Page 135 of Offside Angel

Except there’s no one there. The porch is empty.

So is the front walk and the driveway.

I squint into the darkness, trying to understand what I heard, when it hits me—what’s wrong with this picture.

The gate at the mouth of the driveway is wide open.

Fear slams into me. Adrenaline thrums through my veins as I slam the front door closed, bolt it, and whirl around to grab my phone from the couch. I hope Evan is even more paranoid than I think he is and he’s already on his way.

I’m halfway across the living room, still five feet from my phone, when a shadow falls over me. I don’t even have time to turn around to see who it is before a hand wraps around my throat and a voice I’ll never forget purrs in my ear.

“Hello, little sister.”

52

MIRA

I can almost convince myself this is happening in my head. I’ve cracked. Lost the plot. My grip on reality is gone and I’m freefalling into a hallucination.

I can’t see Dante, after all.

But I can feel him. There’s no denying that.

His hand is clammy around my throat. His breath is hot and angry against the back of my neck. Something tells me his heart is beating as hard as mine is, but for a very different reason.

“It’s been a long time.” He squeezes tighter and I wheeze. “I’ve missed you.”

I’ve spent years dreading this moment—waiting for it without ever fully expecting it to come. Now, it’s here. He is here.

And I have no idea what to do.

I’m frozen. Terrified. The same way I was as a little girl, cowering in my room, hoping my dad and Dante wouldn’t find me. I’m the same girl who would crumble to the ground while my dad yelled and kicked and spit. I’d curl up like an armadillo and wait for him to tire himself out.

But Dante isn’t here to beat me.

He’s here to kill me.

If I wait, I’ll die.

As if to punctuate that point, Dante squeezes even tighter, closing my windpipe.

Finally, I drive an elbow back into his chest and break away from him.

He stumbles back with a groan and I manage to spin around to face him before he grabs me again.

“Maybe all of those kickboxing lessons are paying off.” His mouth turns into what should be a smile, but it sends a chill down my spine. “What was all that training for? Were you hoping to fight back? I thought broken bottles were more your speed.”

It’s so much worse being able to see my brother. The last seven years have aged him seventy. His face is creased and lined. His skin is sallow. He looks like… like…

Like our dad.

“You don’t need to do this, Dante.” I try to step away, but his fingers are fisted in the collar of my shirt. “We can?—”

“We can do what? Hold hands and sing fucking Kumbaya?” He spits on the floor to show what he thinks of that idea.

I can’t think about the anger in his eyes or the firm hold he has on me. All I can think about is Aiden.

I told him he could come out if he heard Zane come home. What if Dante wakes him up? What if Aiden hears us and comes out?

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