Page 22 of Blood
My eyes fill, and tears flow out. I look around for his cell so I can call the police, but Kaleb’s refusal repeats in my head.
Oh God, what do I do?
CHAPTER NINE
Kaleb
I place the key back on top of the doorframe, hidden from sight. Easy to find? Maybe, but they’d have to get past me first, and that’s not happening.
I hear her before I see her. Turning to the left, I see Shelby peek out of the spare room nervously.
“Kaleb,” she whispers, “I think . . .” Her eyes shift to the wall hiding the stairs.
I nod, confirming her suspicions, and walk over to her with a finger raised to my lips. When I’m close enough, I lower my head and whisper into her ear, “Go into the bathroom and lock the door. I’ll lock this one. You only unlock the door for me.”
Panic and fear consume her face.
“Hey,” I call. “Over my dead body.”
I watch to make sure she does as told, happy when she doesn’t fight me.
“Kaleb.” She pokes her head out of the bathroom. “You’re the brother I never had. You know that, right?” Surprise fills me. Shelby and I hang out all the time because the girl is always withSam. I hadn’t realized she felt this way, but I’m glad she does. “I can’t lose another family member, so don’t die, or I’ll kick Sam’s ass.”
“You’re not losing anything,” I vow before securing her door.
I’ve always wanted a sister to have the type of relationship that my brothers have with Samantha.
Samantha is your sister.
The fuck she is!I argue with myself.
As the only biological child of Helen and Christopher Cromwell, Samantha and I share no blood. Our bond is different from that of my brothers and me. We never clicked, never formed that kind of love. As we got older, we found a rhythm that worked for us . . . until it didn’t.
Now, I spend my days wanting to be around her but working so much that I can’t. Some things just shouldn’t be, but that woman owns me, and if I can’t have her mind, body, and soul, I’ll settle for what I can get.
Sam loves me. I know that, and even if it’s not the type of love I crave, it’s enough. It’ll have to be.
Frustration and disappointment fill me but so does excitement. I’m about to have an outlet for that frustration.
The stairs lead down into the living room. If the intruder came through the front, there’s no way for me to surprise them. They’ll have the upper hand.
Creeping down the stairs, I strain my ears. Where are they? How many are there? My back stays plastered to the wall. The hilt of the knife feels familiar in my right hand.
Noise drifts out from the kitchen.They came in through the back.Stepping off the stairs, I slip through the dining room door and into the laundry room. The door leading to the kitchen is open just a crack.
One guy.Someone breaks in to my house, and they choose to do it alone?No, not alone.
I hear someone move farther into the house. The living room. There are two uninvited guests. One of which is closer to my girls than I’d like.
I move quickly and quietly, going back the way I just came. My bare feet are silent on the wood flooring as I approach from behind. He doesn’t hear a thing, too busy opening drawers and looking through the papers inside. He’s big, but I’m bigger.
My left arm wraps around his head and pulls it to the left, exposing his neck. The balaclava he’s wearing makes it easier to grip him. I raise my right hand up, then slam it down. I repeat the motion over and over as fast as I can. Short, sharp stabs slick his neck.
Blood spurts out the side of his neck like a broken water pipe. A gurgle is the only sound in my living room other than my panted breaths. My whole body shivers when I plunge the knife in again.
I’ve missed this.
There’s no other feeling like it.
