Page 23 of Lotus

Only, I don’t make it to the front door because I feel him behind me, causing my skin to dance with terror, and a scream erupts from my lips before I can even think about reaching for the door handle. Two arms slink around my waist in a firm hold, lifting me right off my feet. One of those arms trails upward, a leather-encased hand clamping down around my mouth, successfully trapping my shriek. I’m only able to produce a low muffling sound as the stranger whisks me around and heads back to the staircase.

Holy fucking shit.

Thiscannotbe happening.

I flail my legs with unproductive kicks, my nails clawing at the hand secured to my mouth. He’s clasping my jaw so tight, I can hardly breathe. As I’m carried up the stairs, one of my hands grabs the railing, holding on for dear life, trying to prevent myself from being hauled into a bedroom and brutally raped. That’ssurelywhat’s about to happen.

My grip is surprisingly strong, infused with adrenaline, and the man lets go of my mouth for just a moment to pull me away from the rail. I scream again, using the temporary distraction to kick the asshole in the crotch. He stumbles back with a growl, and I break free, racing up the steps to lock myself in the bedroom while I figure out an escape plan. My cell phone is in the office, but that room doesn’t have a lock, and I won’t have time to grab it first.

Shit.

The man snatches my ankle before I reach the top, and I slip face-forward, my chin hitting the edge of a step and knocking my teeth into my bottom lip. Blood oozes from the wound, filling my mouth with the coppery fluid as I feel myself being hoisted up once more.

I sling my head backwards, connecting with his jaw. The cracking sound rips through me, and I don’t even care that it feels like I just gave myself a concussion, because he lets me go.

Karma, motherfucker.

I manage to run free this time, racing as fast as I can into my bedroom, already deciding that I’m more than willing to jump out the window to safety. I’d rather break every bone in my body than be raped and tortured by that sick fuck.

I plow through my bedroom door, blood dribbling down my chin and staining my tank top. When I turn to slam the door shut, he’sthere. He’s fucking there already, pushing back against the wood, trying to force his way inside.

And he does, of course.Of course.

“No!” I cry out, falling backwards from the weight of the door flying at me.

The man is dressed head to toe in black clothing, his face hidden by the ski mask. Only his beady eyes show through, and I can hardly make them out in the dark. He snags a fistful of my hair in his palm and pulls me up, tossing me onto the bed like I weigh nothing at all. My body bounces against the mattress, and he climbs over me instantly, holding my wrists down as his knee glues my lower half to the bed.

He snarls against my face, “You little bitch. You just had to do this the hard way.”

A scream shreds my throat, and he smacks me hard across the face in response, leaving a harsh sting along my cheek. “Who the hell are you? What do you want?” I hiss, tears coating my eyelids.

“Answers.”

I’m writhing beneath him, my body twisting and contorting, trying to free one of my limbs. He leans in closer to my face, our noses almost touching, so I turn my head to the side and attempt to hold back a sob. His voice is low and gritty, possibly like he’s trying to disguise it, and his breath smells odd… like eucalyptus.

The stranger growls against my ear as I continue to fight. “Tell me what he—”

The man’s words are sliced short when I feel his weight being lifted off me with sudden force. I’m confused for a moment, stuck to the bed by a torrent of terror and disbelief. But then I lift up on my haunches to figure out what the fuck just happened.

My breath stops when I see Oliver Lynch in front of me, tossing my attacker to the ground, totally zoned out and throwing punches to the man’s face.

Oh. My. God.

I don’t know what else to do since my phone isn’t within reach, so I run to the window and tug it open, then start screaming for help into the night. It only takes three screams for Lorna Gibson to poke her head out her front door. I shout in desperation, “Call 9-1-1!”

Racing back towards the scuffle, I grab my lamp along the way, yanking the cord from the wall and holding it over the two men when I approach. Just as the attacker gains the advantage, I thrust the lamp downward.

Only, the second I do, Oliver rolls them both over and ends up on top.

The lamp collides with his skull.

Shit!

Oliver clasps the back of his head with a howl of pain, falling to his side as the masked man scurries to his feet and makes a break for it.

He runs out of my bedroom like a fucking coward.

“Fuck. Shit-fucking-shit. I’m so sorry.” I’m at Oliver’s side, crouching down beside him, reaching out to touch his head wound.

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