Page 89 of Vetted for Vengeance
I can’t…
The rope leash digs tightly into my throat, held firm by the man behind me.
“You took the dogs, Noah.” The voice is the same as the man on the phone. “You took the dogs, which means you took the debt.”
“I…” My voice is a breathless croak. My foot lashes out as I collapse, but I don't register whether I hit him.
“You keep paying, or I'll come back. I’ll come for you. I'll come for your friends and your parents. Do you understand?”
I nod frantically as I try gasping. His words barely filter through my panic; I'll agree to anything to get air again.
Suddenly, the guy disappears backwards. Not in the way a man would withdraw after giving his message, but more how side characters disappear in alien horror films. There one second. Gone the next.
I scramble to free myself, numb fingers fighting with the noose, before that eventual breath of delicious air.
I'm on my feet before they are completely ready to support me, but I'm not staying down until I know I'm safe.
Outside the kitchen doorway where I nearly died, two bodies are scrapping on the floor.
Rhys.
He and my stalker are scrapping like puppies, equal in size and ability.
I've had to separate fighting pups almost daily for nearly a decade, and somehow my brain thinks this is the same. Overconfidence mixed with oxygen deprivation has me bulldozing between them as if I can separate two six-foot guys as easily as seven-week-old puppies.
Walk in, push them apart and tap the naughty pups on their noses.
Somehow it works; both men fall apart. Rhys holds his nose as I turn to him, panting from the effort.
“Did you slap me?” He frowns, stunned.
“Just booped you. I'm sorry,” I mutter, looking down. But I'm not looking at the hand that booped him on the nose. I'm looking at the other hand. The one that slapped my stalker…
And the red brick held tightly.
“I'm sorry,” I glance back at Rhys. “I moved your brick.”
He stands quickly. He doesn't hug me; he moves me aside and checks on the intruder lying flat on his back, unconscious from taking a brick to the face.
“I didn't mean to move it.”
“Noah,” Rhys turns back to me. “I don't care about the brick. I care about you.”
His fingers ghost across my throat, where it burns with phantom pain from the rope. “I'll take care of him. I'll make sure no one ever finds him. He will never hurt you again.”
His palm cups my cheek, encouraging my gaze to meet his.
“Thank you,” I croak.
He nods.
That is as far as his plan goes.
Instead of slipping out to take care of things, the barn door bursts open and Danielle runs in.
“Is everyone okay? We heard…” She looks down at the body. “Oh God. What happened?”
“Do you have a phone? We need an ambulance and the police.” Rhys calls, his plan changing in a heartbeat. “Noah’s been attacked.”
