Chapter 5

FIVE

Laura

H is footprints faded as the seconds ticked by, and despair welled up in my chest.

But I was alive.

Maybe my family survived too. I had to find out.

An acrid smell assaulted my nose, and I scraped my fingers across my face, gathering the goop the man had smeared on me, trying to figure out what it was.

My stomach churned as I heard him moving around the next room, wondering if it was one of Massimo's men or if he'd actually come back for me.

An old-fashioned-looking gas mask had obscured his face, painted with a worn, fiery bird across the forehead. He didn't look like one of Massimo's sharply attired henchmen.

Excruciating pain shot through me as I struggled to shift. With a weak groan, I forced myself to sit upright while my muscles trembled with effort. My vision swam, and I blinked hard to clear it. That was when I saw it—beneath the ripped white dress, there was a red-glazed hole in my chest.

Fuck.

Massimo shot me.

He fucking shot me.

Pain flooded my senses as I pressed my hand to the floor and pushed myself forward an inch. I had to get out.

Tears wet my cheeks with every tiny movement, the searing sensation in my chest winding me.

Unless Massimo had caught a lung.

No, Laura, stop. One thing at a time. Get out.

I hauled myself to my bedroom, thick black smoke creeping in through my doorway.

‘No,' I whispered, panic rising.

I needed to move faster.

But my body was weak, exhaustion making my limbs uncooperative. I'd lost too much blood. It caked my torso, seeped between my fingers, and pooled around my thighs on the bathroom floor. Still, it leaked from my chest as I dragged myself forward, leaving a trail behind me.

The air in the room grew hot and thick, making my lungs ache with every breath.

The carpet grazed at my knees with each of my shuddering movements.

Bright orange flames hurried around my door frame, eagerly dancing their way into my room.

Smoke stung at my eyes, and I swiftly diverted my slow course towards one of the open windows. Through quivering sobs, I swallowed down a scream as I weakly grabbed the window frame and propelled myself forward, desperate to draw in the cool, fresh air.

Looking down, I realised the only way out was to throw myself onto the tarmac below.

My entire body protested as I pressed the flesh of my palms into the window sill and hoisted myself up onto the edge.

I was ready to jump when I caught a flicker of movement at the edge of my vision. The masked man was swinging a leg over a motorbike and kicking it into gear..

‘Please, help me,' I called, my voice lost over the roar of the growing fire.

A cry rang out, and Bill raced toward the bike, brandishing a huge set of gardening shears.

No.

Bill, hide.

But it was too late. The masked man swerved, his bike skidding out from beneath him. Bill rushed him, the shears open wide.

Sweat dampened my back from the inferno behind me, as I watched the masked man fight him off.

The crack of Bill's neck echoed loud enough for me to make it out over the fire, the masked man's hands jutting his neck harshly to the right. His body crumpled to the ground. A gasp tore from me, my bloody hand coming up to my mouth.

The man humphed Bill over his shoulder before looking back at the house, his eyes seemingly meeting mine through the circular windows of his mask. He carried Bill as easily as if he were a child, his thick arm slung around Bill's limp thighs.

He came back into the house.

Fear warred with hope.

There were only two options; he'd save me or kill me .

My room was half ablaze, my suitcases melting as the fire greedily devoured them.

Massimo's letters curled and blackened on my bed, my mother's false words burning away by the second. The window beckoned me. If I didn't survive the fall, I could only hope it would be a quicker death than being burnt alive on my bedroom floor.

With a grunt, I gathered my remaining strength and hauled myself up onto the windowsill, wincing as the strain brought a dizzying wave of pain that made my head spin.

My arms trembled as I tried to force myself the last few inches out the window, fear crippling my efforts.

A crash nearby had me glancing over my shoulder.

He was by the bed, throwing Bill's body at my feet.

I hesitated on the edge. Would he help me, or should I take my chance with the drop?

He didn't give me a second to think about it. Yanking me back into the room, he pressed me to his chest and scooped me up. The flames licked at my skin as he ran back through my home, the walls no longer any shade of white, but a mix of orange and yellow and black.

And red.

So much red.

The tears tumbled afresh as we burst out into the evening.

‘Thank you,' I mumbled. ‘I need to call the police. He killed my family.'

The masked man neither stopped nor answered me.

‘Please? I need your help.'

My head spun as I tried to focus on his face, my eyes itching with the effort.

He righted his bike with one hand before sitting me over the saddle.

‘No,' I said, shaking my head. ‘Put me down.'

But I had no fight left to give.

He forced a helmet over my face, my hair obscuring my vision.

‘Stop!'

I tried to shout, but my voice failed me, and all that emerged was a crackled whisper.

The bike roared as he took his place behind me, something tightening around my stomach and holding me to him.

I wanted to fight the wave of black that tore over me, but it drew me into the darkness.

Alone.