Page 68 of Light

Nineteen

Melissa

I should've knownthings were going too smoothly.

It's my life. Shit always manages to fuck up in one way or another.

When I walked in my house, there was a bounce in my step. I was certain that I was only hours away from being completely free. Once again, I didn't look around. Didn't check my surroundings. I went straight into the back room and started packing a bag for Tyler.

Nothing ever goes to plan in my life.

"You think you can play me for a fool?" A deep, gravely voice speaks from the dark corner and I drop the bag in my hand.

I spin and search for the location of the sound. I don't have to look very far. Zeke is right there, a knife in his hand and a grimace on his face.

"No!" I yelp and try to run out of the room. He's much faster and much closer than I thought. Zeke catches me before I can get a hand on the door knob.

"You fucking bitch! Where is it? Where's the paper?" Zeke yells as he grabs hold of my hair and drags me down the hall. I kick my legs and claw at his arms. This time I won't be quiet. I'm going to fight as hard as I can. Not that it'll do me any good. There's no one around here to hear me. Still, I'm not going to make this easy for him.

With a flexibility I didn't know I had, I lift my leg high and wind up kicking him straight in the face.

He stumbles, letting go of my hair for a second. "What the fuck! Don't make me gut you." He stands up tall, looking down at me.

"You're not going to do shit to me. You're nobody. You'll never get away with this." I hiss in his direction.

I'm talking pure nonsense right now. I know for a fact that the police aren't going to find him. Not unless we hand-deliver him wrapped in a bow. I've made several complaints about him already, but it never goes anywhere.

In fact, I'm only talking to keep him occupied. I may be all alone right now, but Light is coming. I can feel it in my bones. He'll come for me.

Zeke towers over me, breathing hard like he has been running. Sweat clings to his temples and his pupils are wide, that dangerous mix of panic and mania flickering in his eyes.

"Where is it?" he growls. "Where’s the bill of sale?"

I glare up at him, my blood pounding in my ears. My lip aches from where I bit it when he dragged me here, but I force a smirk anyway.

"The Brutal Chains have it."

He freezes. His face twists like he just bit into something rotten.

"You’re lying."

"I’m not."

He starts pacing the room, muttering under his breath, fingers twitching around the knife he still clutches. Every few seconds he glances back at me like I’m the problem he can’t solve.

"You’ve got no idea what you’ve done," he says, voice rising. "Those bastards, your little biker boy and his patch buddies, they’re working with them. You know who I mean. My old crew. The same ones who want me dead."

He jabs the knife in my direction.

"You think I’m gonna lose everything to a bunch of ex-con losers and some weak woman with a piece of paper?"

There it is. The real fear behind all his barking.

I stare him down. My head throbs. My arms ache from being dragged across the floor. But I don’t flinch.

He steps closer. Too close.

And then he hits me.

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