“No.” My voice cracked.
Holt’s dad, Nathan, had been adamant about teaching us all gun safety, but to this day, that had been the only time I’d ever held a weapon—unless you counted a kitchen knife.
“Officers are fifteen minutes out. They’ll be there soon.”
“Found it!” Paul called.
I heard the key in the lock, the cylinder turning and bolt sliding. Or maybe it was my imagination that made it sound as if a bomb had just gone off at my back door.
“They’re in the house.” My words were barely audible as footsteps pounded up the stairs. “Don’t talk.”
Abel didn’t say a word, but a click sounded across the line. A barely discernable agreement.
Chaos erupted down the hall—from my room. Crashing furniture, and the closet door banging.
“Where the hell is that tight-assed bitch?” Randy growled. “Lover boy isn’t here to protect you now, is he?”
Oh, God. Holt. My mind warred with itself. Part of me wanted him here to rescue me from this nightmare. But another part wanted him as far away from this house as possible.
Randy’s twisted face flashed in my mind. The anger that had etched itself there after he’d asked me out in the seventh grade, and I’d declined.
My breaths came in quick pants as Randy and Paul moved from room to room. The air stilled in my lungs as footsteps sounded in the bathroom. Someone tore back the shower curtain.
A shot sounded, and then I heard shattered glass.
“Save your bullets for things that matter,” Paul said.
“She’s here somewhere,” Randy gritted out.
“And we’ll find her.”
Faint footsteps sounded downstairs, and relief and fear warred inside me. Holt or the police? Holt would’ve rung the bell. It was the police. It had to be.
The cabinet doors flew open, and Paul hooted with glee. “Look what I found, Ran. If it’s not a Goody Two-shoes hiding under the sink.”
A sneer twisted Randy’s face as Paul hauled me out. “Get on your knees.”
Paul shoved me to the floor. I hit the tile with a force that jarred my spine, and my phone tumbled to the bathmat.
Randy snatched it up, glaring at the screen. His finger punched the end icon. “Stupid bitch was on with 9-1-1. You tell the cops who was here?”
“N-no.”
“Fuckin’ liar.” Randy slapped me so hard my head snapped back, and I tasted blood.
Footsteps sounded in the entryway. I prayed for the officers to hurry.
Paul stomped on my phone, the screen making a crunching sound. The only thing I could see was the now-fractured image of me and Holt, shattered into a million tiny pieces. “We gotta get out of here. The cops will be on the way.”
Randy’s eyes flashed. “No. I’m having my fun with her first.”
A siren sounded in the distance. More help.
Hurry.
I chanted the word over and over in my mind as if the two syllables could save me.
“We gotta gonow,” Paul snapped.