Page 27 of Savage Seduction (Finding His Forever #2)

CHAPTER 27

Max

“ D id you hear that?” I whisper, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end as a chill of fear creeps up my spine.

London shakes her head but remains silent. She stands and takes a step toward the door before stopping. A faint crash of glass breaking downstairs sends my heart racing. I stand and step over to her, checking my cellphone. Still no signal. Damn .

“We don’t have cell service, and I don’t think that was Nana dropping a glass of water,” I say.

She nods in agreement. “I don’t know how they did it.”

“Did what?” I whisper.

“Whoever’s been tracking me when I access information about the Followers of Kali still found me, no matter how many levels of security I put in their way.”

Whether it’s the Kali cult, or Viktor Fedorov himself, I don’t have the foggiest idea, but whoever it is means business. “Does your nana have a landline here?”

She nods and hurries to her bed. On the nightstand is an old-fashioned telephone with a rotary dial, which I had always thought was nothing but a decoration. She picks up the receiver. “It’s dead too.”

My stomach tightens. They knew what to do to isolate us from getting help. I grab my backpack and open it, looking for something I could use as a weapon. Damn. The sharpest thing in there is a pencil.

I’m about to put the bag down when I see the package I’d retrieved from Catherine’s office, still unopened. Maybe it contains something I could use. I tear open the shipping box and freeze.

“What is it?” London asks.

I tip the box in her direction. Inside is a golden ankh with a red ruby at the top.

“Shit,” she says. I turn the symbol over and over in my hand. There are other symbols carved into the metal, but they aren’t in any language I know, and there isn’t time to figure it out now.

London shifts her weight from side to side, fear and panic quickly taking over as she hugs herself for comfort. “They’ve come to kill us. Why else go through all this trouble to track me?”

I can’t find the words to calm her or even dispel her fears. “I think you’re right,” I whisper. I shove the ankh back into my bag.

“What do we do?” London asks, her voice shaking, cutting in and out as she strains to keep it low.

Another faint crash of glass from the opposite side of the house, again on the first floor. “There’s at least two of them,” I say as I tiptoe over to her bedroom door.

“Fuck.” London slides open the top drawer of the desk. She fumbles around for something but gives up. “I’ve got nothing to protect us in here.”

I crack the door open, first making a quick check of the upstairs hallway, then putting my ear to the opening to listen. Crunching glass sounds from downstairs—whomever had broken the windows had gained entry. I close the door again and lock it.

London tiptoes over to me and whispers into my ear. “I’m scared. What do we do?” Her breathing is rapid and shallow, sweat dampening her hairline.

I take her by the shoulders and force eye contact. Once I have her attention, I motion for her to control her breathing. Panic will not help us escape or live through an attack; it will only put us at greater risk of making stupid mistakes. I point over her shoulder. “Do you think you can get through the window? If you hang from the windowsill and drop, you should be okay.”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“You can do it. Once you’re on the ground, run to the neighbors and call the police.” I urge her toward the small window by the bed, but she resists.

“I am not leaving. You can’t take out two men on your own, and my nana is sleeping downstairs. I will not leave her.” The defiance in her voice and set jaw tell me there's no point in arguing.

“These people are crazy. Could be professionals for all we know. Our only hope is to take one out at a time. If we can kill the first using the element of surprise, we’ll have a chance. They probably don’t think we are prepared to defend ourselves.”

“You tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” London clenches both fists. “I’ll fuck a bitch up if they go near my nana.”

Good. Anger and determination rather than fear and panic. “Do you have a toolbox or anything in here that might contain a point or sharp edge?”

“I have a toolbox I use to take apart electronics and put them back together.” She tiptoes back to her bed and pulls out a tackle box .

I open it and sift through the contents. Box cutter, screwdriver, and duct tape. There isn’t much else of use inside. “There won’t be much time. I have a feeling the intruders have split up. One standing guard at the back door to stop us from escaping while the other is sneaking up here as we speak.”

“How do you know?” she asks.

“It’s a feeling I have, plus, it’s what makes the most sense. When I was a cop, I heard so many stories about home invasions from the victims. They were sitting ducks when they tried to escape. The ones who managed to make it past the first guy would be taken out by the one waiting at the back door.”

“Fine, but hurry. Tell me what to do.” Her voice is escalating in both volume and urgency. She grabs the needle nose pliers out of the box. “I can stab him in the eyes?”

I smile and hug her. “Take those and put them in your back pocket.”

London does as I instructed.

“Now take this screwdriver.”

She grips it in her hand like she’s going to shiv someone in the belly, striking upward.

“No like this,” I say, readjusting it in her hand so she can make a downward stabbing motion. “You’ll have a better grip like this and more power.” I then take the duct tape and start affixing it, beginning at her wrist as an anchor point and then secure the makeshift weapon into her hand.

“Why’d you tape me up?”

“He can’t kick it out of your hand this way. Plus, when blood starts to flow things get slippery. Trust me.” I look her in the eyes and see the realization settle across her face.

She swallows hard and nods.

A creak of floorboards outside her bedroom makes us both jump. There's no more time to prepare. I put my finger up to my lips, indicating to remain quiet, and then point to the left side of the door. She moves silently over to the assigned position. I look behind me at the folding chair by the computer. I could shove it under the doorknob, but since we aren't trying to escape, what's the point? We need to fight. We need to win. If not for ourselves, for Nana.

I press my back against the wall on the right side of the door and turn to London. Her eyes are wide and her mouth agape. Despite my own rising fear, I feel a twinge of sadness for her. She doesn’t deserve this. London and her nana don’t deserve to be in this position where their lives hang in the balance. My determination to succeed steels in that moment.

I reach for the little turn-lock on the doorknob and pause. Our eyes meet and London brings the screwdriver up over her head and nods. She's ready. I unlock the door.

A few seconds pass in silence when the doorknob turns. I motion to London who widens her stance. The door cracks open and I slash at the intruder’s wrist. The blade hits bone, but the man shoves forward fast enough to prevent me from getting a decent slice in.

As the man stumbles into the room, I rush him and London slams the door closed from behind, locking it. There isn’t much of a blade for me to work with and I need to be in the perfect position to do any real damage. Hand-to-hand combat is now inevitable. I drop the box cutter and leap on the man’s back, putting him in a headlock and then using my other arm to help tighten my grip—classic sleeper hold.

The intruder has his own ideas. Well over six foot tall, shoulders broad as a barn, he's strong and prepared for a fight. He swivels around and slams himself backward against the nearest wall. The impact rocks my body hard enough to loosen my grip, but not enough to shake me completely off his back. I hold on with my legs around the large man’s waist and scramble to regain my hold around the man’s neck.

Seconds feel like minutes, and I'm weakening. The man now reaches above his head and grabs a fistful of my hair in one hand and tightens fingers around my neck with the other. I cough and gasp for air but refuse to let go.

London charges forward and stabs down in a hatchet motion, the blade sinking deep into the man’s chest. I feel the man shudder under the intense unexpected pain. She tries to pull the screwdriver back out, but the suction from the wet wound is too great. She now fights against the man, pulling back with both hands, trying to free herself.

I take advantage of the sudden change in focus and pull the man’s hand away from my throat and use my own to squeeze his trachea. The man sways under my weight and his new injuries. With a loud grunt, London manages to pull the screwdriver free of his chest, blood spurting out with each heartbeat.

I can feel the huge man's throat closing under my grip, the air struggling past the narrowed tube. He sinks to the floor where London once again plunges the screwdriver into his back, this time hitting rib bones, preventing her from doing significant damage.

She jumps onto the man's back and holds the weapon up with both hands, ready to plunge it into his neck when I stop her. Her eyes are wide with a crazed fear I recognize from my time on the force. People being put into positions of life and death don’t often have the ability to rationalize or think about what they’re about to do. I grab for duct tape and wrap the man's hands behind his back. I then secure his feet together. Bending his knees, I am able to secure his hands and feet together into a hogtie.

“What are you doing?” London asks. “We have to take him out.”

I shake my head. “I don’t want you to take a life if you don’t have to.” I roll the guy over onto his side to make sure he can breathe freely. “Let’s get that piece of shit downstairs and then call the police. Might be good to have them in custody so we can find out who the hell they are.”

She nods and steps over the body, kicking him in the gut and stomping on the side of his face. London holds up her taped hand for me to inspect it. “Tighten me up.”

I wrap another layer of the duct tape over what was there to keep it secure and firmly in place. I grab the pillowcase from the bed and wipe the blood from her arms, face and weapon. “You good?”

She nods. “Let’s finish this.”

Boxcutter in hand, I motion for her to follow me. We sneak over to the bedroom door and open it, checking each direction of the hallway before exiting the room. We tiptoe to the stairway where we hear Nana.

“Baby? What’s going on up there?” Nana hollers from her room, and I freeze.

I turn to London. “They might not have searched the lower level for her, especially if they didn’t know she was here.”

London’s eyes fill with tears. “We have to get to her… now.”

The sound of crunching glass comes from the area of the kitchen. Best-case scenario would be for the second intruder to leave the way he came, but I doubt it. These guys were here to do a job, and they weren’t going to leave until it was done, or they were carted out in body bags. If their leader is Viktor Fedorov, they knew anything but a successful mission would end in their deaths. A desperate enemy is an extra dangerous one.

“We go down the stairs together, back-to-back, sideways. You face the left and I’ll take the right. This way we have the entire view of the house leading to Nana’s room.” I hurry down the hall, London right on my heels.

We start down the stairs, looking for any signs of danger .

“London? Max?” Nana hollers. “What’s going on up there?”

We reach the first floor and stop, surveying the entryway, living room, and hallway to the kitchen. I don’t see anyone, but the sound of rushed footfalls near Nana’s room sends the gorge in my stomach up into my throat, forcing me to swallow it back down. I point through the living room. London puts a hand to her mouth and shakes her head, desperation in her eyes.

“Is he in there with her?” she whispers.

“What are you doing in here?” The answer comes from Nana herself. “Get out of here! Get out!”

The sounds of a struggle ensue.

“London! Run, honey. There’s a man in—” Nana’s voice is cut short.

London and I rush through the living room, weapons at the ready, prepared to do anything it takes to save Nana.

A man dressed in all black stands over Nana’s body, a pillow pressed over her face. London screams and charges him, screwdriver raised overhead. The man turns and backhands her out of the way. London crashes to the floor, sprawled out, unmoving. A trickle of blood trails from her nose and off her chin.

I had taken the momentary distraction to move into the room and pull the pillow from Nana’s face. I swing it around, catching the man’s arm mid-swing. Shoving his arm to the side, I punch him square in the face, feeling the bones of his nose crunch into pieces under my knuckles. I pull my hand back, blood running down my wrist and off the end of my elbow. There isn’t time to assess for injuries as the man charges forward.

Attempting to sidestep out of the way, the killer hooks an arm around my waist, and we crash to the floor in a heap, landing hard in the doorway to the room. I slash at the man with my box cutter but can't make contact with flesh at this angle. I toss the cutter to the corner of the living room and use my elbow to batter the man’s already shattered nose.

His head bounces off my elbow and blood pours from his nose and mouth, but he doesn’t lose his balance. I feel the man’s weight shift on top of me as he moves up closer to my chest, knees straddling my belly. My breathing is labored under the weight, but I can still fight. I take a deep breath and tighten my abs, bringing my legs up and around the man’s chest and neck. I pull down with all my might, sending him falling backwards to the floor. I scramble to all fours and land a punch to the throat.

He coughs, blood spurting from his mouth now filled with broken teeth. His breathing now a gurgled wheeze. An unexpected blow from the side sends me rolling off to the right. The man had used a heavy stone doorstopper to take me out. I try to regroup, clear my vision which has begun to tunnel, as the man starts to stand. I also hurry to my feet in time for us to lunge for each other. We land in the middle of the room, shattering the glass coffee table as we fall to the floor. Bits of tempered glass grind under my knees and the palms of my hands as I try to stand and fight.

The man beneath me moans but doesn’t open his eyes. I have him dazed. Unwilling to stop, I straddle the man’s chest and punch him again and again, landing solid blows to his head and face. I can barely raise my hand over my head, the muscles completely spent. I stop and take a breath, my attacker now laid out on his back, his nose shattered, his jaw hanging off to the left at an unnatural angle.

I feel for a pulse on his neck—rapid and weak. Good. I stand and look for something to tie him up with when a scream from Nana’s room draws me away from the scene. I run into the bedroom. London stands next to the bed, her arms shaking as she holds a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her own screams. I rush to her side. London holds up her hand still taped to the screwdriver. “Help me.”

I pull the duct tape from her wrist, letting the weapon fall to the ground. She lowers herself next to her grandmother and holds her in her arms and sobs. “Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me.” Her screams tear at my guts like a wild animal consuming its prey.

I stumble backwards and press my back against the bedroom wall, sliding down to the floor. My own sobs pour out of me, sobs for Nana, London, and for myself.

An indiscernible amount of time passes until I feel strong enough to stand, and it dawns on me I have to tie up the intruder in the living room and call the police. I slowly step out of the bedroom and freeze.

The man is gone—all that remains is a stain of blood. I rush to the stairs and up into London’s room. The other attacker is gone too. How had they escaped? Did they have help?

“Shit,” I say as I dash over to the bed where I’d left my backpack. It's gone and along with it the golden ankh. My head pounds and my hands begin to shake. While this was a disaster and I have nothing to offer the police, London and I are still alive. But Nana? My stomach churns again and I turn my head and vomit.

“Max!” London yells my name. “Where are you? Max?”

I rush down the stairs, meeting her at the bottom. I snatch her up in my arms and hold her tight. “I’m so sorry about Nana.” My sobs come once again.

She pulls free from me. “No, she’s alive.” The tears that had once flowed down her cheeks from the agony of loss now flowed from happiness. “Nana’s alive. I started CPR and she opened her eyes and took a breath.”

“What?” Maybe mircales do happen.

London pulls me toward the bedroom where Nana sits on the edge of the bed. Her face is bruised and there are marks on her neck from the pillowcase that had been pressed against her, but she is alive.

I step closer and sink to the floor, putting my head in her lap. Relief washes over me as she pats me on the back. “Nana, I’m so sorry.”

She strokes my hair. “Baby, you saved us.” London joins me on the floor, grabbing my hand to hold it tight.

If it hadn't been for me, none of this would have ever happened in the first place. I hug her tight and absorb her loving touch. We sit like that for as long as we all need, no one bringing up what had just happened or why. I wipe the tears away and sigh. London and I lock eyes, she smiles and mouths, "Thank you." I squeeze her hand tighter.

Red and blue lights from outside flash through the windows and curtains. Someone called the police, but who? A neighbor? A knock at the door sounds. "Los Angeles Police Department," the cop shouts into the home.

"You'd better get that," Nana says.

London and I sit on the edge of the bed, flanking her. "Let them come to us."

She pats me on the knee and chuckles. "I like how you think."

"In here, officers!" I holler. "We're in here."