“Why were you in my house?” the raspy, angered voice asked. “You shouldn’t have been there. It’s not as it seemed.”
Sarah shook her head, pressed her palms flat against the floor and scooted away. The back of her skull felt wet. A sharp pain pulsated through her head. Her vision had a slight haze to it, making it challenging to see, but she recognized the voice.
“Mr. Johnson?” Sarah asked in a weakened tone. “What happened at your home? Did something happen to Mrs. Johnson?”
She reached behind her back for the Glock.
He lifted the pistol and trained it at her head.
Sarah froze and held her hands up in front of her.
Mr. Johnson took a step inside the doorway, drawing closer to her. The tiny shards of glass crunched on his boots. He looked to the driveway for a second, then back to her.
Sarah shielded her face and scooted away. She glanced at the floor around her, spotting the shotgun near the laundry room. It sat within reach.
“It was an accident. It shouldn’t have happened, but you know how she could be,” Mr. Johnson said, towering over Sarah. “She wouldn’t stop. I didn’t want to hurt her, but she left me no choice. This isn’t my fault.”
Sarah drifted away from him, inching closer to the shotgun. “Did you… kill Mrs. Johnson?”
Mr. Johnson sniffled, then adjusted his grip on the pistol he had trained at her. The back of his hand wiped under his nose. “I am sorry, Sarah. I didn’t want to have to do this, but you–”
A single gunshot rang out from behind Mr. Johnson. The lone bullet punched through his torso. He dipped his chin and stared at the blood soaking through his shirt. Two more rounds popped off, one right after the other, hammering his back. His body shuddered from the impact.
Mr. Johnson lowered the pistol, then dropped to his knees. A blank expression washed over his face as he fell forward and hit the floor near her feet.
A man stood outside in the driveway, wearing a suit similar to the armed men in the SUV who had chased her down earlier. A thin trail of smoke escaped the barrel of his heater. He lowered his arm down to his side and walked toward the French doors.
Sarah gasped, then went for the Glock stowed in the waistband of her jeans. She pulled the Glock and brought it to bear as a plastic bag slipped over her head.
The plastic sucked into her mouth. She kicked her legs in every direction and reached back to grab her attacker with her free hand. Panic swallowed her whole. Fear tore through Sarah as she dropped the Glock and clawed the bag.
The person behind Sarah clutching the thick plastic dragged her away from the light and into the dark recesses of the living room. Her fingernail dug into the material of the bag around her mouth. It ripped through, allowing her to breathe.
The distorted image of the man standing beyond the French doors walked through the opening and faded into the darkness. She couldn’t hear any other sounds except for the hard pants fleeing her mouth.
“What the hell are you doing? Remove that bag from her head. We need her alive, you idiot,” an angry voice said in a sharp, curt tone.
The tight hold on the bag lessened. Her shoulders dropped to the floor. She pulled the plastic from her head and gasped for fresh air.
Sarah rolled to her side and brought her knees to her chest. She coughed a few times and squinted–pushing the fearful tears through each closed lid.
Footfalls sounded all around her. She couldn’t tell or guess how many lurked near her. Maybe three or even four, but she didn’t know for sure.
“Who the hell was that guy?” a familiar voice asked from the living room, one that she struggled placing in that tense moment.
“Don’t know, but he’s no longer a problem,” the man standing in the hallway before Sarah replied.
It took her a moment to gather her thoughts and place the voices with the names. Leatherface and Bryce.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SARAH
The walls closed in around her, making her feel helpless and trapped.
Sarah sat up and pressed her hands to the floor. She turned her head toward Leatherface who towered over Mr. Johnson’s corpse.
“Looks like you should thank me for saving your life,” he said, nudging Mr. Johnson’s side with his shoe. “One more second and he might’ve shot you dead, and we couldn’t have that.”
“The house is clear. There’s no one else here, sir,” a strong, stern voice said from behind her.
“Good. Head outside and make sure we don’t have any other uninvited guests dropping in,” Bryce replied.
Light flooded through the living room from the open door. When it slammed closed behind Bryce’s man, the gleam remained, washing over the walls and floor.
Sarah turned and looked to the living room that had sun blasting through the open blinds. Bryce sat on her parents’ couch with one other man standing close to him.
“I must say, Mrs. Cage, you have been a rather large thorn in my side,” Bryce said, perturbed. “Not only have you and that weasel, Spencer Lasater, cost me valuable time, money, and man power, you have damaged my business relationship with Valintino.”
Leatherface walked away from Mr. Johnson and grabbed Sarah by the arm. He jerked her from the floor to her feet. She looked at the scared and damaged skin on the side of his face. He had some new gashes above his brow and on the side of his head.
“Yeah. That piece of trash is going to pay for his betrayal,” Leatherface said, sounding more beast than man. “We’ll have his head as soon as we conclude our
