Page 55 of Silent Prey

Suddenly, the man's attention was diverted by a rustle in the undergrowth. He jerked his head away from Sheila to squint in the direction of the noise, his grip on the knife slackening for just a split second.

But that split second was all the time Sheila needed. She lashed out with her leg, her foot connecting solidly with the man’s jaw. He let out a cry of surprise and stumbled to the ground, dropping the knife in the process.

Sheila wasted no time. She began wiggling back and forth, swinging her body like a pendulum. She just needed to get far enough to reach the gun wedged in the fork of the tree—before the man got back up and realized what she was doing. Her muscles burned, but she kept pushing, driven by the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

As she swung forward, she reached out and felt cold metal against her fingertips. She wasn’t able to grab it, however—instead the gun shifted, threatening to topple to the ground, far out of her reach.

She would have to try again so on the next swing.

As Sheila’s body swung back away from the gun, the man pushed himself to his feet and began searching for the dropped knife. “Shouldn’t have done that,” he said. “I was going to kill you, one way or another, but now I’ll flay you alive.”

Ignoring the threat, Sheila redoubled her efforts, her muscles straining as she swayed back toward the gun. This time, she managed to grab hold of it, her fingers wrapping tightly around the barrel. Hope surged through her as she pulled the weapon toward her.

She turned just as the man raced at her with the knife. She fired, the bullet punching into his chest, and he stumbled and fell toward her, the knife barely missing her face. He lay on the ground just below her, unmoving, the blade resting beside his hand.

Sheila was panting, her heart pounding in her chest like a wild drum. She waited for the man to rise, but he didn’t so much as twitch his finger.

Stretching up, curling against herself, she aimed the gun at the rope from which she was suspended and fired.

Miss.

She tried again, and this time the bullet connected, fraying the rope. There was creak, and then she dropped hard to the ground, a jarring pain shooting up her spine. She stifled a groan.

She tried to rise, but almost immediately her vision went dark and she stumbled, no doubt the consequence of having been suspended upside down for hours.

Easy, she told herself. Take a moment and just breathe. No need to rush.

Still, she had to find Finn and Beverly right away. Finn was injured, and if he hadn’t gotten help yet, there was no telling how much blood he might’ve lost by now. And Beverly—well, she’d been through hell. She deserved to escape this nightmare.

Sheila cupped her hands around her mouth. “Finn!” She waited, but there was no response. She would just have to go to the cabin and hope he and Beverly were waiting for her there.

Just as she began to shuffle forward, however, a hand snaked around her ankle and she tripped, sprawling face-first onto the forest floor.

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

Sheila gasped, trying to pull herself free. The hand, however, would not let her go.

"Thought you'd gotten rid of me?" the wounded man behind her said, his voice thick with pain. "That was a good shot, I admit. But it'll take more than that to kill me."

Fury surged within Sheila, cold and icy. The adrenaline in her system had yet to abate, which was good because she needed every bit of it now. Whirling around, she swung the gun at his face like a club, but he caught her wrist with his hand and squeezed.

“Shooting an unarmed man,” he said, then clucked his tongue. “Not very sporting, is it?”

She yanked her hand away, scrambling back on hands and knees. As she raised the weapon again, he lunged at her, his fingers closing around the gun. Sheila tugged back and they grappled over the weapon, both of them breathing heavily. Despite the bullet lodged in his chest, he was stronger than she'd anticipated.

With a roar of effort, Sheila gave one last mighty pull, but instead of wresting the gun away from him, she inadvertently pulled him toward her. They toppled over together in a tangle of limbs as he came crashing down on top of her. The air was punched out of her lungs, and she gasped like a fish tossed on dry land. She struggled, kicking and clawing, trying to push him off, but he had her pinned.

"Won’t be much longer, sweetheart," he rasped, his breath hot and foul against her face. The coyote head draped over his leered at her, the eyes gleaming in the dim light. His hands grasped her fingers, trying to pry them off the weapon.

Panic welled up in Sheila’s chest as he shifted his weight, pushing his knee into her torso to keep her pinned. She could feel the slow pulsing rhythm of his lifeblood soaking into her shirt where the bullet had hit him.

Realizing she could not hold the weapon any longer, she opened her hand and managed to fling it several feet away, just beyond his reach.

Rather than going after the weapon, the man slipped his hands around her throat, cutting off her air supply. Darkness danced at the edges of her vision. She was going to pass out if she didn’t do something soon.

“Sleep,” the man said, his obsidian eyes boring into her. “Sleep and let everything go.”

Darkness encroached on her vision again. A vision of Natalie flashed before her mind—not Natalie lying dead on the floor of her cabin, not even Natalie in her wheelchair, but Natalie as she had been once, eyes sparkling, kickboxing gear on, grinning as she danced around the gym. A determined fighter, unyielding and relentless.

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