Chapter Thirteen
EMMA
“Griffin, stop,” I call after him, but it’s too late. He limps toward the door, chasing the man who stabbed him. The man who tried to rape me, and do who knows what when he was done?
I grab the blade from the floor. It’s still coated in Griffin’s blood.
I follow the two of them out. Griffin’s tires spin in the parking lot as he gives chase.
He’s hurt, and he’s going to get himself killed.
He isn’t thinking straight. Revenge is at the top of his mind, and he doesn’t care how he gets it.
I reach my car and follow them. Griffin has thrown caution to the wind, and he’s flying through red lights and dangerously overtaking other vehicles, in pursuit of vengeance.
I nearly lose them on more than one occasion, as they speed through the black night.
Luckily, there aren’t enough vehicles, this late at night, to get stuck in traffic.
My attacker leads us to the bad side of town. Dad says this place is where the druggies and hookers of Whitefish get their best business. Three blocks of chaos where cops only show up after the damage is done.
At the end of a run-down cul de sac, I see the two cars have parked.
Griffin’s Regal is a few houses down and the door’s wide open.
Most of the houses I passed have boarded-up windows and look as if they’re about to cave in.
Those that could be habitable have overgrown gardens, and the lights are out.
It’s a good enough sign that they’re empty as well. And if not, they wouldn’t call the police.
I pull my car up to the only house that has lights on. The front door’s wide open, and the lights are on. I bring my car to a stop, pick up the knife I threw on the passenger seat, and step out. It’s deathly quiet. I can hear my heart beating in my ears.
I approach the house, but a sudden wave of fear hits me.
It’s not the same terror that came with being in my attacker’s clutches; it’s for Griffin and what horrors he’s facing.
He was hurt before he walked into this house.
What if his injuries caused him to fail?
My heart thumps harder in my chest, and dizziness consumes me.
He’s doing this for me, but what if I’ve led him to his slaughter? He wasn’t thinking straight when he left the bar, and what if that leads to his downfall?
Who protects the protector?
I cross the cracked path leading to the door. Clearing half the distance, I hear Griffin roar before there’s a crashing bang. A part of me believes he’s winning. That I should turn around and go back to my car before I see something that will change me forever.
But what if it’s not Griffin winning? What if that growl is pain? How could I live with myself if I let anything happen to him?
“You’re looking tired, old man,” the predator says. I hear a thud. It’s a good thing I didn’t turn around.
“All this for a piece of ass?” he speaks again. Another bang, and another growl from Griffin. “You’ve gone and got yourself pussy-whipped with some bitch who ain’t worth it.”
Those words hurt. They shouldn’t, considering who they are coming from, but they do. He’s right. Griffin’s getting beaten senseless, and it’s my fault. I breach the threshold of the front door. The house smells like cat piss and cigarettes and it makes my stomach turn.
Hold strong, Emma. You can do this.
I hold the knife’s handle in the palm of my hand, with the blade hidden beneath the long sleeve of my shirt. I tiptoe through the house, in the direction of the noise. The predator’s cackling, mumbling something to Griffin.
I walk down a narrow hallway and stop outside the door leading into a dining room. They’re inside, but it’s difficult to build the confidence to go inside. I hate that I’ve let Griffin get so hurt, and I don’t want to see him like this.
“You gotta tell me, man. Was she worth it?” the predator asks.
Griffin lets out a throaty chuckle. “You don’t know the half of it,” he says.
On his words, I step into the doorway. Those steely-blue eyes turn up to me and the corner of his lip lifts in a smile. He’s sprawled across what’s left of the dining room table. Blood coats his face, his right eye is swollen and it’s turning a sickly green-blue.
The predator has his back to me. He drops to one knee beside Griffin, with one of his blades in his hands. “What do you think’s going to happen once you’re dead?” he asks. “I’m going to go back there, and I won’t be so gentle.”
He’s holding Griffin’s head up by the hair. The threat of his blade hangs between us, but it isn’t close enough to be a danger yet.
“You got the word of God kicked into you tonight,” I say the words Griffin said to my dad the night this bastard broke into our home.
“Son of a bitch kicks like a mule,” Griffin says.
The attacker turns to me. He utters a noise that sounds almost scared until he realizes it’s me.
Then his fear is replaced by a smug, twisted glee.
He releases Griffin’s head and stands up straight.
He approaches me with the sick satisfaction of a man who’s won some dark prize.
I let him get close. The further away he is from Griffin, the better.
“What do we have here? A little girl trying to play hero?” he asks. He reaches a hand out and grabs me behind the head. “A man’s got to wonder if this is some sick fantasy. The two of you are some kind of freaky, but I’m kinda into it.”
He speaks with the confidence of a man who’s won.
Fear consumes me again. Whenever I’m in this guy’s presence, every muscle in my body contracts. I can’t think straight. He tightens his grip on my hair until it hurts, and pulls me against his body.
“What did you think was going to happen here?” He sticks his tongue out and swipes it across my cheek.
I’m frozen in place. I have to act, but my body is working against my mind. I need to be strong, even if it’s just this one time. Not only for me, but for Griffin too.
“This.” I slide the blade out from my sleeve and slash wildly in the direction of the predator. It cuts across his chest, slicing through the thin fabric of his worn t-shirt.
“You bitch,” he screams, inspecting his new wound. He lunges for me again and the knife flashes toward me. I shut my eyes and scream, but through my noise, I hear a clunk and a bang.
“It’s going to be okay, Emma,” Griffin says. I open my eyes to see him standing in front of me with one of the dining room table’s feet in his hands. The sharp edge that hit the predator is coated in a thin line of blood. “You’re okay. We’re okay.”
He opens his arms and I run into them.
The nightmare is over.