Page 50 of A Secret Escape

Scanning the room, an idea materialises as I fly off the bed toward the window and yank the curtain rod out of the wall with a sharp metallic snap , the bracket cracking from the force.

“Get the end off,” I hiss to Lila, passing her the opposite end of the rod.

Heavy footsteps start up the stairs.

Lila’s fingers fumble, but she gets the end off and the weight of half the curtain slides down onto the floor.

“Hide!” I say, quiet but firm, as I tilt the rod to let the second curtain fall.

Her soft brown hair disappears behind the bed just as the footsteps reach the landing .

I grip the rod firmly with both hands. My palms are sweating, arms tense.

I plant my feet wide, staring at the door.

A man appears in the doorway, with a pale sunken face, shaggy dirty blonde hair, and a cracked smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

In his hand is a large knife.

My breath comes in quick ragged bursts, every inhale sharp and hot in my chest. A dull roar fills my ears as my vision narrows to the glint of the blade and the ghost of a smirk on his lips.

Heat floods my body, not from fear – but with rage. White-hot and consuming, it coils in my gut, crawling up my spine like fire licking bone. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Not anger. Not panic. Something primal. A need to protect her, no matter the cost.

I square my shoulders, grounding myself like a shield in the space between him and Lila. My stare locks with his – hard, unflinching.

“Leave now,” I warn, my voice cold and steady, “and we won’t call the police.”

He cackles like a hyena. “Where’s Lila?”

“None of your fucking business. Now get out.”

“Oh, but she is my business,” he says, swaying slightly. “Lovely. Little. Lila.”

“What do you want?”

“I just want to make sure…” he laughs, his speech slurring slightly. “That our little Lila… isn’t a little rat! ” he barks, thrusting the knife forward into the air in front of him.

I hold steady, forcing myself not to flinch, praying that whatever he’s under the influence of gives me enough of an advantage to knock him unconscious .

“She hasn’t said a word,” I say. “But you can bet she will if you don’t leave this second.”

He sneers. “I don’t believe you.”

“Chris. I’m warning you. Leave. Now.”

Sweat beads on my forehead, the veins in my arms pulsing as I grip the rod, as though imbuing strength into the metal itself.

There’s no fucking way he’s getting anywhere near her.

He laughs again. “I’m so scared of the big, bad man with the big, bad stick!” he mocks.

Then his face drops, turning serious. “Just tell me where that little slag is and I’ll be out of-”

But before he can say another word, I lunge forward, slamming the end of the curtain rod into his chest.

He stumbles backwards, grunting, cursing under his breath.

I think I’ve knocked the wind out of him enough to give me a moment to reposition my hands, but I was wrong, as Chris roars out and pushes the rod upward, slamming it into the wall as he lunges toward me with the knife.

I react instinctively, bringing the rod down like a hammer, and crack – it hits his arm and the knife clatters to the floor, mere inches from me.

He screams, falling to his knees as he grabs his arm.

“Rot in hell,” I mutter through gritted teeth, but he clearly isn’t done. He grabs the knife and surges back up, swiping it in front of him, and I miscalculate the distance as the blade slices across my arm.

Pain shoots through me, sharp and bright, but I barely register it, the sting only fuelling my anger further.

I shove the rod at him again, forcing him out of the doorway and toward the top of the stairs .

He laughs – delirious, drugged, and cocky – his eyes wide as he stares at the blood dripping down my arm.

I take advantage of his distraction and lunge forward, but he takes a step and manages to duck, avoiding the blow.

He laughs again, thinking he’s escaped, however he’s now at the very top of the stairs, exactly where I need him.

With laser focus, I drive the rod into his chest, watching terror fill his eyes as he loses his footing trying to dodge the blow and falls backward down the stairs, arms flailing.

He hits the bottom with a sickening thud.

I don’t waste a second, turning to look down the stairs as every cell in my body vibrates with rage. I note the knife had fallen from his hand and lays flat on one of the middle steps.

He’s groaning, barely moving, and I know I need to get him unconscious to give us a chance to call for help.

“Get up!” I snarl, my voice raw and shaking with fury. I drop the rod with a loud clang at the bottom of the stairs, yanking him up by the collar of his jacket as I drag him across the floor.

My fist slams into his jaw, my knee quickly following as it drives up into his groin, again and again, until he folds like a broken puppet.

The floorboards creak above me, followed by the soft patter of Lila’s feet on the stairs.

Knowing she’s left her hiding place fills me with even more determination. I will protect her. Nothing is going to harm her. Especially not this miserable low-life.

Holding Chris by the collar of his jacket with one arm, my fist flies square into his cheek, his skin breaking from the force as a spew of saliva goes flying out his mouth .

I kick at his shins, trying to drop him to the ground, but he grabs onto my waist to stay upright as my fists fly into any part of him they can reach, trying to get him off me.

The sound of the doorknob rattling perks my ears up, but I don’t dare take my eyes off him. I only hope it’s Lila trying to get out.