“Stop it!” Logan shouted. “Stop talking and get in!”
He pointed at the closet with his knife hand. His arm muscles flexed rock-hard, his knuckles were white. He was strong, but I was fast. I suddenly thought, If I can get by him, I might be able to run for help.
I felt a surge of determination. The hallway between the two closets was wide, I could definitely slip past him. But then what? He had a weapon and I didn’t. If he threw that knife at me, I’d be toast. But he said he was going to kill us anyway, so what did I have to lose?
Like a sprinter in the starting gate, I readied myself to spring. I twisted my back foot in the carpet, hoping my mom would see the signal that I was going to make a move. She showed me she did when she shifted her weight away from me to give me space.
“Move back,” Logan ordered. My mom glanced at me as she stood firm. “I said move back!” Once again she defied the order. He raised his free arm to push her. She grabbed it and shouted, “Go!”
She yanked his arm with all her might, widening my path just enough to streak through.
I exploded off my back foot.
Adrenaline surged through my body as I lunged for the door. I had a solid jump on him, plus the element of surprise. By the time he turned around, my hand was on the door handle. I pulled on it, hard.
It didn’t budge. I forgot he had locked it.
“Savannah, watch out!”
I turned around. Logan was lunging for my throat. He swung the knife. I ducked, and it connected with the door.
Mom’s arms were around Logan’s neck in a flash, but he was too strong for her and he quickly shook her off, then body-slammed her to the ground. Her head bounced off the wall, then rolled to one side.
“Mom!”
I sprang to standing. The knife was still in the door, but Logan was between it and me, there was no way I could get to it. I scanned the room for a weapon—anything that could even the fight. My eyes combed the furniture, the walls, the floor.
That’s when I saw them.
Mom’s steel-toed boots.
I stumbled back toward the bed, groping for a boot as Logan grabbed the knife and yanked it free.
My hand found the boot, and I plunged my fist into the shank and raised it like a claw. All that love I’d felt for him swirled into a vortex of rage and hate. If this was a fight to the death, I was ready.
As the knife came at my chest, I swung the steel-toed Timberland at Logan’s outstretched arm. It missed his arm, but slammed into his hand, springing the knife from his fingers and sending it clattering to the ground.
“You little bitch!” he growled as he shook his hand, then lowered his shoulder and came at me like a battering ram.
I cried out as I slammed the boot down on his back.
It sank into his flesh but was not enough to stop him.
My lungs burned for air as he slammed my back against the floor.
He was on top of me now, the full weight of him across my chest, using his knees to pin my arms to my sides. I bucked and flailed my legs, but they were as useless as kite tails in the wind.
“I should have slit your throat when I had the chance,” he hissed, then grabbed me by my hair and yanked me to my feet. Pain shot across my scalp. I cried out.
“Shut up!” he barked as he dragged me toward the open, empty closet.
My mom groaned and tried to grab his legs, but he kicked her aside. My screams turned to sobs as I watched her body wilt back down onto the carpet.
“This is your fault,” he hissed as he pushed me into the closet. He raised my arms above my head, then took off his belt and used it to bind my wrists to the clothing rod. He gripped the knife and floated it under my nose. “I should gut you like a fish,” he rasped.
Fear surged through me as he held the knife under my chin. For a second I thought he might actually do it.
“Fuck it,” he said, pulling his arm back and letting the knife drift down by his leg. “You’re not worth the trouble.”
He walked away, then a few seconds later returned, dragging my mom by her shoulders. Her eyelids fluttered as blood caked on her hairline.
“Momma,” I whimpered. The leather belt pulled at my wrists as I strained to get to her, to touch her, to hold on to her, love her back to life.
The door slammed shut, and we were plunged into darkness.
I heard the thump of something heavy landing in front of the door.
Then silence.
“Momma? Can you hear me?” My voice was high, like a warbly bird.
She whimpered softly. She was concussed but she was alive.
My wrists burned against the thick leather tether as I tried to work them free. The bind was tight, but I felt a little flicker of hope as I realized I could move them. It might take a few hours, but I was pretty sure I could stretch the leather enough to wriggle them out.