Page 11 of Death, Interrupted

You’re here to kill him,I reminded myself.Not to stand here thinking about how good his abs look. Damn, how many hours a week does he work out to reach those results? Jesus Christ, what the fuck is wrong with me?

I shifted my weight, ready to step back, to shake myself free of this madness because, frankly, I was slowly losing my shit. But just as I moved, he moved. His head turned. His eyes locked on mine in the reflection, and every muscle in me seized.

My chest squeezed so hard it cut off my air. His stare was sharp and full of madness. He didn’t need long to understand there was someone in his home.

He wasn’t blinking, and in that second, every ounce of reluctant admiration soured into dread. And fear.

You baby! You’re supposed to be the crazy guy here!

Comically, he still had his arms up in a flexing position, but then he dropped them and turned around with his chest still wide.

Holy hell, he’s enormous!

It felt like an eternity of us not moving and just staring at each other, and I dared to let myself think that he was going to end me today. This wasn’t his last day on earth, but mine.

Yeah, I’m going to die tonight.

That’s the only thought rattling around in my head as Joey moved.

No, he didn’t just move. He charged at me like an angry bull.

“Fuck!” The word tore out of me as my body finally remembered how to work. I spun around so fast I nearly dropped my knife, then sprinted for the stairs, my boots slamming into the floor. My lungs burned, my helmet fogged up again, and my brain screamedabort mission, abort mission, Joey’s basically The Hulk with a bad haircut!

Behind me, the sound of him barreling down the hallway thundered in my ears. He wasn’t just big, he was fast too, which was completely unfair. You shouldn’t be allowed to have both. Pick one, Joey. Be muscular or be fast. You don’t get to be a tank and a racecar.

I hit the stairs, taking them three at a time, and still felt him gaining on me. My chest seized with panic, but my brain kept throwing out commentary anyway because that’s just how I coped in situations like these.He’s gonna grab you. He’s gonna grab you, and then you’re going to be the one with the tragic accidental death. Headlines tomorrow: Local psycho slips, trips, dies mid–murder attempt. Nobody mourns.

April would. God, she’d be devastated.

“Move, move, move!” I shouted at my own legs, as if yelling at them would make them work harder. I nearly tripped at the bottom, caught myself on the banister, and lunged forward into the living room.

And that was when it happened.

A hand, huge and hot and terrifying, clamped down on the back of my jacket and yanked. My feet kept running for half a second, which meant I did this humiliating little stumble-dance in place before being whipped backward like I was on a bungee cord.

“Got you!” Joey snarled, and suddenly I was slammed against the wall, his fist cocked back, his chest heaving, his veins bulging in a scary fucking way. Sometime on our way downstairs, he must’ve switched the light on because I could see him clearly now.

“Wait, wait, wait!” I yelped, throwing my arms up with my knife still in hand. “Time out, Joey! Jesus, your hands are enormous. Are those even legal?”

He didn’t answer, obviously. And why the hell would he ever agree to a time-out?

His fist swung, and I ducked. His knuckles crashed into the drywall with a sickening crack. Dust exploded across my helmet, and my heart dropped right into my pants.That could’ve been my skull.

Before I could recover, his other hand shot out and grabbed my helmet, and ripped it clean off my head. The strap snapped against my chin as it went flying, skidding across the floor.

“Nooo!” I shouted, horrified. “You bastard! I needed that for my villain monologue later. You ruined it!”

Joey just glared at me like I was insane. Which, fine, I was. No arguments there.

But then his eyes narrowed, and his lips curled. “Sylvester Webb?!”

So much for being a mysterious masked killer. My big dramatic reveal was ruined in two seconds flat.

I groaned loudly. “Argh, no! It’s Sly, okay? Sly Webb. Do I look like a damn Looney Tune to you?”

Joey blinked at me, chest still heaving, and sweat dripping down his temple. “What the fuck, man? You’re trying to kill me?”

I waved my knife vaguely and flailed my free hand in frustration. “Ovvy!”