Page 112 of Charity's Redemption

A high-pitched noise rang out from shattered glass, followed by a loud bang, sucked me back into reality like a vacuum in space.

And so it began.

I rushed out of the bathroom, down the hall, and into the empty dining room with dessert still unserved.

Where did they go?

Panic stuck deep in my chest, causing a sharp pain to lance across like someone reached in and squeezed my heart.

They weren’t here, and I didn’t know my way around this place. How was I going to help her?

I stepped forward just as Zoe rushed from the kitchen to investigate the chaos.

Her panicked blue eyes turned towards me, then forward as she bolted towards the living room, her billowing blonde hair behind her.

Merda

I ran down the hall which connected to the living room, and emerged on the other side at the same time Zoe did, halting in our tracks simultaneously and took in the horror before us.

A glass vase full of fake flowers spread out in a million shards across the floor while Charity sat on Adams’ lap, straddling him on the couch.

Deep crimson pools of blood leaked down his chest and puddled at her knees as she raised the pointed butter knife and stabbed him in the neck, chest, and arms. It was a cardinal bloodbath fit for Elizabeth Báthory herself.

Adams was dead.

He didn’t move aside from when the knife punctured deep into his body and when she withdrew it.

Blood rained down on her face and wig, making her resemble that of a viking on a battlefield.

Or Chucky’s bride.

Both causing shivers of horror to race down my spine.

Life slowed to a fraction of a second and with each erratic beat of my heart as the metallic scent of blood and violence stung my nostrils.

Zoe’s mouth opened wide as she screamed, then covered it with her hands as she’d realized what she’d done. She turned on a dime and ran the direction she’d come, just as the front door burst open.

Wooden splinters flew across the room as the door frame cracked. The door slammed against the wall with a shuddering bang, letting everyone know there was an altercation in progress.

My legs moved on instinct, racing to the front door before either man took in the motion.

With years of survival training from Pops and my own pursuits for self-defense training, it had me prepared, ready to protect her.

I crashed into the tallest man before he had a chance to draw, plowing him into the wall, then striking him in the jaw with my fist.

Pain cut across my knuckles as his skull sliced open my skin. I pulled back, ready to throw a punch into his kidneys, when his fist barreled into my nose, stunning me momentarily.

My eyes watered as shards of agony branched out across my face.

A powerful punch landed on the back of my skull from the smaller guard, sending me careening into the taller meathead guard who’d just hit me.

I glanced at him over my shoulder, and struck him in the face with my elbow.

The smaller guard stumbled backward, tripping over himself and slammed his skull onto the edge of the end table. He crumbled to the ground and didn’t move. Now it was just the big guy and me.

He rushed at me, grabbed me by the suit at the shoulders, and slammed my back into the wall. His fist plowed into my jaw, my teeth knocking together from the force.

I slammed my knee into his side, once, twice, until he went down, then slammed him with an uppercut with my bloodied knuckles.

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