Page 9 of Keeping Knight

No. Not a woman. Ruby. And I’m certain she’s in trouble.

Taking a step back from the door, I glance at the locks first, then the hinges. I could try to pick the lock—I always keep a small pick in my wallet, and I know how to do it—but how long will it take? If Houdini were here, he could be inside in under thirty seconds. But I’m not nearly as good at lock-picking as he is. Trying to get into Ruby’s apartment could take me several minutes at least.

Or I could kick the door in. It’s wood, rather than metal, so that would help. If I hit the hinges at the right angle, I should hopefully be able to pop them off the doorframe. Using that method, it would take significantly less time than picking the lock.

But, my inner voice of reason points out, that means breaking into Ruby’s apartment. Not just breaking in, but kicking down her door. If she’s not in trouble, that’s going to be a pretty hard thing to come back from.

Ruby needs help, my gut argues. Don’t waste time debating this. Just get inside and help her.

And because I really do trust my gut, because it’s saved my life more times than I can count, I listen to it.

After taking another step back from the door, I eyeball it, calculating where my foot needs to hit to be most effective. I set the to-go containers on the floor and pull out my switchblade, still sheathed, but finger poised to open it. Then I snap my leg out, using all my strength as I kick at the door.

The first blow only makes the door shudder. So I kick it again. And again. With the second and third blows, the wood groans. Creaks. On the fourth, the wood around the hinges starts to separate. On the sixth, the door starts to move.

Glad for the hours every week I spend in the gym, I kick harder. Faster. The screws holding the hinges to the door loosen. The wood around them splinters.

On the tenth kick, the door crashes in.

Inside, the apartment is mostly dark, save for a small beam of light pointing at the wall in the far corner of the room. The blind on the window is crooked and bent, and it bumps unevenly against the window frame as the wind buffets it.

As my gaze sweeps across the room, it catches on a spray of broken glass, faintly reflecting the light creeping in through the broken blind.

Fear clutches at me.

This is very wrong.

I flick open my switchblade. My other hand plunges into my pocket to grab my phone.

I take another step inside the apartment, and that’s when I see her.

Half-hidden behind the couch, Ruby lies sprawled on the floor. Her hands are clutching her throat, and her chest rises and falls quickly as she gasps for breath.

“Ruby!” All thoughts of clearing the room—of searching for an intruder still inside—dissolve as I race across the room towards her. “Ruby!”

Crashing to my knees beside her, my gaze flicks across her body, searching for injuries. But it’s too dark to see clearly, so I have to turn on my phone’s flashlight to get a better look.

Ruby flinches against the bright light, and I say, “I’m sorry. I need to look at you. See where you’re⁠—”

But the bruises on her face steal the rest of my words.

Finger-shaped bruises on her cheeks and jaw, like her face was roughly grabbed. There’s another rising bruise on her forehead, and blood trickles from a small cut that splits her right eyebrow.

As Ruby stares at me, the panic in her eyes shifts to cautious hope. “Micah?” she whispers. Her voice is weak. Raspy. Her hands flutter down from her throat. “What…”

“It’s okay,” I start. But as I get my first look at the violent marks on her neck, I feel anything but.

It’s impossible to mistake what the marks are from. And the realization fills me with white-hot rage.

Someone choked her.

They hit her. Held her down. Choked her. And if I hadn’t gotten here when I had...

Tearing my gaze from Ruby, I scan the living room again. It looks empty, save for us. But there’s still a hallway with rooms attached to it. Closets. Any number of places her attacker could be hiding. “Where did he go?” I demand, my voice sharp with urgency. “The man who did this. Where did he go?”

I need to search. But that means leaving Ruby on her own, which I’m loath to do. Especially not knowing if she’s hurt anywhere else, or how many people could still be in here, intent on hurting her again.

Against one man, or even two or three, I’ve no doubt I could take them on and win. It wouldn't even matter if they were armed, since I’ve had plenty of experience disarming an armed attacker bare-handed. But fighting them off means leaving Ruby vulnerable.