"What the fuck is taking so long?" the guy muttered, more to himself than to me.
My gaze was darting wildly around, from his slitted eyes to the darkened yard. Had they broken the light? Or maybe they hadn't needed to. It's not like I'd checked to make sure it still had a bulb. Shit, did it even matter? Whether by accident or design, the front yard was darker than I'd ever seen it.
From the street, we'd be practically invisible. In fact, we'd probably be invisible from ten feet away. A trickle of sweat dripped down the side of my face, making me long to wipe it away. But I couldn’t wipe it away. I couldn’t do anything. Not yet.
After who knows how long, headlights appeared at the end of the driveway. They grew brighter and brighter, until in my peripheral vision, I saw a dark sedan ease into the driveway and stop just a few feet from where we lay on the walkway.
My breathing was nearly out of control, and I felt like I was drowning in adrenalin and raw panic. No matter what, I couldn't let them take me into that vehicle.
Chapter 52
I realized I was trembling. The driver's side door opened, and the other guy got out, the ski mask still in place. He stood in the driveway looking over at us like he had all the time in the world.
The guy on top of me called out to him. "C'mon, move it, will ya?"
Holding something that looked like a tire iron, the guy held up a hand as if signaling for a brief delay. He then crouched down to inspect the front tire on the driver's side.
"Fuck the tire," the guy on top of me said. "C'mon! Jesus."
Ignoring his partner, the guy circled around to the passenger's side. He leaned over to inspect the other front tire. With a muttered curse, the guy above me sat up, his hand still pressed to my mouth, but the knife blissfully gone from my neck. I gasped for air as he craned his neck to see what the other guy was doing.
This was my chance. It might be my only one. Slowly, I made a fist with my right hand. I braced myself. Then, without warning, the guy flew off of me, almost like he'd been jerked on a string. Free from his mass, I bolted upright, gasping for air.
What I saw in front of me made me gasp for a different reason. I didn't scream for help, because almost by divine intervention, it had already arrived. I saw Lawton, his face a study in cold fury, pounding the masked guy with his right fist while he held his neck with his left.
He hadn't even bothered to remove the guy's mask. The guy, whoever he was, was bucking wildly, clutching at his throat with both hands and twisting from side to side as if trying to worm away from the attack.
Almost too late, I noticed the second masked man striding toward us. The tire iron was nowhere in sight, but his destination was obvious. I jumped to my feet, hollering out, "Lawton! Behind you!"
Lawton whipped his head around to spot the guy behind him, but he did nothing to change position or defend himself from the coming attack. Instead, he turned back around toward the guy on the ground and delivered a vicious series of punches that had him flopping around like a rag doll.
Before I knew it, the second guy had a forearm around Lawton's neck. He yanked him backward, pulling him off the first guy, who, I vaguely realized, was no longer moving. Finally, Lawton acted. He broke free of the second guy's grasp, then barreled hard into him, sending them both rolling across the grass.
I looked wildly around and spotted the knife lying just inches from my feet. I scooped it up and charged, screaming all the pent-up rage and helplessness I'd felt just a few minutes earlier. With a final shriek, I leapt forward, knife raised, frantically looking for the best place to strike at the masked assailant.
His neck. His leg. Wherever. The guy was a big target. Maybe if I just started slashing, I'd hit something. When he bolted to his feet, dragging Lawton with him, I finally saw my chance.
With a guttural cry I struck out, aiming for the guy's forearm. What I got was nothing because with lightning reflexes, a gloved hand closed around my wrist and squeezed hard. The knife fell to the grass with barely a noise.
"Let go of her!" Lawton yelled, his face flushed and his eyes blazing as he faced off against the second assailant.
"For fuck's sake," the guy muttered, releasing my wrist and taking a couple of steps backward, his hands raised.
Lawton rushed to my side. "You okay?" he asked, frantically searching my face and body for clues to my condition.
Nodding, I glanced toward the second assailant.
Lawton turned to the guy. "Take off the mask, will ya? Can't you see you're scaring her?
With a muttered curse, the guy pulled off the ski mask and tossed it to the ground. "I'd have taken it off sooner if she hadn't gone all Norman Bates on me." It was Bishop, Lawton's brother. His short hair was in a spiky disarray as he continued to eye me with undisguised annoyance.
"Norman Bates?" I glared at him. "As in psycho?"
He shrugged. "If the knife fits…"
My hands were shaking, and my head was swimming. There was too much to take in. The guy on the ground was still as death. Bishop was eyeing him with only mild interest. Next to me, Lawton was gripping my hand so tight, it felt like my bones might shatter.
I yanked my hand away, and whirled around to face Bishop. "Why'd you guys attack me? Is this your idea of a joke?"
