I squeeze my eyes shut as another explosion rips through the earth. There’s a loud yell, then a cry of pain. Oh my God. Oh my God. He’s going to kill them. My heart speeds up, beating so fast that my head spins.
I try to rationalise. Glen is a demolitions expert. He’ll know that they’re walking into a trap, right? He’ll be able to tell?
Another explosion. Another shout. The sirens are getting louder. Blood rushes through my brain. I can’t breathe. My hand tightens on the chair leg, gripping the splintered wood. I have to get away from X before he shoots me. The only other door in this room leads to the ensuite bathroom. I could lock myself in there and try to regroup. There might be something in the cupboards that I can use as a weapon.
I don’t have time to think. I gather my strength and stab the chair leg backwards, aiming right for X’s crotch. X howls, his grip on me loosening, and I pull free, stumbling towards the ensuite. He’s hot on my heels, but I just about manage to slip inside the bathroom. I spin, trying to slam the door shut, but he shoves it from the other side, thrusting his whole weight into it. It starts to gradually eek open.
“Angel, please. You’re being ridiculous,” he purrs through the crack. The door opens one inch, and then another. My arms are burning. I look frantically around the bathroom. There’s a bucket of something foul-smelling in here, and I recognise the scent from the inside of my gag.
The door pushes open another inch, and my weakened arms scream. I can’t hold it closed anymore. I let go of the door suddenly, stepping aside so X comes flying into the room, almost falling. While he’s trying to catch his balance, I grab at the rim of the bucket and toss it over his head, dousing his face in whatever vile concoction he mixed up for me. His scream half-deafens me. He drops to his knees and claws at his face. I start to cough, feeling nausea spiral back up through my throat. My eyes water so hard I can’t even see what’s in front of me. I cough again, and again, bending double as I stagger back out of the bathroom and down the hallway, heading for the main room. Behind me, I hear X retching painfully.
Good. Give him a taste of what it feels like.
My head spinning viciously, I stumble over to the front door, throwing myself at it. It doesn’t budge. My palms pound against the thick metal pane. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I whip around, fighting the growing weakness in my muscles, looking for somewhere, anywhere, I can escape. There are no windows, no other doors. Not even a chimney I can wiggle up.
I can definitely hear voices now, from outside the cabin. There’s a loud clanging sound, and I realise someone is trying to shove the door open. I step back, giving them room, and double over with a burst of hacking coughs that tear at my throat. My legs finally give in, and I sink to the ground.
“Briar,” X rasps behind me. I turn. He’s crawling out of the corridor towards me, like something out of a horror movie. His eyes are weeping and red. His shirt is ripped open and bloody. He’s still clutching the gun in one hand.
I scrabble for my chair leg, but the mixture of drugs and panic and blood loss is too much, and I can’t even feel my fingers anymore. I shuffle backwards across the floor, away from him.
There’s a thump on the outside of the door. X looks up at it hazily, then lifts his gun and fires, shooting clean through the metal. I hear a yell from the other side.
“Get away from the door!” I try to shout, but my voice is thin and reedy. “He’s—” I break off coughing. “He’s got a gun!”
There’s a pause, and then I hear Kenta’s voice. “Briar?”
Relief floods me. Thank God.
“Briar,” Kenta’s voice is frantic. “Are you okay?”
I open my mouth to answer, but X shoots again, and I scream as the bullet whizzes past my ear.
“They can’t have you,” he mutters, still army-crawling towards me. “If I can’t have you, no one can.” He flings out an arm and grabs my ankle. “I’M GOING TO KILL HER!” He roars to the men outside. “IT’S ALREADY TOO LATE!”
“Cutter, get the cutter,” someone says outside. X yanks on my leg, pulling me towards him. I cry out, twisting and slamming the heel of my foot into his nose. He shrieks, letting me go, and I scoot away from him. Up. I need to get up. Shuffling back to the kitchen table, I grab the leg and lever myself upright. My vision goes dark as all the blood falls out of my head, but I cling to the table and wait for it to pass.
A loud buzzing rips through the room as a blade starts to saw around the edges of the front door. Sparks fly off the metal. “POLICE!” A voice calls. “STEP AWAY FROM THE DOOR!”
I watch, almost in slow motion, as X twists on the floor, pointing the gun at me. I stare down the black hole of the barrel. My legs buckle under me. I can’t run away anymore. I can’t make myself move. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the bullet to rip through me.
Nothing.
I open my eyes and watch as X squeezes the trigger again and again, staring stupidly at the pistol. Nothing. He’s out of bullets.
It’s the biggest fight scene movie cliché imaginable. And it just saved my life.
“Ha!” Relief floods through me, giving me one last surge of power. X’s eyes widen as I force myself to straighten, coming to stand over him. I’m still clutching the chair leg in one shaking hand.
“You’re done,” I tell him, hardly believing it myself. “You’re done. You lost!”
Then I lift the chair leg and slam it down into his side. He howls. “You’re going to rot in a cell—” I hit him again, “for the rest of your goddamn life.” I sneer down at him. “I doubt you’ll make any friends in prison. You haven’t made any out here, have you? They’ll hate you just as much as everybody else.”
He grabs at my ankle and yanks, trying to tug me down, but I kick him off me. I feel feral. Like a wild animal. My throat is full up of thorns, my heart is beating out of my chest. This man has had power over me for so long, and now, finally, I’m standing over him holding a weapon. It feels good. I want to hurt him. I want to hurt him so badly he can never hurt another woman again.
“You’re pathetic,” I spit. “Everything about you is pathetic. This whole seduction routine was pathetic. You kidnapping me like you’re a bloody Bond villain is pathetic.” I shake my head. “What, you can’t get a girl to like you the normal way, so you decide to just take her? Is that it? You think you have the right to women?”
He sputters. “I deserve—”
I lift the chair leg and drive it down like a stake into his crotch. He screams, but I barely hear it. “You deserve nothing! You are not entitled to have sex with me!” I scream at him. “You’re a joke. You’re a disgusting human being. You’re a goddamn roach.” I drop my makeshift club and grab the bloody, serrated knife on the dining table, pointing it at him. He goes still.
My head swims, and my fingers shake on the knife handle. I could do it. I could end this, right now.
He looks up at me. He looks battered. One of his eyes is swollen, his glasses are shattered, and there’s blood coming out of his mouth. Matching blood trickles down my slashed cheek and onto my neck, soaking into my dress.
“Angel,” he says softly, his eyes imploring.
I drop the knife with a clatter, then bend and spit in his face.
There’s a deafening bang, and the huge metal door falls inward. Light flares through the doorway, and I see silhouettes stepping forward. Shouts fill the room. All of the adrenaline fades out of me, and I drop to my knees.
I did it. I did it. I stayed alive long enough for them to come.
I did it.
I watch through hazy eyes as the men charge into the room. It’s almost like watching a dream. I see X rolling over, grasping for the gun. I see a group of officers, led by Kenta, diving onto him, holding him down.
I see Matt and Glen standing in the doorway, frantically scanning the room. Matt turns to me, his eyes on fire. His gaze trails over my front, and I suddenly realise what I look like. There’s blood on me. All over me. On my dress, my skin, in my hair.
For a second, everything seems still. Then Matt lunges at me.
I flinch hard. If I had any energy left, I’d get up and run, but all I can do is go still as he throws himself onto his knees next to me, grabbing me.
“You’re bleeding,” he whispers. “Bleeding—” He starts frantically running his hands over me, trying to cover my wounds.
“No,” I choke. “Get off.” He doesn’t respond. The look in his eyes is terrifying me.
It’s Matt. A voice in the back of my head reminds me. Just Matt. Just Matt. I try to remember that, but looking at the wild man in front of me, I don’t see Matt at all. Just another violent man trying to maul me. “No!” I shout, trying to shove him off me. “No, no, no, no, no—”
“MATT,” Kenta barks. “You’re scaring her! Stop, man!”
Behind him, there’s a sudden volley of gunshots. Matt goes still on top of me. I lay under him, my heart thudding in my chest. He’s panting, breathing too hard.
“Matt.” I flap my hand out and hold his hand, lacing our fingers together. “I’m okay.”
His eyes shine suddenly. “Briar,” he whispers, lifting a hand to my cheek. He swallows thickly, then drops his hand and stands jerkily. I want to reach after him, but warm arms wrap around me from behind, and I slump back onto a hard chest. “I’m here, lass, it’s okay,” Glen whispers in my ear. I could cry. “It’s okay. God, you’re bleeding. Oh, God, your poor face.” He tugs me closer into his arms. “Is this okay, baby? Am I hurting you?”
I shake my head, burying my face in his shoulder.
He keeps talking, rocking me back and forth. “That was incredible. I think we should invite you to join the team. You’d make a very convincing Angel.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head. “Look at you. You didn’t even need us, you took him out all by yourself. God, let me look at your face, sweetheart. What the Hell did he do to you?” He tries to pull my face out of the crook of his neck, and I shake my head.
“No.”
“You don’t want me to look at you?” He cups my cheek, and his fingers come back wet with blood. “It won’t be as bad as mine, love, nowhere near that bad. I… we’ll find you the best surgeon, sweetheart. The best in the whole country, I promise, there won’t even be a mark.”
“Shut. Up.” I groan. Everything is spinning. I can feel my heart rate getting faster and faster. I cling to him, huffing in his dark earthy scent. I just want to hide away where no one can see me. I try to gasp in a breath, but I can’t. I start to shake.
“Briar.” His hand cups the back of my head. “Briar. Breathe.”
I can’t. I can’t breathe. I try to take in a breath, but my lungs are too tight. I try harder and harder, my breathing turning to noisy, frantic gasps, but nothing is getting in.
“God.” He starts sliding his hands over my body, checking my waist and rib cage. “You didn’t get stabbed in the chest, did you?”
I shake my head.
“Panic attack?”
I nod, and he wraps his big arms gently around me. “Then it’s okay, love. It’s okay to panic. Don’t fight it. Just let yourself feel it. You’re safe, now. You’re safe.”
I start sobbing, grabbing at him. I can feel my nails scratching at his skin, but I can’t stop. I’m shaking apart, just a ball of frantic energy. I’m probably hurting him, thrashing around and clawing at him like this, but if I am, he doesn’t say anything. Just sits calmly with me in his arms, breathing steadily and exuding the comforting smell of grass and trees. Around me, I hear radios chattering and sirens approaching and the low voices of detectives and police.
Footsteps tread closer to us. “Excuse me,” a woman says, “we’d like to talk to Miss Saint about—”
“Not now,” Glen orders, his voice deep. The woman slinks off again. I sob, clutching his shirt.
“It’s okay,” he says in my ear. “He’s gone now. He’s gone. I’m here.” He keeps stroking my back, my hair, my face, murmuring soothing things to me, until the panic finally drains away, and I go limp against his chest.
