Page 89 of Claiming Lily
Standing fast enough to make me dizzy, I spin around, ready to sprint back to Lily, to get her the hell out of here, but something hard and metal crashes into my temple.
Stars explode across my vision. The knife I was holding clatters to the floor as my legs give out. My heart nearly collapses in on itself as one terrifying thought zips through my mind. No one is here to protect Lily.
I shout her name, hoping she’ll take it as a warning and run.
Then
everything
goes
dark.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
LILY
I’m in the middle of explaining to the dispatcher why I’ve called them again after we’ve already reported one incident when Cole’s voice cuts through the house like a blade.
Whirling away from the window, I frown. “Cole?” I call back, phone still pressed against my ear.
The silence that follows makes my stomach clench. No smart-ass comeback. No reassuring laugh. No calming response to let me know things are fine. Nothing but the howling wind and rain battering the windows.
“Ma’am, is everything okay?” The dispatcher’s voice sounds tinny and distant.
“Uh, I don’t think so.” The words come out shaky, breathless. My heart hammers so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t crack a rib. I inch toward the hallway, bare feet silent on the hardwood. “Cole?”
Still nothing. This better not be some prank. The phone line crackles with distant chatter from other emergencies, but all I can focus on is the oppressive quiet where Cole’s voice should be. Where his presence should be filling up all the empty spaces like it always does.
“Ma’am, I think you should leave the house.” The pitch of her concern has dread coiling around me.
“But I can’t leave him.” The words rip out of me before I can think them through. My free hand searches the counter blindly until my fingers close around the heavy cast iron pan the guys keep on the counter.
“Ma’am, it’s not safe.”
“What if he’s hurt?” How could I leave him? I only make it three steps toward the hallway before something crashes into me from the side.
I shout, the sound tearing my throat raw as my phone flies out of my hand, skittering across the floor, the dispatcher’s tinny voice calling out before it slides out of reach.
Swinging the pan as hard as I can, I lash out at my attacker. The cast iron connects with something solid. My attacker grunts as the impact sends shockwaves up my arm. Before I can swing again, an arm locks around my throat like a steel band.
“Let me go!” The words come out as more of a wheeze than a shout. I thrash wildly, elbows flying backward, heels kicking at shins, anything to break free. My nails break on the flooring as I scrabble for purchase.
Their grip tightens, cutting off my air, and my vision, already darkened by the power outage, dances with black spots. My lungs scream for air that won’t come, and my struggles grow weaker as everything starts to fade around the edges.
Right before the darkness takes me completely, I register through the haze that soft curves pressed against my back, their frame smaller than I expected. Lithe.
The frame of a woman.
The realization hits me, useless as it is, just as consciousness slips away entirely.
The first thing I notice when consciousness creeps back is the throbbing in my skull. It’s like someone took a sledgehammer to the back of my head. I groan, trying to lift my hand to touch the source of pain, but my arms won’t move.
What the hell?
The world comes into focus slowly. Plastic sheeting covers everything—the walls, the floors, even hanging from the ceiling like some twisted art installation. Panic lances my heart. Wait a second. I know this place. The living room of my future home looks like a crime scene from a horror movie.
I try to move again, but I’m met with resistance. Rough rope bites into my wrists and ankles, securing me to one of the kitchen chairs. My pulse pounds as I struggle against the bindings, but they’re too tight. Unrelenting. Some of my fingers tingle with numbness that comes with circulation being cut off. Whoever did this, it’s obvious they want to hurt me.
