Page 173 of Heartbeats & Highways

The nail kept slipping between my bloody fingers, so I wiped them on a clean part of the bed sheet.

I worked at a fervent pace, but with only the light from the window, my vision was compromised.

I heard the rush of heavy footsteps trekking up the stairs and it renewed my efforts. I was rewarded with the final ankleshackle falling off, but it was too late—someone was coming, and they were almost to the room.

The glow of an oil lamp appeared in the open doorway, painting the face of the Grand Patriarch in a demonic blaze.

His eyes burned with intensity as he surveyed the room. His gaze strayed to the bed. He lifted the oil lamp higher to get a better view.

“What have you done?” he murmured.

I searched for the sash weight, preparing to fight again.

“You killed her.” His attention sought mine and a wicked smile spread across his face. “You saved me the trouble. Now I am free to take you as my wife. In all ways . . .”

He rushed toward me.

My hand found the sash weight and wrapped around it. I chucked it at his head. Unfortunately, he darted out of the way and the weight hit the glass chimney of the brass oil lamp, causing it to shatter. Broken glass littered the floor.

While the Grand Patriarch was tending to the unprotected flame, I hoisted myself off the bed and gripped the iron chain and shackle.

I moved toward the door and stepped on a shard of broken glass. A cry of pain escaped my mouth.

The Grand Patriarch blew out the flame and tossed the oil lamp aside, the brass base clunking against the wooden floor.

He reached out and grabbed my wrist to stop me from using the iron chain against him. He squeezed until I was forced to let go. My makeshift weapon fell to the floor, useless.

“There’s no escaping me,” he growled as he pulled me to him.

He smelled like sweat and raw onions.

My body recoiled and my stomach gurgled in protest.

He wrapped his arms around me to cage me in.

The scent of him was too much for my pregnancy nose.

I opened my mouth and spewed up my dinner.

He howled and released me, shoving me away from him as I continued to vomit.

Through the sounds of my own retching, I heard the clomp of heavy boots on the stairs.

A silhouette appeared in the doorway.

The Grand Patriarch stripped off his shirt and began using it as a cloth to wipe the vomit off him. He was consumed with rage and wasn’t paying attention to the shadow that had entered the room.

Moonlight shone through the window. The shadow raised a hand.

A pistol . . .

As the crack of gunfire went off, the room suddenly lit up in a flash of light and the Grand Patriarch clutched his chest.

A startled gasp escaped his lips, and he stumbled backward before falling to his knees.

Savage stalked into the room; each step like a predator within sight of his prey.

A carrier of death and judgment.

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