Cobra (Deathstalkers MC 2nd Generation #10)

Seven Years Old

The house is too quiet tonight. Not the kind that feels safe. Not the kind that means sleep. This kind presses in, heavy and wrong, like something is waiting.

I know quiet. I sit curled in the back corner of the crate, knees tight to my chest, chin tucked down.

The metal under me is cold, biting into my skin, but I don’t move.

Moving makes noise. Noise gets noticed. The chain at my neck shifts when I breathe.

A soft scrape. Too loud. I make my breaths smaller.

My stomach hurts. It always hurts. It doesn’t twist as bad as it used to, just sits there, empty and dull, like it forgot what it’s waiting for.

There’s a smell in here. Old. Sour. It sticks to everything.

To me. I stare at the thin line of light under the door across the room.

That’s all I see of the rest of the house. I don’t try to see more anymore.

A noise breaks the quiet. Not inside. Outside.

My body goes tight before I understand why. My breath stops. My fingers curl against the metal floor.

Voices. Low at first. Then louder. They don’t sound right. Not like the voices I know. Not sharp and mean in the same way. These are fast. Urgent. Too many at once.

My heart starts beating harder. I feel it in my throat, in my ears, too loud. I press back into the corner as far as I can go, like I can push through the wall and disappear.

The voices get closer.

Something hits the front of the house. A loud thud that makes the walls shake.

I flinch, hands flying up over my head even though no one is in the room yet.

Another hit. Then a crack that splits the air open. The front door. Footsteps rush in. Heavy. Fast. More voices, all talking over each other.

“Police! Don’t move!”

I don’t know what that means. It’s just louder. Too loud. Too close. My breathing breaks, sharp and fast, pulling in air that doesn’t feel like enough. The chain rattles now with every movement, every breath, every shake.

They’re going to hear it. They’re going to find me.

Footsteps get closer. The door to my room slams open so hard it hits the wall. Light floods in. Too bright.

I squeeze my eyes shut and turn my face away, pressing tighter into the corner.

“Jesus—” a voice says, close now.

Another voice, softer but still fast. “We’ve got a kid. Call it in. Now.”

Footsteps come toward me.

I can feel it. The air changes when someone stands right in front of the crate. Bigger. Warmer. Too close. My chest tightens so hard it hurts.

“No, no, hey—” the softer voice again, lower now. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Hands reach toward the crate.

I see them.

Big hands. Coming closer. Everything inside me snaps.

I scream. It rips out of my throat, loud and raw, louder than anything I’ve ever made before.

It hurts, but I don’t stop. I can’t. My body slams back into the corner, heels kicking, hands hitting the metal like I can push through it.

The chain jerks tight at my neck, digging in, choking, but I don’t stop.

Get away.

Get away.

“Easy! Easy!” another voice says. Not angry. Still loud. “He’s scared. Back up.”

“I’ve got cutters…hold on,” someone else says behind them.

The hands pull back a little, but they’re still there. Still watching. Still too close.

I keep screaming, but it breaks now, turns rough, my throat burning. My chest hurts every time I try to breathe. The chain rattles hard with every movement.

A sharp metal sound cuts through the noise. Then another.

The pressure at my neck loosens. I freeze. It feels wrong. The weight is gone. I don’t understand.

The crate door moves. It creaks open.

I’ve never heard that before.

There’s nothing in front of me now. No bars. No metal. Just open space.

I don’t move. My body locks tight, waiting for something to hit, waiting for hands, for pain, for something.

“It’s okay,” the softer voice says again. Slower this time. Careful. “You don’t have to stay in there.”

A hand comes toward me. Slow. Too slow. Too careful. It doesn’t matter.

I scream again, louder, my whole body jerking back, slamming into the wall behind me. My hands fly out, hitting the arm reaching in. Not hard. But enough.

“Alright, alright,” the voice says fast, pulling back. “No touching. No touching.”

The hands disappear. They stay back this time.

I press into the corner again, shaking now, my whole body trembling and I can’t stop it. My eyes flick between them.

Strangers. Dark clothes. Bright lights. Things on their chests that catch the light. Nothing makes sense. Nothing feels safe.

“Hey…can you tell me your name?” someone asks.

I don’t answer. I can’t. The words don’t come. I just stare. Breathing hard. Waiting.

The door stays open. No one closes it. No one drags me out. They just stand there.

And wait.

The quiet comes back slowly. But it’s not the same. It’s still heavy. Still tight. But there’s something else in it now.

Something I don’t know.

Something I don’t trust.

Not yet.