Page 114 of Bound to a Killer
Steven.
I yank my phone out, fumbling to text Ledger, something I should’ve done the second I got here.
My mother’s eyes flare, her breath shallow and rapid. “You really shouldn’t be here, he’s not stable.”
“It’s okay, Mom.” I meet her stare. “I can handle myself now. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore.” My throat tightens as I swallow. “You don’t have to let him lay another hand on you. Ever.”
We both flinch as more plates smash below, the sound of cabinets yanked open then slammed shut, his voice rising with hateful slurs. A shiver of fear returns to Mom’s gait as we hold our breath, waiting for him to inevitably make his way up.
“Don’t worry,” I say again, glancing down at my phone. Still no response. Just the three dots blinking, fading in and out for what feels like an eternity.
His footsteps thud through the kitchen. He stumbles, swearing obscenities as he jams his toe at the bottom of the stairs. A chill silence falls between us as the floorboards creak under his weight.
She looks like she wants to flee, haul us both out my window, but resolve locks us both in place. He’s not going to just show up here, drunk and trailing havoc, making demands like this is his home. He doesn’t belong here. Neither of us should have to leave.
He does. And he will.
I smell the putrid sting of vodka wafting in before his bulky, round frame heaves into view over the metal railing. He grunts, or maybe it’s a laugh. I’m not sure. But it doesn’t matter. He drags himself over the last wooden step, eyes roaming into myroom, mouth curving into a slow, slurred grin that sends a rash of dread over my skin.
There’s no escaping now.
“Why’s there double of ya, Kathy?” he mutters thickly, tripping over his words as he slouches against my doorframe.
Good grief, he’s completely obliterated.
I glance at Mom. Her face drains of color as beads of sweat gather on her corpse-pale skin, her breath heavier than before but yanked in just as quick.
She parts her lips, dry and blanched, but nothing comes out, just the knot in her throat thickening, bulging at the base.
Turning back to face him, I take over, steeling myself. “You need to leave this house. Now.”
I’m almost startled by how even my voice sounds, how steady. Almost like I’ve managed to fool myself into thinking I actually feel as confident as I sound.
His eyes narrow, a brute grunt escaping before realization dawns on his face. “Well, well, look at that; it’s little Aria.” He stumbles inside, causing Mom and me to step back in sync as he invades our space with his bulky, overbearing frame and the stench of booze clinging to his breath.
I swallow a gag as I speak again. “You’re not welcome here. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the cops.”
His eyes sharpen enough to glare at me, heat partially radiating off his balding head. “You giving orders around here now, girl?”
My stance doesn’t falter as he hacks a cough then spits, aiming for my shoes, but hitting the carpet instead. I don’t let it intimidate me as I raise my phone for him to see, making a show out of dialing all three digits.
“You little shit,” he grumbles. “You’re not the boss of me. Trying to threaten me. I ought to teach you the fucking respect that your good-for-nothing mother clearly forgot to instill in you.”
“Stop it!” my mom shouts. “You heard her, Steven. Get out or I swear, I'll have you arrested for trespassing.”
His forehead creases as rage floods through him. “You fucking bitch. Who do you think you’re talking to like that?”
He lunges forward, shoving me out of the way. My back slams into the jagged edge of my dresser, the impact knocking the phone out of my hands.
Before I can react, he yanks my mother up by her hair. She screams as they stumble back, eventually crashing onto the bed, his weight pinning her down as his hands grope her neck.
It takes a split second for my hands to reach for the nearest weapon, a cheap plastic body spray bottle, still sticky from old perfume, wedged behind the chipped edge of the dresser. My fingers scrape the gouged-up wood, barely registering the sting of a splinter as I grab it and lunge forward.
“Get off of her, you psycho!” I yell, my voice cracking over my mother’s strangled cries.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch.
I’m unsure if he can hear me, his mind too far gone, rage pounding inside his skull like a war drum. I launch over his back, an arm locking around his neck as I jam the bottle into his face and spray with everything I’ve got.
