Page 99 of Erik's Redemption
He lunged for her, but she kicked him in the shin, hard enough that he cried out and hunched over, grabbing at his leg.
She jumped to her feet and raced back toward the building, realizing they’d exited through the doors facing the apartment parking lot on the west side. She barely got the code punched in before she was falling through one of the doors, into the hall.
James would have the code as well.
Spying a broom beside the door, she slipped it through the handles. It wouldn’t keep him out for long—the wood was thin and old—but it might buy her enough time to find help.
She spared one glance over her shoulder to see James through the window, running toward the door, before she turned and ran. Instead of heading up the stairs, she ran down the hall and banged on the first door she came across.
“Help!” she screamed. Her fists hit the door so hard that her hands ached.
No one answered.
She moved to the next one. Same thing.
Shit.
Panic crawled in her belly, but she kept banging on wood and frantically turning knobs. Wasno onein the damn building home?
It was at the fourth door when she turned the handle—and it opened. Just as James stepped into the hall. She gasped and entered the apartment, then turned the lock.
Would he shoot at the door? Surely not. It would alert other residents, probably cause a few people to call the police. But it would also be the fastest way to gain entry. She turned and sprinted to the small kitchen to the left. The apartment was a mess, with dirty dishes all over the place, but there was a knife block on the counter. She pulled out the biggest knife before returning to stand beside the door.
If he came in, she’d stab him. The idea made her stomach rebel, but what other choice did she have? She couldn’t let him take her.
A shudder rolled down her spine.
The door handle jiggled, and Hannah lifted the knife. It kept moving for another two seconds before stopping.
She froze. Was he going to shoot now?
Second after second ticked by.
Nothing. Nothing but utter silence.
Was it possible he was leaving? She almost didn’t want to hope in case it wasn’t true.
Slowly, she inched forward, trying to keep her body away from the dead bolt on the chance it was met with a bullet.
Rising to her toes, she peeked out into the hall through the peephole.
It was empty. He was gone.
Hope rattled her heart. All she wanted to do was run out of this apartment and upstairs to help Brigid. But that would be a risk. There was every chance he was waiting for her to do just that.
Instead, she ran toward the kitchen counter, pushing and shoving through the mess.
Phone…she needed a phone. A landline. A cell someone left on the counter. Anything to call for help. Brigid needed an ambulance, and she needed the police and Erik.
Oh God, Erik… He’d lose his mind.
When she found nothing, she checked the first bedroom, her gaze shifting over the drawers, then the side tables. Still no phone.
She moved out of the bedroom and into a small home office. That’s when she saw it—a landline.
She’d just taken a step toward it when a high-pitched squealing sound came from the living room. Tentatively, she peeked out to see James had shoved open the ground-floor window—and was already halfway through.
Her heart stopped, and for a moment, she considered sprinting across the room to the front door, but it was too late. He was in. And he had a gun.
