A huge, rough hand grabbed Kyara's head and threw her into the kitchen, slamming her head hard against the stove. Pinpoints of light exploded behind her eyes and pain shot across her face.
By the time she blinked the pain away, all three men were back in the dining room. They studied her as she pulled herself unsteadily to her feet.
“I told you the bitch would tell people,” said the gunman.
Kyara's head felt strangely clear, the way it did when she was cooking. Now that he'd hit her, it was as if the fear had cleared. These were almost certainly the men who'd killed her father, standing in front of her. They would almost certainly kill her, too. Worse, they might harm the people she loved.
But this time, she might be able to stop that. She might be able to protect the people she cared about.
If she could escape.
Devante was arguing with the other two.
“Man, she didn't tell them anything other than she was hiding out. And they can't prove nothing even if she did. No one even seen our faces here. We don't got to do this,” he argued.
The gunman wasn't having any of it. His eyes never even left Kyara.
“Fuck that. Snitches gotta pay. Ty, go down stairs. This place is above a diner or something. We can make it look like there was a fire after we're done.”
The third gunman, who had yet to speak, hesitated for a minute, then went to the front door and out into the cold.
He went on the outside! They don't know about the inside stairs! Kyara quickly saw her way out. The stairs were only a few short steps away from where she leaned in the kitchen.
The gunman turned back to her.
“First, though, we're gonna have a little fun.” His eyes narrowed behind the ski mask.
“We don't need to do that, man,” said Devante from behind him.
The gunman turned slightly to look at Devante, his whole body radiating menace.
“The hell we don't. She deserves it, and you need to learn that bitches don't come before us. You're gonna help, too, prove your loyalty.” His voice was hard, his breathing heavy and fast as he got more excited.
That was when Kyara hit him with the pan.
The last bits of boiling milk, still hot from the stove from where she'd left it to warm, splashed across his face as he turned back. The pan itself hit the gun, knocking it up and away. He screamed, a sound of rage and pain, like an angry animal.
Kyara ran.
Fast as she could, Kyara stumbled towards the door downstairs. Her head was still swimming, making the stairs difficult, but she managed to pull the door closed behind her.
Have to get out before the third guy gets in downstairs. She tried to focus.
Tumbling out downstairs, she caught the third attacker from behind. He turned, the confusion written across his face rapidly turning to shock and anger. He turned, groping at his pocket for a gun. But he was in Kyara's world now. She knew this kitchen better than any place on Earth. She lurched to her left, grabbing knives from the block on the counter.
Her throws were off, but the thug had to duck as the metal flashed through the air. Still throwing, she stumbled to the door and out into the dining area. From there, she ran for the back door, praying she could get there before he recovered.
She hit the door with all her weight, stumbling out into the freezing snow.
The cold hit her like a slap to the face. She stumbled forward, the night swallowing the door behind her in just a couple steps. She turned towards Main Street, but heard shouts from the front of the building.
One of them must have come down the outside stairs, Kyara realized.
Turning, Kyara fled into the night.
The snow was bitterly cold against her legs, protected only by her flannel pajamas. Worse was the wind, which seemed to ignore her clothes entirely.
Harsh voices echoed in the dark, muted and displaced in the snow. They seemed to come from everywhere at once. Not knowing where her attackers were, Kyara pushed forward.