head as I tried to think. Who was coming? Who was this guy? If he was one of the traffickers who tried to kill me two weeks ago, why would he tell me to run?
Quiet footsteps on the front porch and scratching against the door signaled the arrival of help. Thank heavens. I had no idea what to do with this beast when he woke up.
Nana padded in from the kitchen.
“Stay back.” I finally caught a full breath. It was over. The police could help us sort this out and we were safe.
I pushed off the floor, a sticky red substance clinging to my palm. I wiped it on my pants before realizing it was blood. Gross. “Some guy broke in, but the police are here now.” I turned to the door.
“No,” Nana hollered. I winced. Nana didn’t comprehend volume control, hopefully she wouldn’t wake the unconscious giant. She pointed at my feet. “That’s Sham and the police wouldn’t be picking our lock. Get over here.”
I could see the lock turning. Nana was right. The police would pound on the door and announce their presence. My heart rate increased again as I realized we were definitely not safe. I ran the few steps to Nana’s side. But wait, what about Sham? I turned back to him as the door burst open and several men spilled into the dimly lit room. Nana grabbed my arm. She pulled me through the kitchen and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind us. And here I was thinking I needed to protect her.
Nana struggled with an oak dresser, her yellow mumu fluttering around her like an angry bee trying to move its hive. I threw my shoulder against the dresser. Wood scraped against wood as it slid across the floor and banged into the door. I pushed Nana down and dropped to her side, wedging my feet against the bedframe and my back against the dresser. The drawer handles gouged my back, but I ignored the discomfort and pushed harder. They were not getting through this door.
They jiggled the door handle and hammered on the door. We didn’t budge. Nana’s face was covered with sweat and distorted with effort. “Keep pushing,” I begged.
My heart beat in sync with the men’s fists on the door. I pulled my phone from my bra. The 9-1-1 operator was calling out to me.
“There are more men in my house and a good guy has been shot. Where are the police?” I yelled over the noise.
“They’re coming.”
I tossed the phone onto the bed and strained against the dresser. Hopefully it was my imagination, but I could’ve sworn it was moving. How long could we hold them off? Should we abandon the dresser and try to climb through Nana’s window? What were they doing to poor Sham? If only I’d recognized him. But why was Sham here and not in Mexico helping my father protect children?
A barrage of bullets assaulted the bedroom door. I hit the floor, pulling Nana down with me. The dresser banged into us. I forced myself to sit up and dig my feet in again. My legs were cramping and my back ached but I wasn’t about to give up.
“Stop shooting my house,” Nana yelled over the noise.
“They’re going to kill us! Who cares about the house?”
Nana studied me like it was the last time she might see me breathing. “I won’t let them kill you.”
I just stared. We both knew who they were after, but she was crazy thinking she could protect me. These men worked for the jerks who had murdered my mother, repeatedly tried to kill my father, and two weeks ago almost succeeded in taking me out at the St. George Marathon. They weren’t going to listen to an old woman or be sweet-talked by her famous snickerdoodles.
The dresser moved another few inches. I didn’t dare make a sprint for the window and hope Nana could follow. I had to focus on keeping her safe until the police got here. I pushed—legs quivering, wood digging into my back, the floor getting sticky with my sweaty palms. The ugly barrel of a gun inched through a hole they’d made in the wall.
“Nana!” I screamed, knocking her to the floor as they started shooting
Quiet footsteps on the front porch and scratching against the door signaled the arrival of help. Thank heavens. I had no idea what to do with this beast when he woke up.
Nana padded in from the kitchen.
“Stay back.” I finally caught a full breath. It was over. The police could help us sort this out and we were safe.
I pushed off the floor, a sticky red substance clinging to my palm. I wiped it on my pants before realizing it was blood. Gross. “Some guy broke in, but the police are here now.” I turned to the door.
“No,” Nana hollered. I winced. Nana didn’t comprehend volume control, hopefully she wouldn’t wake the unconscious giant. She pointed at my feet. “That’s Sham and the police wouldn’t be picking our lock. Get over here.”
I could see the lock turning. Nana was right. The police would pound on the door and announce their presence. My heart rate increased again as I realized we were definitely not safe. I ran the few steps to Nana’s side. But wait, what about Sham? I turned back to him as the door burst open and several men spilled into the dimly lit room. Nana grabbed my arm. She pulled me through the kitchen and into her bedroom, slamming the door behind us. And here I was thinking I needed to protect her.
Nana struggled with an oak dresser, her yellow mumu fluttering around her like an angry bee trying to move its hive. I threw my shoulder against the dresser. Wood scraped against wood as it slid across the floor and banged into the door. I pushed Nana down and dropped to her side, wedging my feet against the bedframe and my back against the dresser. The drawer handles gouged my back, but I ignored the discomfort and pushed harder. They were not getting through this door.
They jiggled the door handle and hammered on the door. We didn’t budge. Nana’s face was covered with sweat and distorted with effort. “Keep pushing,” I begged.
My heart beat in sync with the men’s fists on the door. I pulled my phone from my bra. The 9-1-1 operator was calling out to me.
“There are more men in my house and a good guy has been shot. Where are the police?” I yelled over the noise.
“They’re coming.”
I tossed the phone onto the bed and strained against the dresser. Hopefully it was my imagination, but I could’ve sworn it was moving. How long could we hold them off? Should we abandon the dresser and try to climb through Nana’s window? What were they doing to poor Sham? If only I’d recognized him. But why was Sham here and not in Mexico helping my father protect children?
A barrage of bullets assaulted the bedroom door. I hit the floor, pulling Nana down with me. The dresser banged into us. I forced myself to sit up and dig my feet in again. My legs were cramping and my back ached but I wasn’t about to give up.
“Stop shooting my house,” Nana yelled over the noise.
“They’re going to kill us! Who cares about the house?”
Nana studied me like it was the last time she might see me breathing. “I won’t let them kill you.”
I just stared. We both knew who they were after, but she was crazy thinking she could protect me. These men worked for the jerks who had murdered my mother, repeatedly tried to kill my father, and two weeks ago almost succeeded in taking me out at the St. George Marathon. They weren’t going to listen to an old woman or be sweet-talked by her famous snickerdoodles.
The dresser moved another few inches. I didn’t dare make a sprint for the window and hope Nana could follow. I had to focus on keeping her safe until the police got here. I pushed—legs quivering, wood digging into my back, the floor getting sticky with my sweaty palms. The ugly barrel of a gun inched through a hole they’d made in the wall.
“Nana!” I screamed, knocking her to the floor as they started shooting
Similar Books
