29. Mallory
MALLORY
Abuzzing echoed in my ears as I stared at the black rose. Jade moved closer, sniffing at the flower curiously, her tiny nose brushing the dark petals, whiskers twitching.
“No,” I whispered. “No, no, no—” My gaze dashed around the room from corner to corner, looking for anything else out of place.
The window was definitely shut and locked before I’d gone downstairs, so how the fuck had the rose made it into my bedroom?
How did it get here?
Creak.
A floorboard groaned downstairs, and I whirled toward the door, ice flooding my veins.
Someone was in my house…with me.
My pulse spiked violently, adrenaline hitting hard and fast, making my common sense disappear. I was rooted to the floor as panic clawed its way up my throat, choking me, making it hard to breathe. Somewhere in my mind, a voice screamed at me.
Move. Move. MOVE, MALLORY!
I stumbled back, nearly tripping over my own feet, and closed my bedroom door with a near-silent click, flipping the lock into place.
I doubted it would do much good if the intruder wanted in my room, but hopefully, it would hold them off long enough for me to figure out how I was going to get out of this alive.
What other reason did someone have to break into my house if it wasn’t to kill me? They could be robbing the place, but we didn’t have much of value to be stolen. They would be sorely disappointed.
Jade darted under the bed, a gray flash of fear.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” My gaze snapped around the room, searching frantically for a weapon, an escape route, hell, anything useful.
My phone.
Where is my phone?
A whoosh of air left my lungs as I spotted it on the nightstand. I lunged for it, nearly knocking over the lamp, my hip slamming into the nightstand hard enough to bruise. Pain bloomed, but I ignored it, fingers closing around the phone.
I should call 911. That’s what a normal person would do, yet my fingers overrode logic, hovering over a saved contact. It should have been my mom, but that would have required me to tell her about the stalking. There was only one person who knew all the details.
Maddox.
The phone rang too loudly in my ear, each tone stretching into eternity. I couldn’t risk putting it on speaker and having the trespasser hear me call for help.
Once…
Twice…
Three times…
“Pick up,” I begged, pacing in the small space between my bed and the door. “Please pick up, please.”
Finally, on the fourth ring, the call connected, and his deep voice carried through the line. “Hales?”
Relief hit so hard my knees almost gave out, nearly sent me crumpling to the floor. “Maddox,” I whispered, my voice strangled by fear. “I—I think someone’s in my house.”
Too long a silence stretched through the phone before he spoke again, as if he had to process my words. He wasn’t the only one having a hard time fucking comprehending. “Where are you?” he demanded.
“My room,” I whispered, my eyes fixed on the brass handle, waiting for it to move. “I locked the door, but—”
“Don’t open it,” he cut in, and I heard movement on his end. Rustling. The jingle of keys. An engine starting. “Stay quiet. Don’t let them know you’re aware they’re there. I’m coming.”
Another creak echoed from downstairs but closer this time as if they were checking room by room. Looking for something.
For me.
My breath hitched, coming in short gasps I couldn’t control. “Hurry,” I urged, reaching into the nightstand drawer to pull out a small knife I kept inside. “Please hurry.”
“I’m already on my way, Hales.” His voice was steady, grounding, the only thing keeping me from completely losing it. “Two minutes. Maybe less. Can you get out the window?”
I glanced at the framed glass, considering it as I tucked the knife into the waistband of my lounge shorts. I was on the second story with a decent drop, but there was a tree near the window. It might be possible…
Or I could break my damn neck.
It was a toss-up.
“I could try. Don’t hang up, just in case,” I told him, wedging the phone between my cheek and shoulder.
“I don’t want you breaking a leg,” he grumbled.
“But the alternative seems worse. I don’t think I can stay in here.” Not with footsteps climbing the stairs. Not with a locked door that wouldn’t hold if he really wanted in. Not with nowhere to go and a measly knife, but he would have access to an arsenal of weapons if he took the time to look.
Fuck me.
How the hell did he get in? I couldn’t wrap my brain around the idea. Mom was always so thorough and careful with the security.
“I’m almost there,” Maddox said, the engine roaring in the background.
A door down the hall creaked open, the hinges squeaking. I thought it was my mom’s bedroom. They were getting close. Too damn close.
I had to get out of here.
I yanked the curtain aside and fumbled with the window lock, my fingers slipping once. The window stuck for half a second before finally giving, and I shoved it up, the night washing over my cheeks.
“Hales?” Maddox’s called through the line. “What are you doing? Talk to me.”
“There’s a tree,” I muttered, looking out at the thick oak, its branches reaching toward my window like an invitation. “Right outside my window.”
“Hales—”
“I can make it.” I had to get out of this room before whoever was inside my house came pounding on my door.
“Don’t—”
I shoved the phone into my back pocket, even knowing he would be pissed I’d gone silent. I needed a minute to climb out of this window to freedom. Maddox would have to wait.
Jade peered out from beneath the bed, her eyes huge and scared, reflecting light like tiny moons.
Shit.
This was going to be precarious and probably life-threatening for both of us, but I couldn’t leave her behind. Scooping her from out under the bed, I slipped her inside the front pocket of Maddox’s hoodie, the one I borrowed, continued to wear, and never gave back.
It still smelled like him, and somehow, the cedar scent gave me a burst of bravado. Praying I didn’t break my legs, I climbed onto the sill, my hands gripping the frame, feeling splinters dig into my palms.
The branch was farther than it looked.
Of course, it was.
Everything was always farther, harder, and more dangerous than it appeared in the moment before you committed.
I reached anyway, pushing until the strain bit deep into my shoulder.
As if Jade understood the perilousness of our situation, she buried deep inside the pocket.
My fingers brushed rough bark before finally catching hold of the thick limb.
It was solid beneath my grip, but my socked feet slipped on the painted sill, and for one horrible second, I thought I was going to fall backward on my ass, but I held on, finally able to swing my other leg out.
I hugged the branch awkwardly before managing to get both arms around it despite the bark biting into my palms. Taking a second to catch my bearings, I didn’t have time to waste and let myself hang, my grip the only thing between me and a painful drop.
The ground wasn’t far, maybe eight feet, maybe ten, but it felt far enough to break a bone, leaving me injured and vulnerable if I landed wrong. I counted in my head…
One. Two. Three.
I released.
My feet hit the ground hard, jarring my knees, and the impact traveled up my legs, rattling my teeth. I barely had time to steady myself, take a breath, and make sure Jade was still secured inside my pocket when something slammed hard into me from the side.
I hit the dirt with a gasp, the breath punched out of my lungs, all the air expelled in one violent rush. Stars burst across my vision, but I caught a flash of gray I thought was Jade, having escaped from inside my hoodie. Just in time, too, because escape wasn’t going to be easy for me.
A weight came down on me, and it took me too long to realize it was a body, solid, heavy, and real.
He flung me so my back was pinned to the ground, hovering over me.
My mind went dark, a thousand horrific scenarios flipping through my head.
At the forefront of those images was my mom and what happened to her when she was just a few years younger than me.
Was this how she had felt? Alone? Terrified? Helpless?
He wore a dark mask, covering his features from my eyes and the wrath of my nails.
His clothes were all black, blending with the night.
But because of what my mom had endured, she taught me to be prepared, to survive, and to fight.
This bastard wouldn’t take from me what had been ripped from my mom.
My body moved before my brain fully caught up, memory taking over. Mom’s voice lived in my muscles; in the hours of training she’d drilled into me since I could walk. Use their weight. Use surprise. Make them hurt first. Don’t fight fair—survival isn’t fair.
I drove my knee up with everything I had, aiming for the soft, vulnerable space between his legs, and got the sweet satisfaction when I connected. The loser grunted, his grip loosening fractionally, but it was enough.
I twisted hard, bringing my elbow up into his throat the way Mom had taught me and made me practice until the movement became a reflex. I targeted the trachea, the soft hollow that would make him choke, and I prayed to lose focus.
He gasped, his hands flying to his throat instinctively, and I shoved off the ground, my palms scraping against dirt and grass.
I rolled sideways to create distance and kicked backward with everything I had, my heel connecting with his ribs or sternum.
The specifics didn’t matter as long as it got the job done.
My foot was another matter, but I’d sustain some pain if it meant my freedom.
The bastard stayed on the ground, groaning, and I didn’t wait to see if he’d get back up.
Scrambling to my feet, I fucking ran. Rocks and twigs cut through my socks as I tore through the yard and into the darker stretch beside the house, not thinking about direction or destination, just survival.
Behind me, I heard him get up and mutter a curse.