Page 40 of Captive Bride

What the hell was that?

With shaking hands, I threw back the covers and maneuvered into my chair, the cold metal a harsh reminder of my reality. My arms protested as I rolled away from the bed, but there was no time for pain right now. Adrenaline surged through me, hot and prickling under my skin, as I wheeled towards the door of the bedroom.

Something was very wrong. I could tell. I could feel it in my bones.

Stiffness crept into my muscles, an unwelcome guest that reminded me of the day's grueling physical therapy exercises.Just because we’d had the babies didn’t mean I could stop working–if anything, I needed to work harder.

I needed to be able to walk so I could be able to help.

But right then, I wasn’t worried about that.

The living room loomed ahead, a cavernous space shrouded in the twilight of the Delaware house. My arms ached with each push of the wheels, the burn a bitter testament to the hours spent trying to coax strength back into them. I powered through the pain, driven by a need to ensure everything was secure.

I could hear people chatting in the distance. Maybe they weren’t as startled as I was.

I swept my gaze across the room, searching for anomalies in the darkness, for anything out of place in the domain I ruled with an iron fist softened by necessity.

As I paused, taking a ragged breath, the faintest shift caught my eye—a glimmer in the reflection of the window. My pulse quickened. David, the calm and collected neighbor Adriana wanted to make friends with, materialized like a phantom in the glass, his approach as silent as the grave.

He stepped out of the bathroom…and he didn’t seem lost at all.

A cold jolt shot through my veins, though I fought to keep the surprise from registering on my face. The reflection betrayed his proximity, his figure inching closer with the stealth that only a predator could master.

I’d seen that look before. This man wasn’t here to be my friend.

This man was here to kill me.

I barely had time to register the chill creeping into my bones before a shadow loomed larger in the periphery of my vision. David was moving in, and every instinct screamed that it wasn't for a neighborly visit. My hands tightened on the wheels of my chair, the cool metal biting into my palms as I braced myself.

"David," I said, my voice steady despite the pulsing fear, "if this is about territory, let's talk like civilized men."

But how could it be about territory? How could this man want anything but my life?

But my children’s lives?

His silence was an answer of its own, a harbinger of the violence that hung heavy in the air between us. The reflection showed him unfazed, moving with a predator's grace—a grace that belied the danger he posed. It was no random check-in; this was personal. Adriana's face flashed in my mind, her smile the last bastion against the terror clawing at my chest, and the thought of our babies—so new to this twisted world—ripped a vow from the depths of me. Over my dead body would he touch them.

As the gap closed, the space between us suffocated with tension. Then, quick as a serpent's strike, David lunged. A thin wire gleamed dully in the dim light as it whipped toward my neck, seeking my life with a silent promise of death.

"Damn you!" I spat, reflexes kicking in hard and fast. My arms, already screaming from the day's exertions, flailed outwards, desperate to catch hold of anything that might save me from the garrote's deadly embrace. It was a fight not just against Davidbut against my own battered body, each movement laden with both fury and agony.

With a grunt, I managed to grasp his wrists, my fingers digging in with all the strength I could muster. The wire bit into my flesh, a cruel reminder of my vulnerability, as I fought to keep it from tightening. My breath came in ragged gasps, the pain a mere backdrop to the primal need to survive.

"Think of your family, Tristan," David's voice cut through the struggle, low and taunting.

I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. I couldn’t.

The house—the sanctuary that should have been safe from the Callahan Legacy's violent undercurrents—was now a battleground where only one of us could emerge alive.

I had to act fast.

I rammed the edge of my wheelchair into David's stomach with everything I had, the collision forcing a grunt from his lips as he stumbled back. The wire slackened around my neck, and I sucked in a ragged breath, seizing the momentary reprieve.

"Come on, Tristan," David taunted, regaining his balance. "Is that all you've got?"

"Hardly," I shot back, voice raw. My arms were burning, protesting the continuous strain, but I couldn't—wouldn't—let that stop me. Adriana and our babies needed me; there was no room for surrender.

With a sharp pivot, I swung the chair around, aiming for his knees now. He sidestepped, but not fast enough to avoid the blow entirely. A grimace twisted his features momentarily before his hand shot out, aiming another strike.

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