“Oh, Shiii…loooh!” Mr. X sang, his voice echoing from down the hall.
The sound of shoes slapping against the ground pulled me up to just beneath the surface of consciousness.
“Shi!”
“Shiloh!”
Voices called out to me.
I knew those voices.
Faintly, I could feel hands on me, rolling me over onto my back. I desperately tried to open my eyes. I thought I might’ve. Or it could’ve all been a dream. Very good dream. One of Knox kneeling beside me and Colt, Creed, and Keelan standing behind him. All of them were looking over me worriedly.
Knox’s hands cupped my cheeks. “Shiloh?”
I couldn’t form the words to respond. The only thing I could do was keep my eyes open for short periods, and it was a battle each time.
“What did this fucker do to her?” I thought I heard Creed say.
“This is the guy that’s been bothering her,” I heard Colt say.
“What the fuck, Colt?!” Keelan snapped. All of them started arguing and I couldn’t follow.
Knox’s hands patted my cheeks. “Keep your eyes open, Shiloh.” I hadn’t realized I had closed them. “Shiloh!” Knox yelled and I felt him shaking me. “Open your eyes, damnit!”
I tried.
Sirens in the distance was the last thing I heard.
The front door was in sight as I crept toward it. I strained to listen for any sound that would give me a hint of where Mr. X was in the house. I heard nothing. Just the hum of the air-conditioning blowing through the vents.
Ten more steps until I reached the front door…nine more steps…eight more…
The wood floor creaked under the weight of my foot. My whole body tightened up as the sound echoed through the silent house. With my heart booming in my ears, I took a quick look around, bracing for him to jump out. When he didn’t, I zeroed in on the front door. It was my only hope—my only way out. I rushed the remaining distance, my pace quick and no longer quiet. I lifted my hand, reaching for my freedom.
My fingers barely brushed the doorknob when a hand grabbed me by my hair and yanked me back. I let out a loud, broken scream as my back collided with the front of Mr. X’s body.
“I can’t let you go.” His cold voice was devoid of emotion.
That made me pause. In the nick of time, I caught sight of his knife coming up toward my throat. I caught his wrist and forearm with my hands before the knife could reach me.
He pulled my head back harder, exposing my throat. I let out a strangled grunt as I fought against his strength. His knife inched closer and closer as my arms weakened.
Think!
I took the risk to look around, desperate to find anything that would help me. There was nothing close.
Think!
What would Logan do? I thought back to the few self-defense moves he had taught Shayla and me on our last trip to Texas. We had been at the beach. The memory of Shayla’s laughter echoed in my head; she’d pretended to stomp on Logan’s instep and dropped to the sand, squealing as she’d crawled away from him. She hadn’t taken Logan’s lesson seriously but had humored him nonetheless.
I pulled myself back to my horrific reality. With the last bit of strength I had, I pushed Mr. X’s blade back a little, then slammed my foot down on his. The moment his grunt reached my ears, I dropped to the floor, losing a good chunk of hair in the process. I refused to let the burning on my scalp slow me down. I shot back to my feet and hurried for the door.
“No!” he bellowed behind me before a searing pain sliced across my shoulder blade. Crying out, I stumbled and fell against the door. I grabbed the doorknob to keep me from falling completely to the ground. I twisted it, the door swung open, and I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin for only a breath before his arms locked around my waist. Lifted into the air, I thrashed and screamed as loud as I could, hoping anyone might hear me with the door open.
Then I was airborne. The air was knocked from my lungs as my spine slammed against the wooden stairs. Mr. X braced himself above me by holding himself up with one hand on the step behind my head. “You are mine!” he roared in my face. Spittle hit my cheeks and his rancid breath filled my nose. My breath hitched. Not from the smell. But from the excruciating pain that exploded in my stomach.
He stabbed me.
His knife was buried in my stomach. Time slowed as he withdrew. His eyes were dilated, emotionless, pitch-black depths as he stared down at me. Blood clung to his black and gray stubble along his jawline and chin. “No one else can have you,” he said, sounding detached as he plunged the knife back into my stomach.