like a jackhammer. Another scream, this one followed by a man’s rumbling voice scares me into motion. I press the white button on the wall to trigger the silent alarm and tip toe toward the kitchen.
The rush of blood in my ears is so loud, my ears throb. If anything happens to her…I move faster, but soundlessly through the hallway that leads into the kitchen and stop to grab a knife from the wall where they’re mounted.
“Get over here and show me what a slut you are,” the man’s voice isn’t angry. But I’ve heard the boys at school call girls that and I know it’s not something you say to be nice.
“You wish,” she responds in that taunting voice of hers. She doesn’t sound afraid, but her scream when I first walked in is practically ringing in my ear.
I creep to the door and pause to listen for sounds of him coming this way. I don’t hear anything, so I flatten my back to the wall of the dark hallway and move as fast as I can and creep unnoticed into the service area of the restaurant where they’re standing.
His back is to me, Regan is on her knees in front of him and his hand is in her hair, tugging it back and forth. Regan is gagging. He’s saying all sorts of filthy words to her that even Hayes wouldn’t say to anyone. I see red and tighten my grip on the knife handle.
Seeing him hurt her, my girl, makes something in me go solid. All of the crap of this year bubbles up to the surface. I don’t think about what comes next. I just heed my instinct that’s screaming at me to protect her. I rush toward them with the knife poised to strike. I’m fully prepared to take this man’s life to save hers.
Regan’s thick, dark lashes flutter and then her eyes pop open just as I lift the knife. I shake my head, mouth “I’ll stop him,” and watch them go from dazed to terrified as I plunge it into his back.
And then all hell breaks loose.
Do You Love Him?
Regan
Weston’s howls are interspersed with grunts of pain. He claws desperately at his back to try and grasp the handle of the knife, twisting and turning wildly. In stark contrast. Stone is completely still and silent as he stares in rapt, morbid fascination.
If this nightmare wasn’t happening to me, I would laugh.
The horrifying, manic scream Weston unleashes when he manages to grip the hilt and yank it out, shakes me out of my stupor. I take a cautious step in his direction, “Weston, let me have that,” I nod at the blood tipped chef’s knife in his hand.
He jerks away from my extended arm. He eyes Stone with wild, enraged eyes. “Who the fuck is this kid?” he roars lurches toward him.
I’m afraid he’s going to turn the knife on Stone, but he drops it and reaches around to probe his back. He lifts a trembling bloody stained hand in front of his face and pales.
“Are you okay?” I ask him and reach for him again.
As soon as I touch him, he wrenches away, protecting his injured flank and turning his ire on me. “What the fuck do you think? I got stabbed in the fucking back and I’m bleeding,” he cries.
“We should call 9-1-1,” Stone’s voice is toneless and so cold, it sends a shiver up my spine. I glance at him and gasp at the undisguised malice in his eyes.
“Don’t you fucking call anyone,” Weston hisses through clenched teeth.
“You need a doctor,” I argue, incredulous as he starts to gather the small pile of keys, phone and wallet he’d dumped on the white marble serving counter that runs along the entire front of the bakery.
“And the police,” Stone chimes in.
“Fuck the police,” Weston pushes a lock of blonde hair off his sweat damp forehead.
“Why not? I stabbed you, don’t you want me to pay for it?” Stone asks in a taunting voice. His expression is keen and knowing. His voice is grave and there is not a hint of regret in his expression. If anything, he looks like he’s sorry Weston isn’t dead. There’s no hint of the compassionate kid I’ve gotten to know.
“You’re fucking lucky I don’t like cops. I know some bruisers in juvie hall that would turn your little ass inside out,” Weston growls.
“Weston!” I shoot him a quelling glance over my shoulder.