcloth. I flung it at him as best I could manage. It slapped onto his face, sticking there and buying me time to move further down the counter.
He swatted it away, clearly irritated, and started crawling toward me through the muck.
I scrambled for anything I could use—serum vials, powder cassettes, anything—tossing them down at him and adding to the mess on the floor. My hand found the aerosol setting spray and popped off the cap. I hated this spray anyway. It made my eyes sting.
He inched closer on his hands and knees, the floor a slick and dangerous trifecta of soap, makeup, and blood. I shuffled forward as close as I dared, waiting for him to look up at me. I braced one hand on the sink’s edge, the other on the spray nozzle. My jaw ground with determination. When he finally looked up, I pointed and squeezed the nozzle, letting it rain down into his open eyes. His resulting scream hit a whole new octave.
“Welcome to my skincare routine!” I bellowed.
He flailed, waving his hands before his face and eyes, scrambling back and coughing amidst the cloud of misty dew. I emptied the can before grabbing the crumpled bath mat at my feet. I tossed it at him, and it covered his head.
On the back edge of the counter sat my hairdryer. I brandished it by the cord, swirling it like a war flail as it wrapped my hand. When he pulled the mat off his head, I attacked, walloping him across the jaw and sending him sideways into the cabinets.
