Chapter Thirty-Three
Chloe caught her breath, her weight resting generously on the counter as she stirred the soup, her heart beating erratically as she watched another minute pass on the clock.
“What’s taking so long with that soup?”
Her eyes closed as she wished a thousand painful deaths on him. “It’s almost ready.”
“It’s lunch, not dinner.”
“Did you want saltines?” Her hands shook as she stirred the steaming pot.
Marcus’s chair scraped along the freshly polished floor. She tensed as he approached. “It’s done. Let’s go. I swear you’re like a sloth.”
“The rice needs another min—”
“Are you fucking deaf? I said it’s done.”
Her gaze shifted to the clock. 12:52. What was happening in eight minutes?
He slammed the cabinet and pushed a bowl on the counter. Six minutes. Her eyes scanned the obstacles keeping her here. The door. The locks. Trying to outrun him. Failure. Pain.
Her stomach lurched and she cupped a hand over her mouth, bile rushing up her throat at the thought of so many complications. Saliva built in her mouth but her stomach only locked painfully.
“Problem?”
Her head shook as she swallowed against her jangling nerves, but the nausea remained. That ache in her side was getting worse, pinching every time she took a breath and stabbing whenever she stood. If someone doesn’t save them I’m going to die here.
Sluggishly reaching for the bowl, she flinched as his cell phone rang. Four minutes.
“Hello… Speaking…”
She hesitated, her attention focused on him as his posture stiffened.
“What? My wife is standing right next to me. What did she look like?”
She flinched as his hand closed around her forearm and squeezed painfully. He glared at her.
“I’m calling the police. And you can clean out your desk, you fucking idiot! As soon as I figure out who has my sons I’ll be ensuring you never have a job around other people’s children again!”
Chloe froze. Someone had her boys?
Marcus gripped his phone, ending the call and already dialing 911. “Don’t fucking move!” He brought the phone to his ear and paced. “I need to report a kidnapping. I was just notified that a woman with dark brown hair, blue eyes, approximately five foot nine, signed my children out of school using a fake ID with my wife’s name.”
Her mind raced trying to think of anyone fitting that description who would be able to pass for her. But the school didn’t know her, so they had no basis for comparison.
The keys he kept in his pocket rattled as he flipped through the ring. He unlocked a drawer and Chloe panicked at the sight of his gun. Breathing unsteadily, backing into the oven away from the gun, she looked at his hand then looked at the clock. 12:59. He checked the cylinder and she saw it was loaded.
“The secretary, a Mrs. St. John, signed them out, to a woman I don’t know, without contacting me first. I want the secretary detained until I find my sons. I intend to press charges.”
As if in slow motion the numbers switched to one-zero-zero and something clicked inside of her.
All children will be saved…
Marcus’s phone slammed on the counter and her body was shoved into the cabinets. “What did you do? If I find out you had something to do with this I’ll fucking kill you!”
Her hands went protectively to her face. “Marcus, I don’t know what’s happening.”
“I know you did this!” The blurred image of his body lunged and she screamed. Past her breaking point, she reached to the stove and hurled the pot of boiling soup at his face.
“Don’t touch me!”
“Ah! Fucking bitch!”
The gun fell to the floor as he covered his face, screaming in pain as he jerked back and pivoted, bending, screeching.
“Fucking cunt!” He roared in agony as the steaming broth scalded, blisters rising upon contact.
She bolted out of the kitchen and raced to the front door.
“You fucking bitch! I’ll kill you!” He stumbled after her, slipping in the spill on the floor.
She ran as fast as she could, ignoring her body’s protests. Her palms slapped into the door, her hand fumbling over the knob. Footsteps pounded after her.
She jerked at the door, scrambled to twist the lock, yanking, but the door wouldn’t budge. The deadbolt! Her shuddering fingers flipped the lock and the door pulled away from the frame, the alarm screeching, as he crashed into her with the full force of his weight.
She screamed, plummeting into the door and falling to the foyer floor as he tackled her. Something smacked into her eye as the flash of metal waved in her face. Her vision blurred under the flood of warm blood as he wrestled her to her back.
“You think you’re getting away?” His fist tangled in her hair, wrenching back her head as cold metal pressed into her cheek. “Where are my sons?”
Her nails clawed down his face. She scratched at his raw flesh, drawing blood as he roared and jerked back.
“Get off me!” She twisted, scurrying on her belly to the door.
He dragged her, punched the back of her head, and thrust her to her back. “Bitch!”
He shook her, jerking the breath from her lungs as his fingers closed around her throat. The gun pressed into her eye as he strangled her. She tore at his hands, unable to draw in a breath. The gun clicked, their bodies jostling with his aim as she frantically tried to move.
Her lungs burned, her strength sapping as she silently begged for mercy. Her arms grappled, shoving him to no avail. Her hand pushed the gun away and he shoved it back to her face. Air cut off as her windpipe closed under the pressure. Arms flailing, eyes watering, her fingers clawed as the lack of oxygen burned her chest. Her legs thumped against the floor as he grunted in her ear.
Rapid flashes of her children and their home in Pennsylvania rushed through her mind. Her freedom. Faces of those she loved. Tommy and Adam. Her boys. Jade. Her Aunt Gina. Trenton.
Her sight winked out of color, the edges of her peripheral vision fading to black. Dayton’s sweet face… Mattie’s tender hugs… Her boys.
She couldn’t leave them. Bringing up her knee, she shoved it into his groin and a shot exploded. Particles of shattered tile stung her face as her eyes burned and all sound disappeared in a piercing hum, whooshing back as if her ears were now stuffed with cotton.
She gasped and choked for breath, attacking the arm holding the gun and biting down on his hand until she tasted blood. He screamed and she jerked it out of his grip, falling to her back. Barely able to see, she raised the weapon and pointed it at him. “They’re my fucking sons.”
Her fingers pinched as her hands jerked, another deafening blow cracking through the air. The force of the shot stole her balance. A dark stain bloomed under his shirt. He careened forward, grabbing into the air and she pulled the trigger again, blasting a hole in the sheetrock.
Tripping over his feet, he sagged into the wall, his body leaving a smear of blood as he fell. Gurgled breaths wheezed as he strained to grab her.
Her arms shook violently as she leveled the gun as best she could and pulled the trigger again, landing a bullet in his throat. She gasped in shock as blood spurted like black oil as his lax body collapsed.
Horrified she stumbled back as he twitched and the world went silent. Motionless. Marcus’s eyes faded to milky white as they stared at her.
Her fast breath sounded like a siren to her ears. The gun clattered to the floor. She exhaled with a sickening wheeze, coughing blood into her hand and struggling to breathe as she collapsed. No more.
No more.
No … more…