Page 106 of Concealed

Grant starts to say something, but I’m already running. I look through the front windows, but all that’s there is furniture. I move along the side of the house, peering into every window I pass and assessing the scene as quickly as possible.

Nothing.

I jump over the fence leading to the backyard where the bedrooms likely are, desperately looking into all the windows.

There’s another scream, much closer this time.

Without any hesitation, I grab the baton off my belt and smash the closest window repeatedly. The glass cracks and then breaks into big pieces that I kick before diving into the room, having no idea what’s waiting for me.

I’m in a bedroom, and Matt is straddling Rebecca on the bed, a gun at his side. She’s screaming while bucking and twisting her body, desperately trying to get out from under him.

My hand is on my gun in an instant. I cock it and point it at the back of Matt’s head, my finger itching to end his life.

“Get off her. Right now. I will have zero remorse for blowing your fucking head off, so I suggest you do what I say.”

“Those don’t sound like Miranda Rights.” The sneer rings loud and clear in Matt’s voice, and the guy certainly has balls to talk to me like that when I’m pointing a gun at his head.

“You won’t need them where you’re going, mother fucker,” I snap. “I’m not here as a cop. I’m here to kill you if you give me even the slightest reason. Now get off her. Right now.”

I advance on him at the same time he reaches for the gun. I press the barrel into the back of his neck – hard – and twist his arm at an unnatural angle behind his back.

“I don’t think so, asshole. Now get off her, nice and slow.”

When Matt climbs off Rebecca, his arm still in my grip, her barely dressed body is revealed. Her clothes are ripped and Matt’s pants are undone, quickly making me realize that blood can boil.

The split second of distraction is all Matt needs to wrench his body free and rush me, throwing both of us onto the ground. My gun goes flying and he lands on top of me, knocking the wind out of my chest.

“Rebecca, go outside!” I manage. “Run! Help is waiting!”

Matt’s fists are trying to pummel me, and I’m barely dodging the blows, more focused on getting Rebecca out of this house.

“I’m not leaving you!” she screams.

“Babe, please go!”

Matt’s fist connects with my chin, rattling my teeth together and filling my mouth with blood.

I respond with an elbow that hits its mark and snaps his head back, giving me the perfect opportunity to grab his throat.

Fuck the gun.

It will be more satisfying to kill him with my bare hands.

But his repeated knees to my sides loosen my grip as my ribs snap and pierce my insides.

Sheer rage gives me the strength I need to throw him backward and get on top of him, my fists raining down on his face while I wonder where the fuck my backup is.

I understand Grant can’t risk everything in his position, but what about the local police?

Apparently, no one does shit in the Vegas PD.

Matt’s face is bloody, swollen pulp, but he gives me an eerie grin before punching straight into my solar plexus with shocking force and reversing our positions.

Jesus.

And this monster spent years laying hands on Rebecca, who had no hope in hell of defending herself against him.

Fuck, I hope Rebecca listened to me and left.

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