Page 345 of Dirty Discipline, Vol. 2

"Hide," Daddy ordered, already reloading. His tone was so soft and yet so deadly serious that she scrambled under the bed without argument.

His footsteps soft despite his boots, he left the room, damming her to silence all over again.

Lying on the floor in nothing but a diaper and her t-shirt, Tabby held herself frozen, her indecision suddenly culminating in the first clear thought she'd had all night. She had to get out of here. Before Jeff came back… before Travis searched her out… before anyone could hurt her again.

Listening hard for the slightest sound that signaled someone coming back down the darkened hall to Daddy’s room, she crawled out from under the bed, searching for her shoes but they weren’t anywhere. They must still be in the bathroom. Another round of gunfire exchanged somewhere outside. It wasn’t distant, but she still bolted down the hall in desperate search for her shoes.

They weren’t in the bathroom, and the rest of her clothes were in the washer. She searched everywhere, unable to find them and her feet… every step was a nightmare of throbbing and burning. Within steps, the cuts on her toes opened up and she started bleeding, leaving a trail of red spots on the floor from bedroom to bathroom and all the way to the kitchen where she grabbed a big knife.

Now what?

More gunfire. Still outside. It sounded like they were going around the house. She was surprised at the lack of shouting or trash talking, but maybe she couldn't hear it from here over the gunfire.

The front door was standing wide open. The keys!

She hit the floor again when three bullets hit the brick and mortar on the back of the house, punching out another window.

"Stop shooting up my house!" she heard Daddy shout, followed by an angry exchange of rapid-fire pops.

On hands and knees, she crawled back to the bedroom. She searched his dresser top, checking every pocket and holder until she found the keys on the floor, where they must have fallen when Daddy had grabbed his gun. She grabbed them and back to the floor she went, this time crawling for the door.

Peeking around the threshold, she could just see around the protruding garage to where the back half of the truck stuck out into view. Now she could hear shouting; they were definitely around the back of the house. One quick dash out into the open, and she could be in it and gone.

If only she could dash.

If only she could drive.

The cement of the porch hurt her knees. The stickers and rocks on the ground hurt her hands and shins, but her eyes were locked on her best chance of escape and she didn’t stop until she reached it.

Opening the driver's door turned on the light and she had a mini heart attack knowing how far in the night's darkness that could be seen. She jumped in and, in her anxiousness, closed the door too fast and too hard. That sound stopped her heart all over again.

It didn't surprise her at all when Travis suddenly bolted out from behind the house, an automatic rifle in his hands, running at full speed right towards her.

Halfway across the yard, he stopped and swung around, rifle at the ready just as Daddy tore around the far corner of the house in furious pursuit.

She ducked before the explosion of continuing gunfire peppered the back end of the truck and blew out the driver's window. Glass rained down all over her. If she screamed, she buried it in the leather of the seats; If they heard her, they didn't respond but the gunfire did pause.

She'd never been more scared. Her heart was in her throat, and she clutched the keys tight so they wouldn't jingle. She couldn’t stop her hands from shaking.

"Still alive, Jeffy?" Travis called, taking refuge against the truck. She couldn’t see him, but she could hear his voice and he was right outside, hunkered down near the driver's door. She flattened herself against the seat, terrified of making a sound.

"You couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn," Daddy replied from somewhere in the darkness.

She had to stop thinking of him like that, though her chest seized at the thought. She was so scared. All she wanted was to be in his arms, pinned under his reassuring weight, with the hot breath of his assurances brushing her ear as he said, "Be a good girl for Daddy, Tabby. Be a good girl."

She broke down, slapping a hand over her mouth, muffling her involuntary gasp once she'd sobbed all the air from her lungs. In the sudden silence of the night, however, that gasp was as loud as a cry. Before she could suck another breath, the shadow of Travis's head popped up in the open space of the broken driver's side window. She didn't need to see his eyes to know he was looking right at her.

His only sound was a scoffing expulsion of breath. Her throat tightened so hard, she couldn't breathe at all.

Light suddenly lit up the whole yard—Travis, the truck, her hiding on the seat not even eighteen inches away from him, and tucked up against one of the few trees, she saw Daddy.

He saw her too. And the driver of the patrol car that had just appeared around the bend in his country driveway. The squad car stopped abruptly when Travis snapped his head to look that way.

"Tabitha!" Daddy shouted, even as Travis yelled, "I'll fucking blow her head off!"

He never got the chance to swing his gun around. The second Travis swung his rifle up to face her, she lunged halfway out of the broken window and throat punched him with Daddy's keys still tightly clutched in her hand.

Travis fell back, gagging and clutching at his throat.

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