Chapter 42 #2
My eyes rocket open as a thunderous crash explodes through the room. Gray’s arms band around my stomach, his grip bruising. He shoves me down, pinning me to the floor with his hand on my back.
“Stay down!” he yells.
He crouches beside me, his arm darting underneath the couch. When he pulls it back, my eyes widen. His hand is wrapped around an enormous military-looking gun. He keeps a gun under his couch?! Is it even called a gun if it’s that big? When does it go from a gun to a firearm?
“Do not move from this spot,” he commands, sliding past me toward the source of the sound.
I press my face to the floor. Long carpet fibers tickle my nose as I peer out through the space between the floor and the couch.
Looking toward the front door, a gasp gets lodged in my throat.
The heavy metal door is off its hinges, sitting at an odd angle.
It teeters on its side before crashing down, the weight of it vibrating the floor beneath me.
Smoke billows into the room, flowing over the floor in a thick, gray wave.
It wafts closer, pushed by the cold breeze that streams through the busted door.
My eyes begin to sting, my vision blurring as tears burn in my eyes.
I suck in a breath that scorches my throat.
My airways constrict as the acrid vapor coats my tongue and fills my nostrils.
Coughing and gagging, I fight back the bile that climbs up my throat.
Pop, pop, pop.
The sound of fireworks echoes through the room, bouncing off the walls and smashing into my ears.
Who’s setting off fireworks in the house?
And why? Wait, it’s not fireworks. It’s gunfire.
My stomach tightens, panic clawing inside my belly.
A ringing sound buzzes in my ears and a wave of dizziness washes over me.
Something flits past my eyes, a hazy figure of toned muscle and dark ink.
Gray careens over the couch toward the door, gun trained on whatever is coming for us.
The muscles in his forearms bunch, veins protruding as he propels himself through the air.
The sight is nothing short of monstrous as he bounds over furniture, his face drawn and smothered in smoke.
My monster, the voice inside of me sighs.
I don’t dare to move from where I lay pressed to the floor, my breath fanning over it, rustling the strands.
Bullets fly overhead, zipping through the air with alarming speed.
They careen through the room, forcing wood to splinter and artwork to plummet to the floor.
The sound of shouting reaches me, but the words are fuzzy like I’m listening to a conversation from underwater.
Something grabs against the back of my t-shirt, yanking me upward. My feet falter as I whip myself around, sending me careening forward. My chest slams into a hard body, my face crashing into their shoulder.
“Gray!” I cry, my ears blurring with tears of relief.
Only the face I look up into isn’t Gray’s.
A man stands before me, his hand firmly wrapped around the fabric of my shirt.
Not-Gray tilts his head down at me, his broad jaw twitching under a smattering of dark facial hair.
The corners of his mouth jump, forming a grin that sends a shiver through my body.
My eyes meet his and what I see has me jerking in his hold.
Dark pools like muddy water stare back at me, full of terrible promise.
“Got you, cara.” His voice slides over me, viscous and sticky. Even over the ruckus around us, I can hear the darkness in it.
His arm bands around my chest, pulling me toward him.
He laughs as I kick my legs out, crashing my bare toes into his shins.
Something inside of me snaps. A switch flips, demanding that I lash out and free myself.
I wrap my hands around his arm, my fingernails tearing into him until drops of blood bloom on his olive skin.
Bending my neck awkwardly, I sink my teeth into his arm.
His blood coats my mouth, the sickening, thick liquid sliding over my tongue.
“Merda! You little bitch!” he yells. He fists my hair, forcing my head back, making my scalp burn and tears drip down my cheeks.
My feet abruptly leave the floor and I’m tossed into the air.
My breath leaves me in a great whoosh as my stomach collides with his shoulder.
Cold air hits the back of my thighs along with his hands.
They grip me, pinching my skin in his fingers.
Everything in my stomach jostles with his steps, forcing bile up my throat.
With each of his large steps, we move closer and closer to the busted doorway. Closer to the outside.
“No, no, no!” I scream, kicking my feet against this stomach. “Gray! Grayson!”
Where is Gray? I lift my head, my vision bouncing with the movement of the enormous body I’m attached to.
My eyes scan the destruction, searching for him.
Smoke wafts up from the chunks of wood and stone that litter the floor.
The kitchen counter is cracked, pieces of marble pulverized into sand and falling to the floor.
Blood coats the floor in spatters, and pools under dead men.
Their unseeing eyes stare up at me, glossy and red. I swallow a mouthful of vomit.
Amidst the rumble, half cloaked by the remnants of the kitchen table, a shirtless body lays on the bloodied floor.
I know that body instantly. He lifts his head, blood streaming down his face from a gash in his head.
Our eyes meet and he groans my name. His body is motionless, but his fingers inch across the floor, reaching for me.
Tears burn in my eyes and fall down my cheeks as I scream his name.
I pound my fists into the back of the asshole who's holding me. Clawing at his shirt, I rip threads from the fabric. Get to Gray. It's the only thought in my head. I have to get to him. I have to fight.
White hot pain explodes against my temple, and I cry out for him as the world goes black.