Page 85 of Savage Seduction

“Remember what kind that is, London,” she says from inside the doorway. “I’m sending you to the store in the morning to get him another bag and some treats.”

“Me?” London looks surprised.

“Sure, who else is going to do it? Isn’t that right, Mr. Chubs? Tell your papa goodnight.”

“Be good for Nana,” I say as she disappears inside with the cat.

London shakes her head. “That woman is crazy.”

We both laugh.

“Thank you,” I say. “That cat tore up the intruder… there was blood everywhere. You have a good guard-kitty on your hands.”

“Impressive,” she says. “Nana sure seems to love him already.”

“I’m sorry for everything, bestie. I never meant to cause you or her any pain.”

“Shush,” she says. “No more of that. You’re my best friend. I’m just feeling a bit weird about having you at the house until they capture The Butcher. It’s me who should be sorry.”

I give her a hug. “Love you, bestie.”

“Love you too… now, where are you going to stay tonight?”

“I’m going to call Dr. Ben and see if he’ll let me crash for the night.” I don’t bother to tell her about our last encounter and subsequently not hearing from him. No sense in worrying her further. But I think I can use this situation to break the ice between us. If push comes to shove, I can always rethink mydecision.

“No,” she says. “On second thought… stay here. Please? I’m fine… really.”

“It’s okay.” I half hope that this will give me a reason to spend the night at Ben’s house and make things right between us. “Next time?”

“Get you some Dr. Dimples.”

“You know it,” I say as I walk to my car.

After getting in, I wait for London to go back inside and turn off the porch light before I send Ben a text asking if we can talk. The message goes through, but there isn’t a response.

Lucky for me, there is a small motel around the corner from work. As long as there is a vacancy, I’ll be safe tonight.

CHAPTER 32

Ben

The soft buzz of my phone shatters the stillness of my home, a welcome distraction from the late-night paperwork that's consuming my evening. I stretch my arms, eager for a moment away from the dull glow of my computer screen, and glance toward the vibrating device on my desk, lighting up with Max’s name. As I reach to pick it up, a faint scraping sound from the back door sends a prickling sensation up my spine. My hand pauses, hovering over the phone.

It's probably nothing, I rationalize, trying to dismiss it as the building settling or a neighbor’s late activities. But before I can fully convince myself, a louder thud echoes from the front of the house, quickening my heartbeat. My muscles tense.

Something is very off.

Instinct kicks in, overriding my hesitation. I rise from my chair, leaving the phone behind as I edge toward the back door. My steps are light, cautious, as I strain to hear more. Silence stretches, thick and oppressive, until another shuffle—distinct and deliberate—confirms my fears. Someone is outside.

Adrenaline surges, fueling a rush of thoughts about home invasions and escape plans. I need a weapon. I need to call for help. Pivoting on my heel, I rush back into the kitchen to grab a knife from the drawer, but I halt abruptly as I enter. A figure, cloaked in black, stands between me and the only exit. The dim light casts large, menacing shadows across his broad shoulders.

My breath catches in my throat. The figure steps forward, his movements smooth and confident. The kitchen feels smaller, the walls inching closer as panic tightens its grip around my chest.

Desperation fuels my actions. I lunge left, aiming for the hallway behind him that leads to the front door. If I can just get to my phone, I can call 911. But he anticipates my move. With terrifying speed, he closes the distance, his large frame tackling me to the ground. The impact knocks the air from my lungs; we hit the floor with a thud that echoes through the house.

We struggle on the ground, grappling in the dim light. I push against his weight, trying to dislodge him, but he's immovable, an unyielding mass of muscle. His hands find my neck, fingers pressing into my flesh with crushing force. I claw at his wrists, gasping for breath, my vision blurring at the edges.

This isn't just a fight; it's a fight for my life.

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