“Use the element of surprise, Evie. Always.”
Raoul tossed me toward the workbench, and I grabbed the edge, preventing myself from hitting full force. He set down his phone, and I took the split second his concentration was off me to grab the heaviest item on the table. When he turned back, I swung the wrench, striking his head.
It was his turn to howl in pain.
He let me go, and I ran, pulling the gun from my pocket. I turned and pulled the trigger, my hand shaking so hard I wasn’t sure where my aim was directed.
There was another scream behind me, one of shock and pain as well as rage, and I knew I had hit him somewhere. I didn’t care where—I just wanted it to slow him down.
I took advantage and began to run straight for the car. I was inside, with the doors locked, just as he grabbed the handle. He glared at me, lowering his face to the window.
“You just made this ten times worse on yourself, you bitch. Open the door, and I’ll forget this happened.”
“Fuck you,” I yelled and, with a silent prayer, turned the key. The engine sputtered, then roared to life. Raoul began to laugh. “What are you going to do? Crash this car into the garage door? It’s reinforced bulletproof steel! You can’t get through it, you stupid woman.” He sneered, then lifted his gun. “Those windows aren’t bulletproof, though. Turn it off and get the fuck out of the car.”
I knew the six-digit number by heart—654654—they had always tried to keep her code easy. I punched the numbers into the remote, Raoul laughing at what he conceived to be my stupid attempt to escape him. He held his shoulder where the bullet I had fired must have struck him. Blood seeped through his shirt, and I hoped it hurt like hell.
The garage door began to roll upward, and Raoul’s laughter stopped as he gaped at the entrance, then began to run toward the panel, and I knew he intended to override the code. I shifted into drive, stepping on the gas. The tires squealed, and the car shot forward so fast, I could barely control it. The door stopped, beginning to shut again, and I closed my eyes, letting the car go forward, deciding I would rather die this way than let him hurt us. The car burst through the gap, the bottom of the large garage door scraping the roof, the sound loud and wrenching. I kept going. I got to the gate, and I flung open the door and began screaming. Bullets whizzed past me, and I ran blindly, heading for the trees, zigzagging to put off Raoul’s aim. I felt as if I were in a tunnel, confused and dazed. There seemed to be so much noise. Screaming and shouting, the sounds of metal on metal. Angry voices filled my head, and I had no idea if my fear was causing me to hallucinate, but I couldn’t stop to figure it out.
Burning pain, vivid and sharp, tore through my chest, sending me sprawling. Blood seeped from the hole as I lay on the ground, my gasps ringing in my ears. There were more shouts and screams, loud obscenities, and gunshots as I curled up, holding my stomach, the life draining from me. Darkness edged in as I cradled my baby, hoping Matteo would survive when he got here. That he would somehow pick up his life and carry on. I prayed that, by some miracle, our daughter would live, giving Matteo the strength to carry on. He would protect her. Love her.
I heard my name being shouted, and I stayed still, allowing the darkness to take over. If I was dead when Raoul found me, he couldn’t hurt Matteo or me anymore.
The feel of gentle hands and the sound of a voice filled with love and worry calling my name were the last things I knew.
The angel who greeted me sounded very much like Matteo.
Matteo
Fear had been a constant companion since the day my sister disappeared. It ate at me and crawled under my skin daily. Even after she was returned, it never settled. When my parents died in an accident that was meant to take me as well, the fear became a silent, daily companion, never far away, always bubbling near the surface, needing to be tamped down with the only defense I had against it—my own will. I fought daily to never show it.
It reared its ugly head the day Evie went for her shopping trip and again the day I heard her name fall from the lips of the scum Raoul Carmen. Adding loathing to the fear twisted it into a monster I struggled to control.
But nothing prepared me for the agonizing, churning terror of seeing her face on the screen, with the man we thought was dead holding a gun to her head.