Page 3 of Guarded from Danger

As I turn into my driveway, I’m going over the buildup to the act in my head, how the hero, Axel, sweeps his girlfriend, Molly, into his arms and carries her to the bedroom. His gaze heats with desire, his chocolate eyes shifting to espresso, and she clutches his neck, nuzzling his warm skin…

Oh. And now I’m imagining Xavier doing the same thing.

No. Back to the story.

Molly nips his jaw, feeling his light stubble brushing against her lips, and he groans low in his throat. Then he speeds up, jogging the remaining distance to the bedroom…

My mind half in the story, half in real life, I push the button to open the garage, dimly noting that the automatic light isn’t on. The lightbulb must have burned out, which isn’t a surprise considering I haven’t changed it since I moved in three years ago. I could wait for Xavier to get back to fix it, but I don’t want to become that woman who relies on her boyfriend to do everything.

I shut off the car and get out, leaving the garage door open so I can use the faint light of the moon to see. The garage is still mostly dark, shadows stretching to the ceiling and across the floor. A little shiver ripples through me, even though there’s no reason to be nervous. My house is in a nice development, with a neighborhood watch and everything.

The one concession I made to my parents as an adult was letting them help me buy this house, and my dad insisted on installing security. “I’ll sleep better,” he explained. “A woman living on her own… it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

Needless to say, Xavier and my dad get along great.

But the end result is, my house is safe. There’s nothing to worry about.

Except.

I’m nearly to the kitchen door when I hear something.

It’s a soft sound, like something brushing on concrete.

An animal?

A breeze catching something?

My heart stutters in spite of my rational explanations.

I hurry towards the door, at the same time reaching into my purse for the pepper spray.

Now my heart is pounding too loudly for me to hear anything above it.

But it’s fine. Just my overactive imagination conjuring something that isn’t there.

I’m sure it’s?—

Something clamps over my mouth.

I’m yanked backwards into something solid.

Oh, God.

Not something. Aperson.

Their arm bands around my chest.

The thing over my mouth—not a thing, it’s fabric, held by a large hand—smothers my screams.

Fear makes me lightheaded. Spots dance in my vision.

This can’t be happening.

But it is. Someone is in my garage. Smothering me.

I start wriggling, even as my lungs strain to breathe. Kicking. Bucking. Punching.

“Stop it,” hisses a low voice. “There’s no escape. Not from this.”

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