Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Rafe’s in the back of my mind like always when I park and head up my stoop. No strangers, no cars. Nothing to suggest there are any problems at all. It’s like that visit in my kitchen was a fever dream.
A nightmare.
I push open my door, step inside, lock it behind me—
And something feels wrong.
I take a second, looking around, listening intently. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight up.
The TV’s on but Marnie’s not lounging on the couch. A glass of wine is knocked over on the rug. Nobody cleaned it up. Maybe she’s getting some paper towels?
“Marn? Hey, is everything alright?” No answer. I head into the kitchen and stare.
There’s a broken plate on the floor. The refrigerator door is open and the calendar beside it is hanging askew like someone knocked it aside. This makes no sense. Marnie texted me like a half hour ago that everything was fine.
“Marnie? I’m worried, please answer.” I turn and notice that the basement door is standing open.
My stomach feels sick. I don’t want to go check. Fear grips me, the primal, ancient, childish terror of the dark and everything down below.
But there are no monsters at the bottom of the steps. Only mice and storage bins. I creep closer, heart racing. “Marnie? Are you down there?”
I reach the landing and open my mouth.
Marnie’s at the bottom. She’s lying on her side, one leg twisted at a sickening angle, her knee clearly broken.
Blood leaks around her head like a halo.
Her eyes are open. Her mouth is contorted.
“Marnie… oh god, Marnie!” I take a step forward.
But something stops me.
I twist, thrashing in a panic. Strong hands grip me harder and slam me back. I scream until something nasty-tasting is shoved in my mouth. I catch glimpses of my attacker: big, burly, in all black, with a ski-mask pulled over his face.
“Stop fighting, you fucking bitch, or I’ll do you like I did your dumb fucking friend,” he hisses in my ear. His fist slams into my guts, doubling me over. He grabs my hair and throws me to the floor and jams a knee into my chest, holding me down.
“Please,” I wheeze, mind reeling. Marnie twisted and broken. Hattie sleeping upstairs. What’s going on?
Rafe in this kitchen. His words like a knife.
“Stop fucking struggling or I’ll make sure your cute little girl gets her head cut off.”
That takes the fight out of me. I go limp, sobbing. “Please, don’t hurt her. Leave her alone. Take me—“
“Plan on it,” he mumbles, wrenching my hands behind my back. “Hold still—“
Something dark looms behind my attacker. It’s enormous. Shoulders, arms, jeans. Another man, this one in a black t-shirt. He grabs my attacker by the skull with one huge palm, yanks his head back, and jabs his other fist into his throat. He gouges at eyes, ripping one free. Blood sprays as my attacker falls sideways, screaming, and the big man’s on top of him, hand wrapped around throat, squeezing hard, other fist pummeling over and over.
More blood sprays, drenching this fresh nightmare.
I gasp, trying to scramble away, crying as my attacker goes limp.
And my savior stands to look at me.
Dark hair. Handsome jaw. Full lips.
Gray eyes like a stormy sea. Like Rafe.
Like Hattie.
“Time to come with me.”
I stare at him, too dumb and afraid and hurt to make sense of that. “My daughter. Where’s my daughter?”
“Safe. I have people coming. But we have to go.”
“No, I have to see her. Hattie, I have to—“
The man strides over. He grabs me by the arm and drags me to my feet. I try to struggle, but he’s like iron. I hit him in the chest and he doesn’t even flinch.
“Timeline’s been moved up. We have to go right now.”
“Marnie, oh god, Marnie. Please, you have to help her. And Hattie—“
“No more talking.” His hand tightens painfully. I gasp, bending sideways like I’m trying to escape.
“Who are you? What’s going on?” My dead attacker’s blood spreads from his maimed eyes and his ruined mouth, a horrific death-mask. “Oh god, what did you do?”
I’m dragged from the kitchen. I look back, thinking, Marnie, please, Marnie, don’t be dead, until we reach the front door. He mutters something to himself, clearly unhappy, pulls out a phone, and sends a quick text.
“You can’t leave my daughter alone. Please, don’t do this—“
He shoves me outside. I stagger and nearly fall down the stoop. I open my mouth to scream for help but he’s on me, one big palm covering my lips.
“If you make this hard, I can’t guarantee your safety. I can’t promise your daughter will live through the night, and I sure as fuck can’t keep your friend from dying at the bottom of your basement steps. So listen to me now, June. You will get in my car. You will keep your mouth shut, or I will gag you. And you will do as you’re told. Do you understand?”