Chase nodded. They weren't far from the door. Khalid had the coded key to it, but slipping in and gaining the advantage would be the trick.
Harold was old; he was insane. He had to mess up somewhere.
Chase had to get the advantage. Kia's life was hanging in the balance, and God knows, he didn't think he could live without her now.
"Get on your phone and call your lover," Harold spat out at her as she glared at him from the floor.
That one wasn't going to happen. She'd felt the phone vibrate and knew Chase was calling. She couldn't—wouldn't—allow him to die for her.
"Call him yourself. "
Kia cried out in pain as Harold Brockheim reached down, grabbed her arm, and hauled her to her feet.
"Is this how you treated your daughter?" she cried out. "It's no wonder she lost her mind. "
He threw her back, causing the corner of the dresser to dig into her hip and bringing a hard, anguished cry from her lips.
"Moriah was a good girl. I taught her to be a good girl. "
But Kia saw the guilt in his face.
"Did you hit her, too?" Her face ached to the point that talking was painful, but she refused to lift her hand to it. "Is that what made her so ill, Harold?"
"Stop it. " His hand was shaking wildly as he pointed the gun at her.
"Pull the trigger, you son of a bitch!" she screamed. "I won't help you get Chase up here. Do you understand me? I won't do it. "
She gripped the corner of the dresser, aware of the tears that fell from her eyes and of the pain that raced through her. She might die here with no one but this crazy son of a bitch to watch life leave her, but at least Chase would be alive. And Chase would figure it out. He would find out who killed her.
But she didn't want to die. She sobbed. She didn't want to leave Chase. She wanted his arms around her, she wanted him warming her, she wanted to make him love her.
She cried out again as Brockheim ripped the little purse she carried from the tiny snap that held it to the narrow strap of her dress. A device to keep from losing it while she danced.
She glared at him.
"The number isn't on my cell," she informed him. "He never even calls me, Brockheim. "
"Don't worry, I know the little bastard's number," he growled. "Moriah had it. She knew it by heart. "
Bitch.
Kia watched as he dumped the contents of her purse on the bed and grabbed her cell phone. He smiled as he dialed the number.
"Moriah got her craziness from you," she cried out. "Stay away from Chase!"
She was shaking. Chase would come running, and she knew it. He would come for her and he would end up dead.
She ran for Brockheim, ignoring the gun, gripping his arm as he stared at her in shock, as though he hadn't expected it. She slapped the phone out of his hand as he struck her again.
"You stupid little bitch. " Her head bounced off the wall, and she cried out sharply as she felt the stitches tear. She felt the blood that began to run from the cut as she shook her head and tried to find her bearings.
She was sliding down the wall. Her nails scraped against it, scrambling to find a hold as her legs were going out from under her.
"Look what you made me do, you little whore. How are you supposed to talk to him like this?"
Oh fuck, that was a foot in her side. That was definitely her scream and her pain radiating through her body. But she didn't know where that howl of rage came from.
They were standing outside the door when the first scream sounded. By the time Chase swiped the card, Kia's scream was burning through his head. He jerked the door open and rushed into the room, tackling Harold Brockheim and throwing him away from Kia.