Page 47 of Homestead

The man strides closer—still looking relaxed and dangerous at the same time. “Saw your man out in the woods earlier so figured this was my shot.”

I almost choke. My hands and feet go cold.

It takes every ounce of will I possess to push myself to my feet. I look around, but there’s nothing—nothing—anywhere close with which I can defend myself.

Jimmy’s not here. He’s nowhere close. I could scream, but he wouldn’t hear me.

No one would hear me. I’m all alone.

The only person here who can even attempt to defend me isme.

This thought solidifies in my head at the same moment I turn around and run toward the house. I move as fast as I can, but the man is taller. Bigger. With much longer legs. He runs after me and quickly overtakes me.

I haven’t yet reached the door when he grabs for me. I tug my arm out of his grip, but his fingers tighten on my top instead, yanking me to a stop.

I scream in outrage more than fear that he’s got his damn hand on my shirt, and I throw my body away from his.

The fabric rips. Half of my shirt ends up in his hand, but at least he’s no longer touching me.

I can’t reach my pistol. There’s no way. It’s inside, and the man is after me again, right on my heels. But I see the hammer Jimmy was using yesterday to repair a few loose boards in the chicken coop.

He should have put it up, but he didn’t. I grab for it and swing it around, blindly aiming for the man’s head and screaming again with the force of my blow.

He’s much, much taller than me, so I hit his shoulder with the hammer instead.

It’s not as effective as it should have been, but it does make an impact. He grunts in pain and swings out with his hand, punching me on the side of the head.

It’s so hard and it hurts so bad I fall back onto the deck. He’s angry now as he climbs on top of me, holding me down with the weight of his body.

His smell is strong. Terrible. So much worse than Jimmy ever smells, even at his sweatiest. I struggle with all my strength, managing to yank a handful of his greasy hair.

But I can’t get away. He’s way too big.

I scream again—one more time before my throat completely clamps up in terror—and the scream takes the form of Jimmy’s name. But I don’t expect any help to come.

Jimmy would help if he was close enough. I know he would. He would protect me even if it meant he got hurt himself.

But he’s not here. There’s no one here.

No one but me and this terrible, much larger man.

“Hey!” The voice isn’t mine. And it isn’t my attacker’s. It’s distant, but I can still tell it sounds rawly outraged. “Get the fuck off her!”

The man must process the voice because he grows still, but he doesn’t get off me. He looks surprised more than anything else.

Then it’s too late for surprise. Or anything else. I hear a gunshot. A deafening crack.

The man goes limp and falls on top of me.

I squeal as I feel his full weight collapse on me, the scent of him overwhelming and sickening. I squirm frantically, attempting to push him off.

But I’m dizzy from the hard blow on the head and stunned by the fast sequence of events. I can’t get him off.

“Chloe!” It’s Jimmy. I recognize his voice now. “Chloe, baby. Oh my fucking God.” Then he’s there. He hauls the man’s limp body off me and tosses it to the side.

He crouches down beside me, running his hands up and down my body like he’s looking for injury.

“I’m okay,” I manage to whimper. “I’m okay.”

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