The Expansion of the Universe

Fifty-Three | "We've gotta go."

Liza had been left with a multitude of emotions after the plane crash.

The greatest emotion was fear. Terror for what had happened to her coworkers and friends. Horror for how close she had been to death. Fear, every day, in every situation, thanks to the PTSD and other issues she had been given as a result of Mitchell's careless actions combined with terrible weather.

Sorrow was immense, as well. Sadness that soaked her every time she thought about the lives lost, and the families irreversibly changed by death. And, selfishly, the time she had lost being stuck inside her condo.

Then, there was shame. Shame, because she felt as though she was valuing her own inconveniences over the lives that were no more—lives of women, men, and children. Lives of her friends. Further shame for how poorly she was recovering, and how she worried that she was disrespecting those who had died by remaining sheltered in her condo, unable to work past her many mental problems.

But one emotion she had not experienced in great amount was that of anger. Certainly, she'd been hit by the feeling before, in small doses, like when Carson Pierce had shown up on her porch, with his own fury directed at her.

Now, however . . . now, she felt it in her every fiber, creeping up her spine and spreading to the tips of her fingers.

Who in hell did this asshole think he was, to come here and enter her house—her one true safe place?

Bastard.

Liza was enraged.

She gripped the hammer so tightly her knuckles turned white, and shut her eyes as she tried to rein her anger in, so as to stay focused on the task at hand—survival. Every time she heard a loud thud, she grimaced, knowing it was Carson and his lackey tearing apart her condo as they sought out her hiding place.

Eventually, they would enter her bedroom, then her bathroom, where they would find her, and she truly would have no choice except to fight like hell.

Cracking open her eyes just a bit, she looked to Milo, who was focused entirely on the bathroom door, his feet spread apart and his back arched. He too was angry and desperate to protect both her and their home.

His lips remained lifted in an ugly snarl, but no sound escaped him. His ears were perked forward, and she knew he was listening like her, trying to determine where the intruders were within their home.

What was once their safe place.

Damnit. Damnit!

The anger was still there, and it surged once more at the direction her thoughts took. Anger that Mitchell Pierce was still ruining her life—even over a year since he had first thrown her entire world off its axis.

Well, bitch, not again. Not. Again.

Minutes crept by. The noises grew louder. The men—she was fairly confident that it was only two total—continued hollering her name and cursing her.

She regulated her breathing and continued to wait, her muscles coiled tight.

When the door to the bathroom came crashing open, she was ready, and her fear was locked tightly in the back of her mind, within a vault that she had not previously known existed.

Carson Pierce and his stupid, ugly face didn't even have a chance to absorb her presence before she was screaming at Milo to "Protect!" In the same moment, she lunged forward with her hammer.

Milo sunk his teeth into Pierce's arm, eliciting a pained yell and distracting the man enough for her to clam the hammer into the side of his skull with a sickening Thwack!