I go dead still as Claude holds up a switchblade in front of my face. "Don't make me use this on you," he growls.
I can't help the tiny sob that comes out of my mouth. My head is bleeding, I'm dizzy, and my wrist is probably broken. None of that matters. All that matters is that right now I don't have any fight left in me.
"Now pick up the keys and unlock the door," Claude tells me, his voice sounding a bit steadier. I'm thinking he had his own rush of adrenaline that must have helped to sober him up.
Maybe he'll start thinking more rationally, and so I try to reason with him.
"Claude," I say in a beseeching tone as I slowly bend to pick up the keys. I glance down for a minute to locate them, and see drops of my blood hitting the concrete. "You don't need to do this. There is no sense in ruining your life over this."
"My life is ruined," he sneers at me. I grab the keys and straighten myself up slowly, not wanting to give him any reason to stab me.
"No. It's not. You could get picked up by a great team next year as an unrestricted free agent," I tell him with encouragement.
Unfortunately, he's not that stupid. He knows he's committed himself to a path intent on making me suffer. He knows the minute he stepped foot on my property there was no turning back. He's committed to seeing whatever he has in mind through to the end, and with alcohol fueling him on, there's little chance of me talking him down.
"Just shut up and open the damn door," he says, bringing the knife underneath my chin. He presses the tip in just enough to sting. Just enough to let me know he's serious. "Play along nice, Gray, and I won't hurt you too bad."
I pull away from the blade and turn to the door. My hands are shaking so bad I can't believe I'm able to even stick my key in the lock, but I manage. I swing the door open and he pushes me inside.
My alarm beeps and he says, "Turn it off."
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I actually have a fake code I can put in that will alert my security company I'm in danger, but I can't fucking remember what it is.
I want to scream, but I try to calm myself down. My real code is my birthday backward, year and month. What's my danger code?
With shaky fingers, I put in my dad's birthday. The alarm continues to go off.
"I said turn it off," Claude yells at me.
"I'm trying," I cry out in fear. "But I'm nervous."
I try my dad's birthday backward but that's not it. The alarm still beeps at me and Claude grabs me by the back of my head again, bringing the knife to my throat.
"Put the correct fucking code in. If it doesn't turn off this time, I will slit your fucking throat."
Tears well up in my eyes as I think this just might be the end. I can barely see the keypad as I punch in my birthday backward, then the Enter key.
The alarm goes silent and Claude removes the knife. I want to cry because my chance at alerting the police has been wasted, but I don't have time for that. I need to try to keep my wits about me.
"Where's your room?" he asks as he looks around.
"Through there," I motion with my head toward the hall behind him. My master bedroom is on the first floor but at the back of my house. If I'm able to scream for help again, the chances of me being heard are slim.
"Lead the way," Claude says, giving me a mock, gentlemanly bow and sweeping his hand out that holds the knife toward the hall.
"Why?" I ask, although I'm pretty sure I know why.
His free hand flies out and he grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls on me hard. Some rips out, and my wound bleeds harder as he pulls at the cut skin.
"Why?" he asks me mockingly. "Why? You know why, bitch. I have to put you in your place. You need to learn your lesson so you don't do this to some other poor guy."
"You're crazy," I yell at him.
He jerks my head hard and pushes me toward the hall. "God, I hope so," he says with a laugh. "Not guilty by reason of insanity sounds fucking perfect to me."
Claude drags me down the hallway and right into my bedroom. My bedside lamp is on because I always leave it on. I love this room. It's so peaceful and relaxing, and that soft glow from the lamp is the perfect way to welcome me home each night.
But at this moment, this room is my prison.
It may end up being my coffin.
Claude gives me a vicious shove forward and I crash down to my knees. I raise my head, my vision partially obscured by my hair. He grins at me before sticking the knife in between his teeth for a moment, just to free his hands up.
He works at his belt, his fingers surprisingly deft for a drunk. Fear turns my blood to ice as he unbuttons his jeans and then takes his knife in hand. He steps up to me, leering from above in his position of absolute power.
"I'm only going to tell you once," he says in a low, deliberate voice as he holds the knife out for me to inspect. "You bite me and I'm going to shove this knife through your eye. Are we clear?"
I look at the knife. I look at him. Back to the knife. Back to him.
I lick my lips and swallow hard, trying to coat my dry mouth. I smile at him and say, "Claude...go fuck yourself."
Chapter 27
Ryker
What in the hell was that?
I pull my phone away from my ear to look at it and the call has been disconnected. When I was talking to Gray, I had distinctly heard the squeak of her screen door open and I thought I heard a bang. No, that wasn't it. More like a hard knock against wood. A sharp crackling sound, then silence.
She must have dropped her phone is all.
No worries.
Except...did I hear her grunt right after that knock against the wood? Did she fall?
Sudden and overwhelming dread fills me up. I have no explanation for it but I don't take even a second to ponder it. I
drop the handbasket on the floor and hurry out of the grocery store.
It may be nothing.
It may be something bad by the way I'm feeling.
Fortunately for me, Gray lives on the outskirts of the city, and the route between her house and the grocery store is nothing but a two-lane road with only one four-way stop in between. I take the road at nearly sixty-five in a forty-five-mile-per-hour zone, do the fastest rolling stop through the intersection in the history of mankind, and pull up in her driveway in under five minutes.
The front door is open and my dread morphs into the realization that something is definitely wrong. My heart slams inside my chest as I quickly pull out my phone and dial 911. When the dispatcher comes on, I'm straight and to the point. "This is Ryker Evans. I need to report a break-in in progress at 3706 Carriage Lane. I'm not staying on the line but I'm keeping the line open so you know this isn't a joke. I'm going inside, so let the police know that."
I hear her say, "Sir, please don't--" but the voice recedes as I lay the phone on the hood of my car.
Jogging up to the porch, I creep up the steps silently, listening to any sounds that can help me figure out what's going on. When I look down, I see several drops of blood and I actually go dizzy for a moment because I know in my heart that it's Gray's. My adrenaline spikes and I throw out any caution I was operating on, barreling into the house. I hear Gray immediately from her bedroom say, "Claude...go fuck yourself."
Murderous rage takes my body hostage.
I seem to fly on the wind and I'm at her bedroom door almost instantaneously. I take the scene in and it fuels my fury.
Gray on her knees, cradling her forearm to her chest, glaring up at Claude who stands above her.
With a knife.
His belt and top pants button undone.
I never even stop my trajectory, running straight at Claude. He hears me before he sees me, but I'm on him just as he's turning his body. My left hand clamps on his right wrist to secure the knife and I steamroll him backward. Never in my life have I been filled with such power. It's almost like a hot knife cutting through butter it's so easy to move him.
I drive him back, back, back right into Gray's bedroom wall, where he hits it so hard the plaster cracks.
Not hard enough in my opinion. While still holding his wrist now pinned to the wall, I bring my right hand up into an uppercut punch to his gut, right below his sternum. The air gushes out of him and he starts to sag. I pull my arm back, let it fly right to his throat. I'm satisfied when he gags and then gasps for air, and I'm hopeful I crushed his airway.