Page 20 of Undying Resilience

“No, there’s—” My chest squeezes as the man steps through the door.

“Put the phone down,” he snaps. There’s a gun in his hand now.

“Who is that?” Finn demands. “You’re still at home?”

“Now,” the man barks, pulling his shoulders back and standing at his full height—which is very, very tall.

I drop it just as he slams the door shut.

Finn’s shouting voice sounds from my phone, but I can’t make out what he’s saying.

“What do you want?” Carefully, I back into the kitchen and move around the island so there’s a barrier in between us.

“You’ll do what I say, and you’ll do it without questioning me.”

Like hell I will.

There’s no way he’ll use that gun in here. There’s no silencer attached, and it would be loud enough that half of the people in the building would probably hear and call the authorities. He’d never get away clean.

It’s just an intimidation tactic—much like the ones Thomas uses. Maybe that line of thinking is stupid. But maybe it’s what’s going to get me out of this situation alive.

“You sound a lot like my stepdad,” I say.

The man frowns.

“He thinks he’s a lot scarier than he is, too.”

Enraging my potential kidnapper-slash-murder is probably a bad idea. I think back to last Tuesday, to when Oliver told me I needed to work on my self-preservation instincts.

Fuck, maybe he’s right.

“I don’t have time for this shit,” the man spits out. “You’re coming with me.”

He raises his gun, pointing it directly at my head. I don’t move, instead crossing my arms and leaning against the counter behind me.

Finally—finally—I start to freak out. If he wants me to come with him, then at least he wants me alive. Whoever he is. But what happens after that?

Does he want revenge on the guys? Or is he going to use me as leverage for something? Or is it possibly not connected at all? And how the hell am I going to fight him off?

Rhett has only had the chance to go over basic self-defense moves with me. Going up against a man who looks like he’s an enforcer of some type doesn’t sound smart to me.

Before I can fully figure out what to do, he’s moving toward me, shoving his gun into the waistband of his jeans. Panic floods my system when he pulls a syringe from his coat pocket.

“What is that?”

As he rounds the counter, I back away, grabbing the knife I was planning on using to cut up some vegetables. It goes against the advice Rhett gave me, but I’m counting on this guy wanting to keep me alive.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

“What, you think I’m just going to come willingly?” I make a slash at his arm when he reaches toward me, but I miss.

He grabs his gun again. “Put it down.”

I freeze. Shit. Is he actually going to shoot?

He steps closer, and I realize that I’ve subconsciously lowered the knife a few inches.

Fuck. I have no idea what to do. Maybe I can—