Page 309 of The Heart You Kept

I roll my eyes and trudge to the car; he opens the door and I climb into the back seat.

“See you tomorrow.” He forces a smile.

“Yep.” The car pulls away and I sit and stare out the window into the darkness.

FORTY MINUTES LATER.

“Thank you,” I tell the boys as I get out of the car.

“We’ll be here if you need anything.”

“I don’t need anything, you can go.” I sigh as I trudge up to the front and go inside. I close the door and flick the deadlock on.

What a nightmare of a day.

I walk into the kitchen and flick the kettle on.

I’m dead tired, confused and a little heartbroken. I mean, I know I perhaps should have at least talked about it, but I’m honestly too mad to be around Edward right now. Rummaging through my purse, I dig out my phone and see the missed calls, I’m not calling him back tonight.

I wasn’t lying, I really do need some time alone tonight. I want to sit with this information for a while without him influencing the way I feel.

Something hard and cold comes to my temple as I am grabbed around the neck from behind.

“Move a muscle and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

ALORA

“What?” The arm strangles me hard from behind. I see our reflection in the oven door. They’re dressed fully in black and wearing a balaclava and goggles. A weird tape recording of a man’s voice plays; it’s been doctored and isn’t familiar. It repeats the same line from before. “Move a muscle and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

What the fuck?

I fight.

I fight hard as I’m held from behind and we struggle for control. We hit the cupboard and then stumble forward and hit the fridge, it rocks to the side. “What do you want?” I cry. “Just take it, take everything.”

What the hell is happening?

“Help,” I cry as I struggle. I can feel myself being overpowered.

They’re too strong.

“Philippe.” I fight back harder and lash out; the person stumbles back and I run for the knife drawer.

Crack.

I’m hit on the side of my head from behind with the butt of the gun, the blunt force knocking me to the floor.

“Philippe,” I cry as my vision blurs; the room begins to spin. “Help me,” I whimper.

Try harder.

“Philippe,” I call again, but my voice is weak, an echo into the silence.

A sharp stab goes into my neck and I try to kick out and pull away as something is injected into me…. I raise my hand and try and pull the needle out but my hand is held away. The same recording plays again. “Move a muscle and I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

No….