Page 83 of Daddy's Bodyguard

I grab my phone and hide on the other side of the bed. I don’t know where is safest. I manage to get under the bed, despite the claustrophobia that comes with it. The space is too small, making the stifling feeling even worse. But when the bedroom door flies open, I immediately forget that fear. There’s someone in the room with me, someone more threatening than my fear of confined spaces.

A hand pulls my ankle, and my reflexes chip in. I give a hard kick with my free foot and hear a responding whimper.

“It’s me, Sofia!” Scarlett whispers.

Pushing myself from under the bed, I meet my stepmother’s anxious face. She’s paler than normal, lips trembling. “They’re here. They’re everywhere!”

Another round of gunshots goes off, sounding closer than the ones before. Scarlett screams. I push her into the closet and shut the door. Taking a deep breath, I fight the queasiness in my system. This isn’t the time to give in to terror. I need to remain focused to make it out alive.

“They’re in the house, Sofia!” Scarlett grabs my arms, her nails catching on my skin. “They’re wearing masks, and their guns are bigger— oh, Sofia, I don’t want to die!”

I give her a rough shake, hoping she’ll snap out of her hysteria. But she’s still a shaking, blubbering mess. “Scarlett, I need you to relax, okay. Losing control won’t help us one bit. Where’s my dad?”

Scarlett huffs, still sniffling. “Your dad said … he said he has to end it.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

When she shakes her head, I open the closet door and peek out. The house sounds quiet. There’s either death or victory beyond these doors, but either way, I need to find out what’s going on and ensure my father’s okay. I get out of the closet and tell Scarlett to call 911. She grabs at me again, her nails digging into my skin, but I shake her off.

“Stay here. Keep the door locked. Don’t come out until it’s safe.”

“Stay with me! I need you here,” she whispers.

I shut the door as she bursts into a fitful of sobs. I ignore the anxiety it triggers, then push away from the closet. I stumble over my own feet in my hurry to get to the door.

Come on, Sofia. Come on.

I make it to the door and realize exactly how useless I am. 911 will take too long. Calling anyone will take too long. I hear someone curse in Spanish, then there’s a splintering sound, like a door is being kicked down.

What was it Jasper said?

Everything is a weapon if you know how to use it? Well, I don’t know how to use shit. But I bite. I scratch. And I had a good arm once. I played softball in high school. That has to come in handy. Right?

I move along the wall, trying not to make a sound. Spotting a velvet rope used to tie back the curtains on the landing, I reach for it and wrap it around my hand. It’s something. Not much against a gun, but I don’t have a knife. I grab a hanger, too, then I pause and listen for footsteps.

“Here! Aqui! Aqui!”

My bowels loosen at the sound. Fuck. They found Dad. They found him. God, I can’t let them hurt him!

I sink to the floor and crawl to the banister, looking downstairs. I see my dad thrown on the ground in front of the fireplace. Four guys stand around him. No sign of Kingston, but I see Cash’s limp body on the ground, blood pouring out of him. Holy shit. We’re definitely fucked. There’s no victory, only death.

“I’m not giving him what he wants,” Dad says. “You’ll kill us anyway.”

Thank goodness I’m behind the thugs, and that their attention is fixed on my father. I take the opportunity to crawl down the stairs, hiding behind the couch until I get to Cash. I pull his shirt open and see he has a bulletproof vest on. I drop my weapons and try to find where he’s bleeding from.

His arm … his leg. And his lower abdomen. I toss the hanger, and I push on him, just like Jasper showed me way back when. Cash gasps, then opens his eyes to stare at me. I put one bloody finger to my lips, telling him to shush. He looks past me, then reaches for his gun.

“Where’s Kingston?” he whispers.

“No clue.” I whisper back. “Scarlett is safe. They have my dad and-”

“Hide.” He shoves me, and I force myself to fit under the side table.

Releasing soft breaths, and with pain stamped on his face, he pushes up on his knees, lifts his gun and gets two shots off. But his injury prevents him from ducking fast enough. I cover my mouth as he goes down in front of me and try to squirm away from the spreading blood.

“Donde está tu hija?” One man demands.

“I don’t know where she is!” Dad yells.