Chapter 52
Chapter Fifty-Two
With my body crushed against the metal door, I listen to the chaos above me.
Gunfire pops like fireworks, the sound exploding through the ceiling.
Shouts and yells drift through the wood and insulation, filling the basement with the haunting echoes of anger and pain.
My hand aches from my grip on the Christmas star.
Its jagged edges dig into my palm, but I don’t loosen my grip.
Thunk, thunk, thunk.
I tilt my ear toward the doorway as the sound of heavy footsteps drifts from the stairwell.
My heartbeat quickens, my pulse pounding in my ears.
My steady breaths turn into choppy pants.
I squeeze the weapon in my hand, holding it in front of my body like a shield.
As the sound moves closer, I lift myself onto my toes, preparing my legs to lunge forward.
From the doorway, a shadow lengthens across the floor, its imposing frame drifting toward the ceiling.
I pinch my lips together, holding my breath inside as it moves forward.
Broad shoulders breach the doorway and a man steps into the room.
His head swivels around as if he’s searching for something. Something that I hope isn’t me.
As he steps under a dim overhead light, I can tell that he’s not one of the men who’s been here before.
I’m certain I would have remembered him if he had.
He’s tall and broad, his muscular chest pressing against the confines of his shirt as he moves.
His hair is dark, neatly trimmed and close to the scalp, highlighting the small gold hoops in his earlobes.
He turns his head, giving me a glimpse of his strong jaw and shapely nose.
He’s a handsome man, but his face does nothing to alleviate the anxious churning in my belly.
When his gaze swivels in my direction, I don’t hesitate. Shoving my toes into the floor, I leap at him, jutting the ragged metal star toward his stomach. He stumbles backward, his eyes popping open in surprise. His feet jump back several steps and he lifts his hands in a sign of surrender.
“Shway, shway,” he says. His heavily accented voice is soft, its tone not unlike one someone might use to calm a scared kitten.
His gaze jumps to the bloody metal in my hand.
“Be calm, tiny killer. I’m here with your love to…
” His voice drifts off as he looks down at the two bodies lying on the floor, “…to rescue you.”
I narrow my eyes. “My love? Are you talking about Gray?” My heart pounds erratically inside my chest, its beat forceful but unsteady. “Are you here with him?”
His lips lift, a warm smile taking over his face. “Yes, habibti! Grayson has come for you.”
All of the air leaves my lungs in a whoosh and I bite my lip to suppress the smile that wants to crawl across my face.
The man looks down at me, his eyes moving from my toes to my face. Then they flit between me and the bodies laying beside us. “I didn’t realize you and Grayson were,” he pauses, pursing his lips like he’s deciding on the right words, “in the same profession.”
My eyebrows shoot into my hair. “Wait, you think…”
I look down at myself and gasp. My clothes are dirty and discolored, the fabric both wet and crunchy from the various stages of the blood that’s soaked into it.
I lift my hands, noting the crusted blood beneath my fingernails and the ragged cuts that span from my wrists to my fingertips.
Wiggling my toes against the floor, I feel the slickness of viscous fluid between them.
A dry laugh creeps up my throat. “I’m a fucking book editor.”
His face breaks into a wide grin and he howls a laugh that fills the room.
It’s an infectious sound, warm and deep, like the clang of a brass bell.
I can’t help the giggle that bubbles up from my chest in response.
He reaches out his hand toward me, opening his palm as if asking me to take it.
I wipe my dirty palm down the front of my shirt and stare at his large hand.
“Come with me, ya helwa,” he says. “I’ll protect you until Grayson can.”
My hesitation melts away when I look into his eyes.
His wide smile causes wrinkles to form around them.
There’s a warmth in his irises that reminds me of autumn leaves and hot chocolate.
In their depths, there’s something kind and hopeful.
I place my hand in his, letting the tightness of his grip and the warmth of his skin ground me.
Pulling me behind him, he moves toward the stairs.
I slide to the left, my head popping out from behind the bulk of his body.
The staircase emerges before us, the wooden steps cracked with age and caked with dust and plaster.
My stomach clenches. Somehow, this incredibly ordinary thing, a simple staircase, looks as daunting as a mountain.
At its top, light peeks out from under the door.
For a moment it flickers. Is it just my imagination or does it look like the flicker of tiny flames ready to swallow me up?
“Stay behind me,” the man says, his hand pressing me back gently.
“Wait,” I whisper into his back, “what’s your name?”
“Malik,” he chuckles, “my name is Malik.”
I step carefully, keeping my body safely tucked behind Malik as the rough steps scrape the soles of my bare feet.
“Okay.” I suck in a lungful of air before pushing it out from between my teeth. “Here we go.”