Page 70 of Savage Seduction

I turn to London. “They might not have searched the lower level for her, especially if they didn’t know she was here.”

London’s eyes fill with tears. “We have to get to her… now.”

The sound of crunching glass comes from the area of the kitchen. Best-case scenario would be for the second intruder to leave the way he came, but I doubt it. These guys were here to do a job, and they weren’t going to leave until it was done, or they were carted out in body bags. If their leader is Viktor Fedorov, they knew anything but a successful mission would end in their deaths. A desperate enemy is an extra dangerous one.

“We go down the stairs together, back-to-back, sideways. You face the left and I’ll take the right. This way we have the entire view of the house leading to Nana’s room.” I hurry down the hall, London right on my heels.

We start down the stairs, looking for any signs of danger.

“London? Max?” Nana hollers. “What’s going on up there?”

We reach the first floor and stop, surveying the entryway, living room, and hallway to the kitchen. I don’t see anyone, but the sound of rushed footfalls near Nana’s room sends the gorge in my stomach up into my throat, forcing me to swallow it back down. I point through the living room. London puts a hand to her mouth and shakes her head, desperation in her eyes.

“Is he in there with her?” she whispers.

“What are you doing in here?” The answer comes from Nana herself. “Get out of here! Get out!”

The sounds of a struggle ensue.

“London! Run, honey. There’s a man in—” Nana’s voice is cut short.

London and I rush through the living room, weapons at the ready, prepared to do anything it takes to save Nana.

A man dressed in all black stands over Nana’s body, a pillow pressed over her face. London screams and charges him, screwdriver raised overhead. The man turns and backhands her out of the way. London crashes to the floor, sprawled out, unmoving. A trickle of blood trails from her nose and off her chin.

I had taken the momentary distraction to move into the room and pull the pillow from Nana’s face. I swing it around, catching the man’s arm mid-swing. Shoving his arm to the side, I punch him square in the face, feeling the bones of his nose crunch into pieces under my knuckles. I pull my hand back, blood running down my wrist and off the end of my elbow. There isn’t time to assess for injuries as the man charges forward.

Attempting to sidestep out of the way, the killer hooks an arm around my waist, and we crash to the floor in a heap, landing hard in the doorway to the room. I slash at theman with my box cutter but can't make contact with flesh at this angle. I toss the cutter to the corner of the living room and use my elbow to batter the man’s already shattered nose.

His head bounces off my elbow and blood pours from his nose and mouth, but he doesn’t lose his balance. I feel the man’s weight shift on top of me as he moves up closer to my chest, knees straddling my belly. My breathing is labored under the weight, but I can still fight. I take a deep breath and tighten my abs, bringing my legs up and around the man’s chest and neck. I pull down with all my might, sending him falling backwards to the floor. I scramble to all fours and land a punch to the throat.

He coughs, blood spurting from his mouth now filled with broken teeth. His breathing now a gurgled wheeze. An unexpected blow from the side sends me rolling off to the right. The man had used a heavy stone doorstopper to take me out. I try to regroup, clear my vision which has begun to tunnel, as the man starts to stand. I also hurry to my feet in time for us to lunge for each other. We land in the middle of the room, shattering the glass coffee table as we fall to the floor. Bits of tempered glass grind under my knees and the palms of my hands as I try to stand and fight.

The man beneath me moans but doesn’t open his eyes. I have him dazed. Unwilling to stop, I straddle the man’s chest and punch him again and again, landing solid blows to his head and face. I can barely raise my hand over my head, the muscles completely spent. I stop and take a breath, my attacker now laid out on his back, his nose shattered, his jaw hanging off to the left at an unnatural angle.

I feel for a pulse on his neck—rapid and weak. Good. I stand and look for something to tie him up with when a scream from Nana’s room draws me away from the scene. I run into the bedroom. London stands next to the bed, her arms shaking as she holds a hand to her mouth, trying tostifle her own screams. I rush to her side. London holds up her hand still taped to the screwdriver. “Help me.”

I pull the duct tape from her wrist, letting the weapon fall to the ground. She lowers herself next to her grandmother and holds her in her arms and sobs. “Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me.” Her screams tear at my guts like a wild animal consuming its prey.

I stumble backwards and press my back against the bedroom wall, sliding down to the floor. My own sobs pour out of me, sobs for Nana, London, and for myself.

An indiscernible amount of time passes until I feel strong enough to stand, and it dawns on me I have to tie up the intruder in the living room and call the police. I slowly step out of the bedroom and freeze.

The man is gone—all that remains is a stain of blood. I rush to the stairs and up into London’s room. The other attacker is gone too. How had they escaped? Did they have help?

“Shit,” I say as I dash over to the bed where I’d left my backpack. It's gone and along with it the golden ankh. My head pounds and my hands begin to shake. While this was a disaster and I have nothing to offer the police, London and I are still alive. But Nana? My stomach churns again and I turn my head and vomit.

“Max!” London yells my name. “Where are you? Max?”

I rush down the stairs, meeting her at the bottom. I snatch her up in my arms and hold her tight. “I’m so sorry about Nana.” My sobs come once again.

She pulls free from me. “No, she’s alive.” The tears that had once flowed down her cheeks from the agony of loss now flowed from happiness. “Nana’s alive. I started CPR and she opened her eyes and took a breath.”

“What?”Maybe mircales do happen.

London pulls me toward the bedroom where Nana sits onthe edge of the bed. Her face is bruised and there are marks on her neck from the pillowcase that had been pressed against her, but she is alive.

I step closer and sink to the floor, putting my head in her lap. Relief washes over me as she pats me on the back. “Nana, I’m so sorry.”

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