Chapter 27
Ten Seconds
Summer
The shout wakes me first—a deep, guttural sound that splits the silence clean in two.
Then comes the bang. Loud. Violent. It rips through the dark.
The walls shake with it. My body jerks upright, heart clawing its way into my throat. For a second, I can’t breathe, can’t even process what’s happening—until the next sound comes.
A gunshot. Loud and close.
“Jacob?” The whisper rips out of me before I can stop it, raw and useless in the empty room.
No answer.
My chest tightens until it feels like my ribs are caving in. I stumble out of bed, feet tangling in the sheets, nearly crashing to the floor as the realization hits me like a knife to the gut.
What if it’s him? What if Jacob’s been shot?
He’s always promised me the house was safe, untouchable, like no one could ever break through these walls. But he never told me what to do if someone did. He never gave me a plan. Because he never expected to leave me alone to deal with it.
And now—God—maybe he’s not just gone. Maybe he’s dead.
I stagger into the en-suite, slam the door shut, and lock it with trembling hands. My back presses against the wood, my breath a stuttered gasp. Silence stretches thin, brittle. My pulse is too loud, crashing in my ears.
Then—screams.
Not Jacob.
Other voices. High. Terrified.
Female.
Constance? Adelaide?
No. No, they’re safe at home.
My legs shake, and I slide down the door, palms pressed over my mouth to smother the sobs. The screams keep coming, clawing at the walls, closer, closer—until the sound turns jagged and raw and the house doesn’t feel like a house anymore.
It feels like a slaughterhouse, and I’m the next animal in line.
I press my ear to the door, straining so hard the wood digs into my skin.
Nothing.
The screams have stopped. The silence is worse—thick, suffocating. Like someone waiting. I force myself to my feet, legs trembling, and creep toward the window. Every board of the floor groans like it’s betraying me. My hands shake as I peel back the curtain just enough to peek outside.
A cop car. But it’s not Jacobs.
I scan the road again, breath fogging the glass. That’s when I see it.
A black SUV. Its windows are tinted, the kind of dark that swallows light. My heart lurches. Detectives. Maybe it’s them. Maybe Maddox or Navarro came back to check on me. Maybe Jacob sent them. The hope is weak, but it’s enough to keep me standing.
Then a phone rings. It shrieks through the house, loud and violent, so out of place it makes me jump. The sound drills into my skull, bouncing off the walls, echoing in every corner.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
I freeze, staring at the shadow of the handset in the hall below, just visible through the crack in the bedroom door. Should I make a run and grab the device and beg whoever’s on the other end for help?
The ringing claws through me, dragging me toward it, but my feet won’t move.
And then—silence.
A breathless second of relief.
Until a new sound slips through the line, low and jagged, amplified by the stillness of the house.
A voice.
“Hello, Sheriff.”
Deep. Male. Drawn-out like he knows exactly how those two words will land.
The air leaves my lungs all at once. A warmth spreads down my thighs before I even realize what’s happened. My body’s given up on me, humiliating me as if to remind me I’m prey. Just prey.
The sound of a cell being tossed to the floor rattles through my bones, but the voice doesn’t vanish. I hear it again.
Low. Groaning. Coming from the hall.
I stumble backward, shaking so hard I slam into the vanity. My breath tears ragged through my throat as the truth detonates in my chest.
Jacob isn’t here.
My fingers scrabble for the lock, twisting it hard enough to bite into my skin. The bolt slides home with a loud click.
I sink down against door, pulse thrashing. My body curls in on itself, rocking, rocking, as I press my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
Because now I know. This house isn’t impenetrable. Not without him.
The first slam rattles the frame. The second makes the mirror over the sink jump against the wall. By the third, my heart is beating so hard I’m convinced it’ll burst through my ribs.
The window. It’s small, too small, but it’s the only chance I have.
I grab the chrome counter mirror, hands slick with sweat, and hurl it against the glass.
The mirror explodes in my grip, shards biting into my palms, skin splitting.
Blood slicks my fingers instantly, dripping down onto the tiles.
I don’t feel it. Don’t care. I snatch what’s left and smash again, and again, desperation pounding through me harder than the fists at the door.
Another slam. Another crack of wood splintering.
I scream as the bolt tears free, the door flying open with a violence that shakes the walls.
“No, no, no—” The words tumble out broken, useless, as I turn toward them.
And then I see them. Three men.
Two of them with their fists wrapped tight in hair, yanking heads back. Knives pressed to pale throats.
Constance. Adelaide.
The world tilts. My stomach twists so violently I choke.
Constance’s face is a mess, smeared red across her cheek, her lip split and swelling.
Adelaide’s hair is wild and tangled, strands wrapped through the fingers of the beast who holds her there. Their eyes are wide, wild, locked on me—they make my soul splinter.
They fought. God, they fought. And now they’re here. Held like offerings.
The third man steps forward.
Long, dark curls hang damp around his face, shadowing eyes that gleam with something colder than death. His lips twist, slow, deliberate, into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
He doesn’t need to speak. His presence alone fills the room, crawling over my skin like oil.
Every instinct in me screams to back away, but there’s nowhere to go.
The broken window behind me is jagged teeth, the air reeking of blood and fear, and the only thing standing between me and them is distance—and distance means nothing.
I press my bleeding hands to the counter, shaking so violently the shards grind deeper into my skin. My pulse hammers in my ears, drowning out everything but the sound of Constance’s choked whimper, Adelaide’s gut-wrenching gasp as the knives press harder. And still—he walks closer.
The man with the long dark curls and a devastating jawline. But it’s his eyes that finish me.
Blue. Not just blue—scorching, searing, the hot side of a flame. Eyes I’ve seen before. Eyes that danced when they looked at me, that pretended to care. Eyes I trusted.
Benny’s eyes.
My breath tears out of me like I’ve been punched.
“Summer,” he says, and the name sounds wrong in his mouth, twisted, cruel.
He spreads his arms, as if this is some long-awaited reunion.
“We finally get to meet in person.” His grin widens, merciless.
“I’m Jackson. These delightful gentlemen are Donnie and Vince.
” He jerks his head at the men restraining Constance and Adelaide.
Their knives glint under the bathroom light, pressed tighter to the girls’ pale throats.
My heart detonates in my chest.
Jackson.
It’s him.
Alive. Here. In my house.
His gaze never leaves mine as he continues, calm, almost casual.
“Now, we’ve got about four minutes before your boyfriend stomps back through that door, so I won’t waste time.
Come with us. No fight, no screaming.” He flicks his fingers toward Constance and Adelaide.
“Or their throats are cut and we take you anyway. Simple as that.”
My knees buckle, my body shaking so hard I have to grip the counter to stay upright. Blood drips from my torn hands onto the tiles, each drop loud in the silence.
He lifts his wrist, admiring the sleek black watch glinting against his skin. “You’ve got ten seconds.” He snarls, as he starts to count down.
“Ten.”
Constance thrashes, shaking her head violently, eyes wide, begging me not to move.
“Nine.”
Adelaide tries to scream, but it’s muffled by the rough hand clamped over her mouth. Her eyes glisten, terror spilling out in fat tears.
“Eight.”
The sound tears out of me, raw and broken. “Stop.”
“Seven.”
Donnie—the fatter one, with a scruffy beard and eyes that shine with sick delight—drags the blade from Adelaide’s throat and licks it, slow, obscene, before pressing it back against her skin.
“Six.”
Adelaide convulses, a muffled cry spilling into the hand crushing her face.
“Five.”
I can’t breathe. The room is spinning, my chest caving in.
“Four.”
Constance whimpers, shaking so hard the knife nicks her skin. A drop of blood slides down her neck.
“Three.”
The knife presses deeper against Adelaide’s fragile throat, blood starting to seep around the knife.
“Two.”
My whole world cracks.
“Okay!” I scream, the sound ripping out of me so loud it scrapes my throat raw.
“Okay—I’ll come!”
The word hangs in the air, broken and desperate, sealing my fate.