After a long, hot shower, I twist my hair into a loose braid and decide to take my dishes downstairs.
That’s when I find the box.
It’s small and sturdy, wrapped in a shiny gold bow, and sitting on the floor right outside my door. I pause before stepping on it, backing up to consider the gift. God only knows what Tristian’s left me now. Organic, hand-woven tampons?
Oh, no.
Did he find out about menstrual cups?
I bend to pick it up, knowing whatever’s inside is going to be embarrassing, and—let’s face it—probably hilariously off-mark. I haven’t watched a rom-com since I was thirteen. Not drawing it out, I hastily untie the ribbon and open the box.
It takes me a moment to parse the contents—something beige and red, laying on a bed of fine, white satin. It isn’t until I see it rolling on the floor that I realize I’ve flung it away, mostly because my heart’s in my throat, pulse thundering so loud. So loud.
The hallway tilts a little.
Slamming my door, I throw myself back so fast that I fall, landing hard against the corner of my bed. It’s odd how moments can move both fast and slow. It feels like it takes me hours to find my phone, hand flapping out wildly, blindly, without consideration to the teapot I send crashing to the floor. But it’s as if the phone is suddenly in my hands, time rushing and pausing in these tiny, confusing stretches.
I keep my wide, panicked eyes fixed to the door as I thumb up the first contact.
Lady: cone hime
Lady: come hum
Lady: COME HOME
My thumbs are as spastic as my breaths, ears straining to hear any disturbance within the stillness of the house. But it’s just like it had been before, when I’d been lying in bed. Empty. Silent.
Deceiving.
My phone lights up before the tone rings out and I frantically swipe to answer it, knowing who it is. “Someone’s here,” I rush out, and even though I try to keep my voice low, it still emerges in a high, panicked screech.
Killian doesn’t ask who. “Where are you?” he asks, sounding almost as clipped and tense as I feel.
“In my bedroom.” But after saying it, I bolt to the bathroom, locking the door behind me.
“Did you see him?”
“No,” I answer, knowing he means Ted. Frantic, I add, “But I saw the severed finger he left outside my bedroom door, and it’s pretty convincing!”
Killian spits a low curse, a flurry of sounds penetrating the static. “I’m pulling out now.”
“Tristian and Dimitri—”
Killian interrupts, “It’d take too long to get them. I’m crossing the lot.” I try to inhale, wondering how insane it’d be to climb out my bedroom window. I look around for something, anything, that might help me defend myself, but all I come up with is a curling iron. As if reading my thoughts, he asks, “You know where my piece is, right?”
“Across the hall, under your bed,” I lament, wishing I’d tried harder to demand a gun. After what happened with Ugly Nick, the thought of holding one in my hands again made my chest tight and heavy, something dreadful roiling away at my insides.
“It’s loaded, so if you can just get to it, then—turn a little slower, you piece of shit!” The last part is shouted, followed by the ear-piercing sound of his horn.
“Okay,” I say, taking a deep breath. “I can run for it, right?” I ask this uncertainly, peeking out of the bathroom before I creep across to my door. “Stay on the line, okay?”
“You, too,” he grinds out, clearly indulging in a little road rage as the horn blares again. “I’m about five minutes out.”
I try not to think about what’s on the other side of the door, out in the hallway, waiting for me. It’s only a few steps from my door to Killian’s room. A straight shot. I can do this.
Every muscle in my body is strung as tight as Dimitri’s piano wires as I turn the knob, easing the door open. My heart batters in my chest as I peer out the crack, sprung and ready to retreat. But all I see is an empty hallway. The sound of distant traffic mingles with the grandfather clock ticking at the end of the hallway, my thin, shallow breaths joining them. But even straining my ears, I hear nothing else.
I swing the door open and dart across the hall.
There could be someone in Killian’s room, poised and ready to catch me, but I don’t think about that. I dive for the floor, reaching for the box I know holds his gun.
“I got it,” I rush out, thrusting the barrel toward the hall. “I’ve got the gun.”