Taste (Take It Off #9)(2)
Author: Cambria Hebert

Darkness closed in around the edges of my vision, and I fought it like a little hellcat. I would not pass out. I couldn’t. He depended on me.

“No,” I whispered, my head exploding with pain.

The man advancing on me laughed low. It made my skin crawl.

Another man appeared behind him. He was just as big as his friend.

“You’re going to pay for that, bitch.” The man closest to me promised.

Before I could do anything, he fisted a hand in my hair and dragged me down the stairs.

2

The only light on downstairs was the small one above the stove in the kitchen. While I couldn’t see the intruders that clearly because of their masks and the crappy lighting in here, I was pretty glad they couldn’t see me that well either.

I didn’t want them to see my fear.

The minute someone sensed your fear, things got worse.

After a rough trip down the stairs (I was going to be covered in bruises), I was dragged into the kitchen and shoved at one of the two chairs at the little bistro set in the corner.

“Sit down,” he growled.

Sitting wasn’t really an option with the way he shoved me. I stumbled and fell, the top of my forehead colliding with one of the black wrought iron chairs. I landed on my hands and knees, willing myself to shake off the pain.

Get up, Elle. Get up.

I slapped a palm onto the seat of the chair and hoisted myself up to sit down. I thought longingly of my cell phone, which still was upstairs. I should have listened to my mother.

If I survived this, I was sooo getting a landline. And one of those life alert thingies for old people. And a gun.

Yeah, definitely a gun.

“What do you want?” I asked, dabbing at my forehead that was now bleeding.

Intruder number one dropped the bloody pen on my island—gross—and applied pressure to the hole I gave him in his side.

“We just wanted to talk all nice like,” he said with one of those Jersey accents. “But you didn’t greet us very nice like.”

“If you wanted polite, you should have rang the doorbell,” I snapped.

Intruder number two chuckled from the other side of the island. “She’s a spicy one.”

“Shut it,” intruder one growled. He was wearing a black ski mask, and in the dim lighting I could see that his partner was wearing a blue one.

Both men were wearing black jeans and black jackets. I mean, really, I know they were invading my home and all, but they could have dressed better.

After yelling at Blue Mask, he pulled his hand away from his middle and I saw it was covered in red. I got some sick satisfaction out of that. In fact, it made me feel a little stronger, like I could fight my way out of this.

“You need a Band-Aid boss?” Blue Mask said. Clearly, he wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box.

I couldn’t help it. I snickered.

Black Mask’s shoulders tightened and his eyes swung up to mine. He stared at me for a long, hard second. I got this twisty feeling in my stomach. I shouldn’t have laughed. I’d made him angry.

“Yeah,” he said, not a hint of anger in his tone. “Can you find me a Band-Aid?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Blue Mask said and headed for the stairs.

Panic rose in me again. I didn’t want him up there, but I knew there wasn’t a way to stop him. “Hey,” I said.

He looked at me.

“The first aid kit is under the bathroom sink. First door on the left.”

“Thanks,” he said like we were friends and this wasn’t some weird hostage situation. As soon as he left the room, the man in the black mask backhanded me across the face.

I gasped, my head rotating sharply on my shoulders because of the unexpected strike. The pungent taste of blood covered my tongue when I swallowed. My tooth must have cut into the inside of my lip when he hit me.

I stared up at him, lifting my chin.

“You won’t be laughing when I’m finished with you.”

The adrenaline in my system was starting to die down a bit and I began to shake. Fear crept into my fighter’s attitude.

“Why are you here?” I asked, knowing he wanted more than conversation.

My eyes slid over to my hot tea. Steam was still rising slowly off the top. It seemed like forever since I poured that water. Clearly it had been merely minutes.

Above us, I heard the man in the bathroom. He wasn’t being delicate as he looked for the kit. I knew when I went up there, my bathroom was going to be trashed. I winced at all the noise he was making and bit my lip to hold back a broken sob.

“You’re a personal chef, right?”

“Yes,” I replied, still listening to the ruckus upstairs.

“You work at the White House.”

“Yes,” I said again, distracted. Another loud thump carried to my ears. Geez, how hard was it to reach under the cabinet and pull out the first aid kit?

And then the sound I was dreading most cut through the night. It also cut through my heart. My very bad situation just got worse.

The sound of my crying son, Jack, floated down the steps.

My eyes shot to the man in the black mask. I saw his lips curve into a sadistic smile.

“Please,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t hurt him.”

“What kind of man do you take me for?” he said, but we both knew what kind of man he was.

“Please,” I said again. I wasn’t above begging. It was my son. He was my entire life.

Jack’s crying grew louder, and my stomach tied itself into knots. He was probably wondering where I was, why I wasn’t coming. He probably heard all the noise and was scared to death. Unable to take the torturous thoughts, I leapt out of my chair and ran toward the door.

Asshole was right there, grabbing me back and tossing me into the teetering chair. “You do what I say and no one will get hurt.”

I didn’t believe him, but God help me, I wanted to.

I swallowed down the sob stretching out my windpipe.

Jack’s crying abruptly stopped, and I began to panic. “Just let me go check on him,” I entreated.

He laughed. “Maybe wondering what the hell is going on up there with my partner and your kid will make you more agreeable.”

“Just tell me what you want!” I shouted, tears pricking the backs of my eyes.

I judged the distance between the man and the door, considering my chances of running for it.

“Don’t even think about it, bitch,” he said, reading my thoughts.

Tears rolled down my cheeks and I wiped them away quickly. When I pulled my hand back, I noticed there was some blood mixed in. I dabbed at my forehead again, noting it was still bleeding, trickling down the side of my face.