Page 65 of Property of Fox

I swallow hard, my throat tight. The intensity of Fox’s gaze pinning me in place. It’s not that I doubt him. It’s just that I can’t imagine sitting idly by while Keira’s in danger. Danger that may have followed me here to Dallas.

“Stay in the fucking truck, baby,” he orders me one more time before walking away. I watch, as he moves towards the front porch until he disappears inside. I stare at the doorway, my heart thudding loudly in my chest like a war drum. Time feels warped. Every second counts, and yet each moment crawls by with a sinister slowness. Anxiety prickles down my spine. It's tooquiet now—too still. With every minute passing without any sign of Fox returning or Keira, I feel an insatiable cyclone of worry starting to tear me apart from within. If I lose both of them, I don’t know how I will survive.

Suddenly, crashing glass shatters that deafening silence. A violent eruption echoing out the house before landing against me with icy fingers gripping tight around those nagging thoughts. Without thinking, instinct claws wildly at reason until I’m thrown into motion and I'm out of the truck before even registering I've moved.

My feet and heart pounding in sync on the gravel, driving me up onto that porch. The front door hangs ajar. My mind races as I step through, throwing a glance around for any sign of my friend. All that greets me is chaos—the whirlwind of shattered glass and scattered chairs.

Then I spot them. Fox in the midst of a fierce fight with a man whose face is twisted with fury. The crackling energy animating their movements sends shockwaves straight through me. Adrenaline surges as I instinctively reach for the first thing I see, a rusted iron lamp lying on the floor. My grip tightens around the cold metal. Fox is dodging punches, his tattoos rippling across his arms with each powerful movement.

“Get off him!” I scream.

The man turns for just a second, eyes narrowing as he catches sight of me. That split second is all I need. With every ounce of strength I can summon, I swing the lamp hard against his back with a sickening thud. He stumbles forward, caught off-guard. Fox takes advantage of the distraction, turning and delivering a brutal punch that sends the guy crashing into a nearby table.

“Get out of here!” Fox shouts. The man spots me, and shifts his focus, charging for me. Fox reaches out for him. His armsnaking around his throat, drawing him backwards. “Get back in the fucking truck, Brea.”

My pulse races, a frantic thunder in my ears as I see the rage consume this stranger. He breaks free of Fox’s grasp and charges towards me with desperation that makes bile rise in my throat. Fear is an animal clawing at the walls of my chest, how can he want to hurt us? Before I know it, his hands are wrapping around me, clammy fingers digging into me.

“Get off her!” Fox bellows again with everything he has left. His voice drowning out reason.

The impact rattles through me even from where I'm standing, frozen by shock and disbelief. The tussle on the floor, the man pinning Fox down on his back. They exchange blow after devastating blow. Beside them on the floor, something metal glints under the dim light. A long-bladed knife with blood staining its edge.

“Fox!” My voice breaks free once more from somewhere deep inside me. “There’s a knife next to you!”

Fox’s eyes dart in my direction. In that split second, everything slows down. He locks his gaze on the knife, then back at me, the urgency palpable in the air between us.

“Get it!” he bellows, jaw clenched, his body straining against the mass of his assailant.

My instincts scream at me to move, but my feet feel like lead. Panic surges through me as I watch Fox struggle beneath the man, every second feeling like an eternity. I force myself to take a step forward, heart pounding in rhythm with my frantic thoughts. The knife glistens tantalizingly close if I can just reach it…

The man leans down, fists poised to rain more punishment on Fox’s face. The desperation in his eyes ignites a primal fear within me—he's not just fighting. He's trying to end this. Mybreath catches as I lunge for the knife, fingers closing around its cool handle.

“Brea! Now!” Fox’s voice is strained but fierce. It pulls me from my haze.

I surge forward, adrenaline thrumming through my veins as I raise the knife high and I come crashing down with all I’ve got. The blade meets its target, his neck. With a guttural yell, he recoils away from Fox just as I pull back the knife, crimson staining the metal and shock floods his features. His gaze locks onto mine, a mirror of disbelief and rage.

“You fucking bitch!” he roars as he holds his neck, blood spurting through his fingers.

Fox seizes the moment, pushing the man off him and springing to his feet in one fluid motion. A dangerous gleam develops in his eyes as he stares down the wounded man, waiting for an opportunity to strike again. I stand frozen with the knife in my hand, blood dripping from the edge, watching as confusion morphs into desperation on the stranger's face.

“Get behind me, Brea!” he snarls, positioning himself like a lion ready to protect its territory. His presence shields me, but with the adrenaline still coursing through me, I’m acutely aware of my own smallness at this moment.

The man begins to sway, blood oozing between his fingers as he glares at Fox with pure venom. “You think you can protect her from us?”

“You’re not getting anywhere near her again,” Fox snarls through gritted teeth.

“You can’t save her from what’s coming. From who is coming,” the man sputters, blood dotting his lips. “Not from him.” His words slurring with each ragged breath he breathes. He shifts forward, only to collapse. His breathes more and more labored until they stop all together. I can't process it at first. My hands tremble as I stare at the bloody knife, a grotesque trophyfrom an act that feels like it could fracture my very soul. Did I really just kill someone? The realization washes over me in icy waves. He's not breathing—his body sagging lifelessly to the floor, eyes wide yet vacant.He’s dead. I killed him. I took a life.

Fox spins around, fury still shrouding his face but with a gentleness that pierces through the mess surrounding us. “Brea,” he says and steps towards me with arms extended like a shield against reality. “It’s okay, baby. It’ll be okay.”

“I killed him,” I stammer, throwing the bloody knife onto the ground next to him. “I killed him.”

“You can’t think about that right now, firefly. We need to find Keira and get you both out of here.”

Keira. Oh god. What if she’s dead, too?

“Stay behind me,” Fox declares. “We’ll search room by room.”

The air is thick with tension and the metallic scent of blood lingers like a persistent ghost. My breath comes in quick gasps as I nod, trying to gain some semblance of composure. Fox casts a quick glance back at the lifeless body on the floor, his expression a mask of unyielding focus.

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