Page 74 of Redemption
But of course I don’t.
I’m at a loss. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been so scared before in my life.Mylife is nothing compared to Cece’s and I’ll do anything…anything…
Then I know. The kitchen window can be opened from the outside. I have been meaning to fix it, but it hasn’t been done yet. I just need… I finger my pocket and haul up my keys. Barely breathing, I listen to whatever might come from the inside as I sneak up under the window and start to carve into the lower frame to try to get a grip and get it to swing open. There’s a slight squeak as it does and I still completely, the seconds dragging on, but nothing happens. Then I pull it open further, the warmer air from the inside feels like a caress against my skin as it rushes out through the opening.
I listen.
I hear nothing.
What’s going on?
The feeling of urgency almost chokes me. I try to heave myself up, but my thick jacket gets caught and I shed it quickly, letting it fall to the ground. Then I realize my boots will give me away once I’m inside and kick them off too before I lift my body the rest of the way, dropping first my good foot and then the other to the kitchen floor, pulling the window closed behind me. I can’t have him feel the draft and become suspicious.
Needing something to overpower him with, some leverage, I grab the largest knife out of the collection by the stove. No other is missing, but I have no doubt he brought his own.
God!
I’m stupid!
What if he has a gun? What if he has my shotgun? Why didn’t I bring it with me when I went out?
Squeezing my fingers tightly around the shaft, my hand slick with sweat, I slide across the floor on sock clad feet. I avoid the loose floorboard and stop by the door, pressing myself against the wall as I try not to breathe so hard.
I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.
Every pore exudes it and it pounds within me with every heartbeat. All I see is how I kill him—have to kill him—snatch Cecilia from his sinister grip, and rush to the car never to look back again.
The handle of the knife almost slips out of my sweaty palm and my hand shakes so much that I have to press it to my chest for a moment. I wipe off my palm on my shirt and grip the knife tightly again.
I have to. I must. If I don’t, he’ll kill us. I’m scared. One part of me, deep inside, wonders if I can really kill a human being.
I feel more than hear a faint rustle of fabric in the main room and, having a sense of direction now, I make up my mind. I dash through the room and bury the knife deep in the shoulder of Christian who sits on the floor right next to my child.
She lives!
She cries. Terrified.
I would too withhimnext to me.
But she’s alive!
I throw myself toward the front door and grab the gun that, miraculously enough, still hangs there. But as I move, he moves too, and I realize I’ve made one fatal error as he grabs Cecilia and pulls her into his lap with his good arm, clutching her tightly to his chest. I point the gun at him,them,and try to aim at his head. I tremble so badly I can’t keep the barrel still.
“No, let her go,” I sob.
“I don’t think so,” he counters with a grimace, his upper lip curled with anger.
“Please!” I cry.
It’s not until now that I get to see him clearly for the first time. He’s been but a blur of limbs and hair, but now…
I barely recognize him.
Oh, I do. It’s him. The same high cheekbones, the intensely dark eyes, and the roguish features of his face that still come together as an almost flawless beauty, but his hair is longer; it falls to his shoulders in unruly tresses. There’s blood on his left cheek and in his hair on the same side, and at his left shoulder where my bread knife still protrudes. He’s pale, his face a mask of focus and rage, and his eyes flare dangerously as they meet mine.
Promising me death.
He hugs my baby tighter to him as she twists in his grip. “Shh, Cecilia, it’s all right. Lower the gun, Ker. Look at where you’reaimingfor fuck’s sake.” His voice is commanding, demanding, almost making me want to give in. Because I think I’ll faint soon anyway.