Page 21 of Dark Christmas

I pat my jean pockets and feel nothing.

Shit.

My phone’s in the kitchen. Panic rises but then I remember—Melor left his phone on the table during dinner. I just need to get to it.

The sounds of the fight grow louder—more grunts, more crashing—and I’m terrified that at any second, I’m going to hear a gunshot. I force myself to move through the fear. I have to get to that phone.

I sneak down the stairs as quietly as I can, hoping to stay out of sight. My heart's racing so fast it feels like it's going to jump out of my chest. I inch closer to the bottom of the staircase, practically holding my breath.

But just as I reach the last step, a man rushes around the corner, grabbing my arm before I can react. I gasp, my heart dropping into my stomach as his grip tightens. His eyes are dark and furious, and I can feel the danger radiating off him.

Oh, fuck.

Totally by instinct, I pull back my hand and smack the guy hard across the face. The impact surprises both of us, but it’s enough for him to let go of my arm. I don’t think twice—I scramble back up the stairs as fast as I can, heart pounding out of control.

Behind me, I hear him swear in Russian, his voice dripping with rage.

Shit, shit, shit!

I desperately try to make it back to the bedroom, to lock the door and figure out a plan, but he’s too fast. His hand clamps around my ankle, yanking me down the stairs. My body slams against each step, the pain sharp and jarring, knocks the wind out of me. I barely have time to scream before he grabs my arm again, thistime so hard it feels like he’s going to rip it right out of the socket.

I cry out, panic flooding my brain. I thrash and kick, trying to fight him off until cold metal presses against my throat.

“Stop,” he growls, his voice rough and menacing. I feel the unmistakable shape of a gun barrel digging into my skin. I stop struggling, my body trembling, breath shallow and quick.

“Little neighbor slut,” he sneers in my ear. My stomach twists in horror—he knows I’m Melor’s neighbor which means he likely knows exactly where I live.

I’m frozen, completely at his mercy and terrified of what’s going to happen next.

“Stop fighting or you are dead,” the man hisses in my ear, his heavy Russian accent making the threat sound even more intimidating. I’m shaking, heart pounding, as I try to stay as still as possible.

Suddenly, a gunshot rings out, sharp and deafening. My blood runs cold.

The man drags me into the kitchen.My feet stumble, and I’m desperately trying to keep my balance as my body tenses with fear. When we enter the kitchen, my eyes go wide—there’s a body on the floor.

But it’s not Melor.

A pool of blood is slowly spreading beneath the man lying motionless on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. My stomach churns, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. The metallic scent of blood fills the air, and I can’t tear my eyes away from the scene.

“Melor!” the man holding me shouts, his voice frantic now. “I’ve got your little whore. Come out now, or I’ll kill her!”

His grip tightens, his panic practically vibrating off of him. I can tell he’s losing control, and that terrifies me even more. He’s scared and desperate, which means he might actually do something crazy. My chest tightens as I struggle to stay calm, but the fear is overwhelming.

Finally, Melor steps into the room, his presence somehow both calm and sinister. He’s got his gun trained on the man holding me, blocking the only way out.

The man tightens his grip, yanking me closer and pressing the cold barrel of his gun harder into my neck. I wince, crying out as the metal digs into my skin.

“I’ll shoot her,” the man growls, his voice shaking a little now, his panic turning to desperation.

Melor’s eyes narrow, his jaw tight, like a predator sizing up his prey. “Think carefully. You know who I am,” he says. “I may be out of the life but trust me—I won’t forget this.”

The man behind me shifts nervously, the panic rising in his voice. “I’ll kill her, and then you!”

My pulse races and I can barely breathe. Melor doesn’t even flinch. His grip tightens on the gun, and I can see the tension in his muscles as he shifts his weight, like he’s getting ready to move.

Is he going to shoot?

I’m about to find out.