Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
I could have gone back to the kitchen to exit the back door, but I reached to set the security system at the front door instead.
I didn’t realize my mistake until I turned the knob and pulled the door open.
And there he was.
My attacker.
I knew it the second I saw his face.
Because there was no other conceivable reason for him to be there at Santo’s door otherwise.
David.
The only person at the shop that I’d figured was at least halfway decent.
The thief of my ducky and bunny mug.
The only one to ever offer me a kind word or smile.
Thankfully, my mind was working fast.
Before I could even blink, I was slamming the door.
David was just as quick, though, throwing his arm in the opening, preventing me from closing and locking it.
I shoved my weight against the door. I knew I wasn’t strong enough to keep him out. Our last encounter showed me that when it came to one-on-one fighting, he was going to have the upper hand.
But I had other strengths here.
Like knowing the layout.
Like knowing where the knife drawer was.
Where the eye gouger and pepper spray that Dom had dropped off for me were sitting.
Where the exits were.
Where, even, Santo kept a spare gun, already loaded.
Granted, I still didn’t actually know much about guns—let alone my ability to use one effectively—but I figured point and shoot couldn’t be all that hard.
But before I made a mad dash toward any of those ways to get free or stand and fight, I needed to reach behind the door and hit the emergency button on the security panel.
Two nights before, we’d been leaving to go pick up some supplies for dessert; Santo had paused and shown me the control panel for the security system.
He’d showed me how to arm it for when I wanted to leave the house—and how long I had to get out of the house before the alarm started to ring. He gave me the passcode for the unlikely event that I didn’t get out fast enough and the security company called the house.
And, more so than anything else, he’d explained to me a nifty feature he’d had installed that I’d never even heard of before.
There was a button on the side of the panel that, when pressed for three seconds, triggered an emergency alert to everyone in Santo’s Family, letting them know that something bad was going down.
He assured me that if anyone got that alert, they would drop everything to rush to the house.
Armed.
Ready to do whatever it took to help.
Behind my back, the door pressed forward, making me dig in my heels and press harder against it. My already aching thighs cried out at the strain as my arm stretched out, trying to reach the side of the security panel.
“Come on,” I grumbled. But my fingertips just didn’t quite touch.
I had a choice to make.
Keep trying to bar the door.
Or hit the button and get some help on the way.
There was really no choice at all.
I’d barely survived one fight with David. I was terrified he would come at me harder if given another chance.
Sucking in a steadying breath, I moved another foot over, lessening my hold on the door, but finally allowing my finger to press into the emergency button.
There was a quiet beep that told me the alert had been triggered.
With that, I looked toward the dining room.
All I had to do was get through there and into the kitchen.
There I would have another exit.
Knives.
Heavy pans.
Decision made, I turned and ran.
Behind me, the door knocked against the wall as it flew open.
He was coming.
I ran around the table, making a beeline for the kitchen.
I could hear his footfalls behind me.
Despite not knowing the floor plan, he was gaining on me.
Desperation could do amazing things.
But so could the desire to, you know, survive.
I flew through the doorway into the kitchen.
When David ran to the right—cutting off my exit toward the driveway—I ran toward the island, putting it between us, getting flashbacks of being chased through the garage, of putting a car between us.
The island wasn’t quite as good an option as a car, but it did happen to be home to one of Santo’s massive—and ridiculously heavy—cast iron pans.
“You’re not getting away this time,” David snarled, inching around the island.
I knew the smart thing to do was conserve my energy, to save my breath. But I couldn’t seem to stop myself from throwing something at him that I wasn’t sure he’d considered.
“Do you have any idea who I’m dating?” I asked, watching his body closely for even the slightest sign of movement, knowing even a second of warning could be the difference between life and death.
“Don’t give a fuck who you’re dating.”
“Not even if he’s in the mafia?” I asked, getting a second of satisfaction at the stunned look on his face. But just as quickly as it flashed at me, it was gone.