Page 19 of Velvet Betrayal

Ruby paused on the landing. I met her gaze again and said, “Lock the back door behind me.”

She nodded once. Then she was gone.

I stepped through the kitchen and out the back.

If they forced the door, I knew exactly what I’d do—kill fast, move faster, get Ruby and Rosie into the woods. I’d done it before. I could do it again.

But not yet.

I crossed to the woodpile and picked up the axe—not for chopping this time. I tested the weight of it in my hand. The handle was damp and cold, a little slick from melted snow, but it sat heavy in my grip like it remembered me.

I moved to the side of the house and dropped into a crouch, half-shadowed by the drift. My breath fogged the air. The axe rested against the snow, butt-down, waiting.

If it came to blood, I wouldn’t hesitate.

Not for them.

Not ever.

The car engine shifted pitch…then cut.

Doors opened and shut—sharp cracks, clean and loud in the stillness.

Footsteps. Two sets.

I didn’t have to see them to know: cop-walk. That steady, squared-up pace you learn when you’ve never had to run. Could’ve been contractors. Could’ve been state. Could’ve been worse.

Then the knock—measured. Knuckles, not the heel of a fist. Friendly. Curious. The kind that’s meant to sound safe.

I prayed Ruby didn’t fall for it.

If they’d spotted me by the shed, they weren’t showing it. I edged along the wall, slogging through drifted snow. Moved slow. Low.

By the time I reached the edge of the porch, I had eyes on them.

First guy was a mountain. Built like he’d been poured into his jacket.

His partner was the opposite—thin, twitchy, with the look of someone who’d memorized the inside of a patrol car.

Not the front of the car either…the back.

These weren’t cops; they were thugspretendingto be cops.

…fuck me.

I did the math: if they wanted to bust in, they’d already be inside. This was a knock-and-talk, fishing for something, or maybe just trying to look official until they had more to go on.

The hollow-cheeked one raised his voice. “Anyone home?” he called, almost polite. “Saw a car out front. Just checking on whoever’s here.”

I dropped lower, making sure I was out of the line of fire if things went sideways. No point getting shot before I even got a word in.

The big one chimed in. “Anybody hurt? We saw tracks out back. Looked fresh.”

I didn’t move. Not an inch. My whole job was to stay invisible, to listen. I tracked their breathing, the way their boots shifted and tapped out little patterns of impatience on the porch.

Inside, Rosie giggled. Loud enough to carry through the thin glass. Fuck. That was it. They’d try the handle next, maybe knock one more time just to say they’d tried.

The skinny one changed tactics. “We’re with the county. Otis substation,” he said, voice raised. “You’re not in trouble. There’s a gas main advisory.”