Page 117 of Dark Notes

The date my dad died. My heart caves in.

He tsks. “The weakest link in security is always the human.”

Sweltering pain grips my chest. Why is this happening? I can’t bear it if he touches me again. What the hell am I going to do?

My eyes blur with tears. “You have to leave. I’m expecting a delivery any second.”

He prowls closer. “Your brother is outside on lookout.”

And Shane doesn’t know I’m home? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I scoot closer to the edge, untangling my legs from the blankets.

Lorenzo stops ten feet from the bed, watching me. “Don’t do anything stupid, Ivory. I know the suit you’re shacked up with is at school. We have hours before he comes home.” His smile forms a vicious fissure across in his face. “You owe me months.”

Changing course, he veers toward the foot of the bed. Anticipating my escape to the bathroom? He’s faster, stronger. If I run, he’ll beat me there.

“Where’s the safe?” he asks as he circles the mattress.

It’s in Emeric’s office, and I know the damn combination. But he won’t just take money. Not now that he’s seen me. I jerk my attention at the closet.

He follows my gaze, his body turning, distracted.

I waste a half-second scanning the sheets for the phone before shoving off the bed and running like hell into the bathroom. Heart racing, I skid through the doorway as he chases, screaming, “Ivory!”

I’m hyperventilating by the time the door slams. I hit the lock. Punch it again. And again. Then I step back, dizzy, nauseous, struggling to breathe. Will the door frame hold? The molding looks thick and sturdy. But will it keep out Lorenzo?

Not for long.

His fist pounds on the door. “Ivory! Open it the fuck up!”

I spin, scanning the bathroom for escape, self-defense, a weapon. The half-moon window is too high, too small, too unbreakable. I rip open drawers and cabinets, digging for something, anything.

Oh God, this can’t be happening. How did he get out of jail? Why did he target this fucking house?

Shane.

That selfish motherfucker knew I lived with Emeric. He’s been gone for three months. More than enough time to find out where I live. Or maybe he’s known all along.

The heavy banging on the door hardens my stomach. “Ivory, if you don’t open the goddamn door, we’ll have to do this the hard way.”

A chill sweeps down my spine. The banging stops.

I hold up a toothbrush and discard it for a hairbrush. What the fuck am I going to do with this?

“Here, kitty kitty,” Lorenzo calls, softly.

The hairbrush thumps to the floor as all the blood in my body rushes to my feet. No no no.

“Come on out, Schubert.”

His sickening sweet voice and gentle coaxing sounds twist my gut and flood my eyes with tears. Then he whistles, using the same cat call he’s heard me use for years.

Everything inside me curls up in horror. I fly at the door and press my palms against it. Run, Schubert. Oh God, please run.

My heartbeat thrashes past my ears as silence draws tightly on the other side. I stare down at the handle. Emeric would whip my ass just for thinking about turning it. But Schubert…

His long, pained howl penetrates the door and rattles me to the bone.

A sob rips from my throat, and violent tremors wobble my legs. “Let him go!” My hand falls to the door handle, squeezing it in a death grip. “Let’s talk about this. Just…please, let him go.”

Schubert lets out another keening scream, this one louder, more frenzied.

I yank open the door and stumble out, eyes frantically searching.

Lorenzo leans a shoulder against the wall beside the bathroom, his hand around Schubert’s neck as the cat’s body flails and contorts in pain.

“Stop!” I launch at him, screaming and shaking with hysterics. “You’re hurting him!”

He kicks me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me and sending me sprawling across the floor. His hand clenches around that tiny neck so hard Schubert’s back arches, legs spread out and thrashing against the restraint.

I scramble to my feet, fear tearing me apart as I throw myself at him again.

“Please, let go. Please,” I wail uncontrollably, clawing at his arm, unable to remove his torturous hold. “He can’t breathe. Oh God, stop!”

“Get on your hands and knees, ass in the air.”

Every muscle in my body locks up in terror as the vulnerable hole in my backside clenches in remembered anguish. I can’t. Not there. I can’t. I can’t.

“Do it!” he roars.

My head shakes on its own, taking control of my response. I want to be strong enough to do whatever is needed to free Schubert. But my jaw is glued shut, my legs so frozen I can’t feel them.

His entire demeanor changes, twisting and tightening, his expression transforming from rotten and ugly to horrifyingly evil. I see his intent coming a fraction of a second before it happens. But I move too slowly, too fucking weak to remove his hand from around Schubert’s neck, to stop his arm from swinging, to prevent my beloved kitty from slamming into the wall.