But he won’t get the chance to. Instead, I’ll be his demise.
Keeping silent, I reach the steps and speed-walk down them, making it hard for Sylvester to catch up. In his attempt to, I hear him stumble forward.
I have literally two seconds, but I’m quite accustomed to outmaneuvering a shark in its own territory. I’ve no doubt I can handle a man with a log for a leg.
In a blink, I’m pitching myself over the side of the railing, the floor only five or so feet below. He fires off a shot, the heat of the bullet zipping over my shoulder. It hits something in the kitchen while I grab ahold of the long barrel and yank it from his grip.
“Son of a bitch!” he spits, attempting to hold on to it, but I’m too strong for him.
I flip the gun on him, enjoying how he freezes, his face purpling from anger.
“Don’t stop on my account. Let’s see you finish stumbling your way down.”
“I’m going to fu—”
“Not really interested in hearing about your dreams, Sylvester. Hurry up,” I snap.
Grunting, he reaches the bottom step, glaring at me from beneath his bushy brows. I glance around, noticing the rug and table have been moved aside. In their place is a cellar, the door wide open. I assume that’s where he planned on keeping me in the meantime.
“Don’t think you have what it takes to kill a man,” Sylvester drawls. He’s sweating profusely, the edges of his ball cap stained.
He’s wrong. I’d be happy to show him he’s not the only one who knows how to take a life. He can have everything he’s ever wanted. To forever stay on Raven Isle, even in the afterlife.
As badly as I’m itching to kill him, I care more about what happens to us after than satisfying the need to feel his blood on my hands.
“Get in,” I say, motioning toward the cellar with the gun.
“My leg—”
“Is useless, I know. Not my problem. Make me ask again, and I’ll shoot off the other, so you have a matching set.”
He scowls, aiming another glare my way as he hobbles toward the cellar. Once he’s in front of it, I decide to make it easy on him. Lifting my leg, I power it straight into his back, sending him flying down the hole.
He shouts, and whatever way he must have landed isn’t too pretty, considering his yelling turns into an outright roar.
Again. Not my problem.
When I look down into it, I find him only about twenty feet down, rolling to lay flat on his back, curses and spittle flying from his lips.
I have no sympathy. Shooting him one last look, I grab the door and slam it shut. There’s a simple sliding mechanism to lock it, and while I’d prefer a deadbolt, it’s the best I can do for now.
Sylvester never said if Sawyer was hurt, and every molecule in my body is now centered on her.
As I’m making my way to the door, I notice a blanket lying haphazardly on the couch. I snatch it, just in case I need to staunch a wound, or fuck, even for if she’s a little cold.
It takes me only a few minutes to get to the cave, every second feeling too long.
“Sawyer!” I yell, stomping through the tunnel.
“Enzo?” she answers, eagerness saturating my name. Just as I reach the opening beneath the glowworms, I see her rushing toward me, her skin awash in blue.
Her face is slack with relief, and her teeth are chattering.
It’s freezing in here. With the constant storms, the temperature has dropped significantly.
“You hurt?” I ask, my gaze sweeping across her body while I set down the shotgun. She’s still in her shorts and a t-shirt, her arms and legs covered in goosebumps.
But I already have the answer to my question.