Chapter 73 Morgan
Morgan
The next hit on the door wasn’t a test. It was an attack.
The wood shuddered, the deadbolt groaning under the strain. I stumbled back two steps, pistol raised, my breath jagged in my chest.
Ruby screamed from her room. Not loud—she tried to muffle it—but I heard it, and so did he.
“There she is,” the man outside said, voice curling like smoke through the cracks. “The sister. Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll be gentle. At first.”
Rage burned hot through my fear, snapping something inside me. “You’ll never touch her!”
The door rattled again, harder this time. A splinter of wood cracked near the hinge. My grip tightened on the gun, both hands braced the way Damian had shown me, knees bent, breath measured. I wasn’t going to panic. I wasn’t going to let him through.
Another slam.
The frame bowed. Dust sifted down from the top jamb.
Ruby’s door creaked open again, and she peeked out, her face white, tears streaking her cheeks. “Morgan—”
“Get back inside!” My voice was sharper than I meant, but she obeyed, retreating fast, the lock snapping again. I pressed my back to her door, planting myself between her and the front of the house.
The man outside laughed, low and cruel. “You think that little popgun’s going to stop me?”
I swallowed hard, sweat slick on my palms. “Try me.”
Silence followed, thick and menacing. For one horrible moment I thought he’d given up. Then came the metallic scrape—tools on the lock.
He was going to pick his way in.
Ruby whimpered behind me. “Morgan, what if he—”
“He won’t.” My voice cracked, but I forced steel into it. “He won’t, because Damian’s coming. And until then, it’s just you and me, Rubes. Like it’s always been. I won’t let them take you again.”
The lock clicked faintly under pressure. The doorframe moaned.
I tightened my grip, brought the pistol up, and aimed dead center. My heartbeat filled my ears, drowning out everything else.
If he came through, I would shoot. No hesitation. No regret.
The scrape stopped. Silence pressed against the house.
Then, softly, right against the door: “You’ve got fire. I like that.”
My stomach twisted, bile burning my throat.
The sound of retreating footsteps followed, slow and deliberate. Gravel crunched. A car door slammed. The distant growl of an engine rumbled into the night.
But I didn’t lower the gun. Not yet. Not until Damian was back and I knew—really knew—we were safe.
Ruby opened her door again, tears in her eyes, trembling so badly she could hardly stand. “He’s gone?”
I shook my head, my own hands shaking. “No. He’ll be back.”