Page 6 of Mountain Defender

Another rustle, louder this time.

I reach for my phone, but of course, it’s back in the house. On my nightstand. Just where I left it.

No. It’s fine.

I’m just letting the dark get to me.

The sound could be something as innocent as a raccoon or possum.

Or a dog. Hurt. Scared. In need of help.

That’s what gets me moving faster.

But when I get to the barn doors, there’s nothing in front of them.

Huh?

I swing around in a circle, the light of my flashlight following.

Still nothing.

An icy tendril slinks down my back.

“Okay,” I whisper to myself. “I’m going back in. Calling Gage. Who cares if it’s late?”

I take a few steps back towards the house.

And then.

Something slams into me.

Something heavy.

I fall to my knees with a painful thud.

My lungs seize.

Iron arms wrap around me, squeezing.

Hot breath hits my cheek. It’s sour. Garlicky. Smelling slightly of whiskey.

Fear explodes in my chest.

The person—it has to be a man, as strong as he is—flips me over, so I’m flat on my back.

All I can see is darkness and twin spots of white.

He’s wearing a mask.

All that’s visible are his eyes.

And that’s very, very bad.

One meaty hand grabs my wrist, trying to pin it above my head.

NO!

But he’s so heavy. So big.

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