Do or Die (Fight or Flight #4)

by Jamie Canosa

  The corner cushion on the couch embraced her like an old friend. Too bad she couldn’t pack that to take along. Ashlyn pulled her favorite throw blanket into her lap and began folding it. A cinnamon candle soon joined it on the coffee table. Followed by her pillow, and a stack of clothes and undergarments. She was rooting under the sink for a garbage bag to stuff it all into when the doorknob jiggled.

  About time. He was only half an hour late. Tank’s head tipped as she turned to let Mason know what she thought about his tardiness, but the door caught on the deadbolt. Did he forget his key? He hadn’t used it in a while. Maybe he lost it?

  “I’m coming.” Tank scrambled ahead of her, barking the whole way. “You excited to see him?”

  She flipped the lock and opened the door, but all that greeted her was a warm breeze. Ashlyn stepped out onto the porch. Harrison sat alone in the driveway.

  “Huh. Must have been the wind.” Tank followed her out. He sniffed the air and his ears flattened. “Don’t worry. He’s coming.”

  Shooing the dog in ahead of her, Ashlyn paused behind the door with her hand on the lock. The wind. It must have been the wind. Or her imagination. Or maybe she was just getting paranoid.

  Her cellphone sat on the coffee table. Since Mason had answered it, the thing hadn’t rung once. Ashlyn picked it up and powered on the screen to check the time. Quarter to six, it must have been a hell of a meeting. She scrolled through her contacts and brought up Mason’s number. Maybe she should call. Just to check in.

  “No.” Giving herself a mental shake, Ashlyn powered off her phone and shoved it in her pocket. “This is stupid.”

  She wasn’t the kind of girl that called in reinforcements just because she heard a strange noise. Knowing Mason, he’d probably demand that she go back to the hotel immediately. Or buy her a whole pack of guard dogs. Maybe a bodyguard. No, she was fine on her own. Or . . . with Tank, anyway.

  Ashlyn patted her leg, hoping to lure him closer, but the dog was distracted, pacing around the living room, into the kitchen, and back again.

  “Screw it.” She grabbed a plastic bag and headed to the living room. She’d pack up her stuff and go back to Mrs. Florence’s house. Mason could find her—

  A loud crash sounded in the guest bedroom—breaking glass—and a vicious growl tore from Tank’s throat. The beast Ashlyn had imagined him to be emerged. Fur all along his spine rose, lips curling back to expose sharp teeth, and he bolted down the hallway.

  “Tank! No!” This was his job—the whole point of having him—but now that it was happening, Ashlyn couldn’t bear to watch him face danger to protect her. “Stop!”

  She chased him, but the dog barreled into Mason’s room without the slightest hesitation. Ashlyn froze as Tank’s deep bark rolled through the walls and rattled her bones. Someone shouted. Terror coated all rational thoughts.

  Someone was in her house.

  Ashlyn backed away, heart hammering against her breastbone, and stumbled through her bedroom door.

  There were sounds of a scuffle. Angry words.

  She shut the door and leaned against it, quick, shallow breaths making her head spin. Why hadn’t she gone out the front door? Gotten in her car?

  Stupid.

  Maybe it wasn’t too late. She swiped her sweaty palms on her pant legs. Maybe Tank could keep whoever it was busy while she—

  A muted crack was followed by a yelp and then everything fell quiet. Ashlyn’s breath caught in her throat. The crunch of glass echoed in the silence and footsteps moved into the hall.

  Too late. Her vision dimmed.

  Think, dammit. Don’t panic.

  She had a window, but the useless thing had been painted shut when she moved in. Her father had offered to fix it, but she’d declined. Stupid. Stupid. She couldn’t make a single good decision and it was going to be the death of her.

  The carpet absorbed her footsteps as she backed away from the door. It wasn’t over yet. She still had options. She could fight. A quick scan of the room revealed a silver plated hair brush to be her best option for a weapon. So, maybe fighting was out, but she could. . . Her gaze landed on the closet door. It would be a tight fit, but she could manage.

  With her knees folded against her chest and her arms pinned to her sides, Ashlyn was able to squeeze in and the slide the door shut. Pitch darkness brushed along her skin, sending an icy shudder trickling down her spine. She was trapped.

  “Please.” Ashlyn shut her eyes and the words formed silently on her lips. Please don’t let this be the worst decision I’ve ever made.

  Thoughts tangled around one another like a bowl of spaghetti. Who was out there? What did he want? What would he do if he found her? A quiet whimper pressed against her lips.

  A voice called her name, muffled by distance and doors. He knew she was there. He was taunting her. Hunting her.

  What would happen if Mason came home and he was still in the house?

  Mason . . . she had to warn him.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Mason

  Christ that woman could talk. A meeting he’d expected to last no more than an hour had dragged on for three. Mason glanced at the clock in the lobby of the courthouse and uttered a curse. It was after six o’clock already. Ashlyn would be at the house. Without him.

  “Are you going back to the hotel?” Em rubbed at her bloodshot eyes. She and Jay had been at the courthouse even longer than he had. The trial was set to start in a week. It was crunch time.

  “Ashlyn’s picking up a few things from the house. I’m headed there now.”

  Jay’s arms slid around Em’s waist from behind and propped his chin on her shoulder. They both looked weary. “You sure that’s a good idea? Going back to the house when the trial’s about to start.”

  The timing wasn’t ideal, but Ashlyn was wrestling more than one demon. The best he could do was watch her back and make sure one didn’t attack while she battled another. “We won’t be there long.”

  The theme song to the Flintstones echoed from the stone walls and Em laughed as Mason wrestled his phone from his pocket. Ashlyn was calling.

  “Hey. Sorry, the meeting ran late and I—”

  “He’s here, Mason.” Her harsh whisper drew his feet to a dead stop.

  “Who’s there?”

  “I don’t know. I . . . Someone broke in. I’m hiding in the closet, but I—”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “No. No. I . . .”

  She panicked. He could hear it in her voice. Jay and Em stood close enough that they’d overheard everything.

  “Call the police,” he told Em. “Send them to Ashlyn’s address. I’m coming,” he assured Ashlyn and his gut tightened at the thought of her huddled somewhere alone and afraid. “I’m on my way. Just—”

  Her frightened yelp stole his breath and he forgot how to reclaim it as a deep male voice filtered down the line. “There you are.”

  “You?”

  “Ashlyn?” No response. “Ash!” The line went dead and Mason nearly dropped the phone from his numb fingers.

  “The police will be there in ten minutes.” Terror shown in Em’s eyes. She knew what Mason knew. Ashlyn didn’t have ten minutes.

  He got two steps toward the door when Jay’s grip on his arm brought him up short. “Wait. You don’t know what you’re walking into.”

  “Get off me.” Mason struggled to free himself.

  “The police are on their way. Let them handle it.”

  “He has her, Jay. He has Ash.” Mason’s teeth ground together. He didn’t have time for this shit. “What if it was Em?”

  Jays gaze drifted to Em and his grip loosened. “Fine. Let's go.”

  Mason broke for the exit and the other two followed.

  On the sidewalk, Jay grabbed Em and hauled her in for a rough kiss. “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

  She nodded like she believed him, but stood with her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she watched them speed away. Jay’s eyes
were pinned to her until they tore from the lot.

  “She’ll be alright.” Mason pressed harder on the gas. The same could not be guaranteed for Ashlyn.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Ashlyn

  “You?” Ashlyn blinked hard, but the image didn’t change.

  “Ashlyn?” Mason’s voice rang with alarm, which only magnified her own. And yet, somehow, it still sounded small. Insignificant. Like the beating of a fly’s wings inside the eye of a tornado. “Ash—”

  The phone was yanked from her fingers and slammed against the wall with enough force to shatter the screen. Ashlyn’s heart jumped, but on the outside she merely cowered as tiny bits of plastic rained down on her. He loomed over her, face masked in shadow, silhouetted by the glow of the setting sun like some kind of avenging angel.

  “Out.” Pain radiated from her upper arm where a crushing grip was exerted to drag her from the closet. Shoes and clothes were swept out along with her and Ashlyn fell to hands and knees amongst the clutter. “Get up.”

  When her shaky legs refused to obey his order, a vicious yank of her hair provided the required motivation. Her mind whirled as she struggled to understand. Everything about this was wrong. Childhood taught us that monsters have claws, and fangs, and glowing red eyes. That danger comes in the form of a stranger in the night. Not like this. Not from someone you’ve known for most of your life. Someone you’ve shared meals, and smiles, and laughter with. Not someone wearing the face of a friend.

  “R-Roger?” But then his face no longer resembled the person she’d called her friend. Bitterness curled his lips and his eyes . . . his eyes were cold, almost hollow. If eyes were the window to the soul then Roger didn’t have one. Ice cold dread slid down Ashlyn’s spine. “W-what’s going on? What are you doing here?”

  “Oh, Ashlyn.” He shook his head almost as though he pitied her. “You really are blonde, aren’t you?”

  What the hell was that supposed to mean? None of this made sense. Where was Tank? “Roger, please—”

  “Please what? What more can I possibly do for you?”

  A thousand needles pricked her scalp as she attempted to break free. “Don’t—”

  “No! It’s my turn to talk and if this is what it takes to get you to listen to me, then so be it. I have asked you please a million times. Please dance with me, Ashlyn. Please have dinner with me. Please notice me. I was polite and respectful, I come from a well-connected family, I have money . . . but no. You were always too damn busy with every other guy in town.”

  “That’s not true,” Ashlyn cried. She took a shaky breath, the ripe scent of fear burning her nostrils. “There weren’t any other—”

  “Don’t lie to me!” His gaze seared her with a hot flash of anger.

  Again Ashlyn struggled to free herself, but he tightened his grip past the point of pain until she cried out. Through the film of tears clouding her eyes she spotted the barrel of a gun tucked into his waistband.

  “Wh-what do you need that for?”

  “This?” Her scalp sang with relief when Roger released, but it was short lived.

  He pulled the weapon free and studied it as though he’d forgotten he had it.

  A truck rattled down the street. Birds chirped along the fence in the backyard. The smell of barbeque swept through the broken window. Outside of that room the world went on blissfully unaware of her circumstances.

  “I’m sorry.” The whispered plea for forgiveness was weak and pathetic. “I’m so sorry, Roger. You’re right. You were right in front of me this whole time and I wasn’t paying attention. I . . . I was rude and d-distracted. But I’m not anymore. It’s just you and me here, now. I see you. I hear you. That’s all you wanted, isn’t it? For someone to pay attention? I get it. I do. I’ve done some . . .” The word crazy sprang to mind, but she bit it back. “. . . desperate things to get attention.”

  “Shut up.”

  But she couldn’t have stopped talking even if she wanted to. Words were her only available resource. They were both her sword and her shield. She couldn’t give them up. “There’s nothing wrong with that, Roger. I understand. It just shows how much you care, right? If you’re willing to do something like this—”

  “I said shut up.” The gun waved wildly in the air and she bit down on her tongue. “We’re going to play a little game, but we’ll have to wait. All the players aren’t here, yet.”

  Mason. The sound of Ashlyn’s racing pulse thrashed in her ears. Pressure built in her chest and dark spots tinged her vision. She realized she wasn’t breathing. Mason was on his way. Rushing right into this mess just like Roger wanted. Because she’d called him.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Mason

  Only Harrison occupied the driveway when they arrived. Maybe her attacker had seen her on the phone and fled? Please, God, don’t let him have taken Ashlyn with him, Mason prayed silently, throwing the car into park.

  “We should—”

  He didn’t have time for Jay’s plans. He needed inside that house. Now. A soft chime spilled into the night air as he bailed from the vehicle, leaving the door open and the keys in the ignition.

  Jay jogged around the side of the house as Mason bounded up the porch steps. A quick glimpse through the front window revealed nothing. He grabbed the handle and pushed, but the door refused to budge and the damn keys were in the car. Shit.

  Aiming high, he planted a solid kick. The frame cracked, but the door stuck. Mason leaned back and kicked again, this time imagining the blank face of the bastard who dared threaten and attack the girl he loved. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell her yet. No way was it ending like this. Come hell or high water, he was getting in that house and he was going to tear the son of a bitch apart with his bare hands.

  The frame splintered and the door blasted open, slamming against the far wall. “Ashlyn!”

  His alarm heightened with every passing moment he didn’t receive a response.

  “Ash—” A dark figure stepped into the hallway.

  Mason peered through the shadows, but the face was impossible to distinguish.

  “Ashlyn? Is that you?”

  The figure drifted closer, eerily quiet. Something wasn’t right. Mason moved deeper into the house, coming to a stop near the back of the couch when the figure stepped into the light. Or figures.

  Ashlyn faced him, wide-eyed and paler than death, but behind her stood another. Someone he vaguely recognized, but couldn’t quite place.

  “Ash?” With just her name, he asked everything he needed to know. Who was this guy? What was going on? Was she in danger? Most importantly, was she hurt?

  “Where are your manners?” Her companion’s voice was high, slightly nasally. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

  “Roger . . . this is Mason. Mason . . . Roger.” The introduction was formal even though she choked on uneven breaths. Her lips were pinched and her pulse fluttered on the side of her neck, but otherwise she appeared unharmed.

  “Are you alright?” Mason glanced behind them, but there was no sign of Jay.

  Ashlyn’s eyes darted down and to the right a couple times. He followed her line of sight, but saw nothing. Where the hell was Jay?

  “She’s fine.” Roger stepped closer, shielding himself with her body as his right hand lifted to press a gun to the side of her neck. “For now.”

  Time froze. The entire goddamn world stopped spinning.

  “No.” He meant it as an order, filled with threat and malice. Instead it fell from his lips as a terrified whisper. A hard swallow lent strength to his voice. “Don’t do this. Please. Just let her go.”

  “Let her go?” Roger’s laughter bordered on maniacal. “That’s exactly what I’ve been doing. For years. You have no idea how hard I’ve tried to let her go. I tried to be her friend. I protected her. Defended her honor. But . . . seeing her with you, watching her let you into her home, her bed . . . I can’t excuse that kind of blatant disregard for my feelings. I’m done
letting her go. She’s mine.”

  Roger leaned forward, the gun digging deeper into Ashlyn’s skin, and her frightened whimper shredded Mason’s soul. “Please . . . take me.”

  “No! Mason, don’t—” Ashlyn’s eyes widened and she tried to step towards him only to be yanked backward against Roger’s chest.

  “Shut up,” Mason snapped, offering her only a glance before returning his attention to Roger, trying his best to bury his fury. “I’m the one that took her from you. Let her go. Take me.”

  Ashlyn Wells didn’t beg. Not her mother or father when they cut her off. Not her boss when she desperately needed the extra hours. Not even the utility companies when they threatened to shut off her power. Not anyone. Ever. But her eyes silently begged him now.

  “Ashlyn,” Roger tisked. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you. I tried to keep things from going this far. For God’s sakes, I bought a gun for you. Do you know where I had to go to get this thing? I hoped the shooting would end with that monstrous truck, but . . .”

  Roger yanked on her hair, eliciting a pained gasp as her head bent back at an awkward angle. Mason’s fingers twitched. If he had that gun there was no doubt in his mind he would have shot the bastard smack in the forehead.

  “No matter. I’ll simply remove the distractions.” Roger’s crazed gaze collided with Mason’s. “Then you’ll see.”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Ashlyn

  “I already took care of that pompous man-slut Preston Harding,” Roger bragged and Ashlyn’s stomach turned over. Preston’s accident hadn’t been an accident at all. He’d nearly died. Roger had nearly killed him. And he didn’t even care.

  “Please, Roger.” The words squeezed past the lump in Ashlyn’s throat. “Please don’t do this. I’m so sorry. You’re right. You deserved better from me. Please.”