Chapter 1 - The Splintered DoorThe solid oak door didn't just open; it shattered into a million jagged splinters, flying across the bathroom tiles like shrapnel.
I scrambled backward on my heels, whimpering as pain flared through my shattered left arm. My husband, Marcus, stepped through the wreckage. He didn't look like a man; he looked like a predator that had finally cornered its prey. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing thick forearms slick with sweat, and a cruel, vacant grin stretched across his face.
In his right hand, he held a heavy crystal tumbler half-filled with amber whiskey.
"End of the line, little bird," Marcus sneered, taking a slow step toward me. He looked down at my phone clutched tightly in my trembling right hand. "Who were you talking to? Your imaginary rescue squad?"
On the other side of the line, thousands of miles away, my father was listening to every single breath. Eight minutes. I just had to survive eight minutes.
"You're pathetic, Lena," Marcus mocked, tossing the remaining whiskey onto the floor. The glass shattered against the tile right beside my bare feet. "A worthless waitress. No family. No friends. Nobody knows where you are, and nobody gives a damn. I built you, and if I want to break you completely, I have every right."
He lunged forward, his massive hand shooting out to grab me by the throat.
I didn't scream this time. Instead, as his fingers closed around my windpipe, cutting off my air, I looked straight into his bloodshot eyes and whispered the only thought keeping me alive:
"You're already dead."
Marcus laughed, tightening his grip. But before he could squeeze the life out of me, a sound echoed from far down the apartment building hallway.
May you like
It wasn't a knock.
It sounded like a tactical breaching charge.
