Fatal Attraction

Chapter Three: The First Attack

Isla's POV

When I get home, I toss my bag by the front door and grab some cereal to munch on, dropping down on the couch. I let out a groan and kick my shoes off. "I swear to god I'm losing my mind," I mutter, reaching for the remote. After flipping through two hundred channels and scrolling endlessly through Netflix, I give up and take my cereal to my room, shutting the door behind me with a loud bang.

I lie on my bed, grabbing my phone, and let out a huff of air, staring up at the ceiling with my physics assignment beside me. I swear I will throttle my teacher for this--me? Working with Jack? The only way to terrify me more of this literal potential murderer is to give him my fucking phone number. As if I haven't lost enough sleep as--

In the next room, the window groans.

I freeze. I've snuck back into the house enough times to know getting in through the spare room window is a death trap, even if the tree outside is the perfect access point. If the window didn't make noise, the blinds would clatter as you pushed them aside, and--

I hear the blinds a moment later.

I'm on my feet in moments, holding my breath. Is it Jack? I press my ear to the wall. No, too heavy. A floorboard creaks, and then another. 

I creep out of my room and into the hallway, my breaths coming frantically now. I spy a van out front, pulled onto the curb, and as I hold my breath again, I hear the rattling of the basement window sliding open. I don't give myself a chance to think before creeping down the stairs and tiptoeing into the kitchen, my heart thrumming as my fingers close around a kitchen knife. I press a hand over my mouth to quiet my breathing and look around—the window's too small, and the door is guaranteed to be guarded. At least three men inside, probably three more outside, and another whose shadow I can see under the back door.

My eyes fall on the sink, and I pull back the cupboard below it and wriggle inside.

I work my body around the pipes and slide the board back in place, pressing my back against the chipped wood behind me. I pull out my cell phone and cling to it so tightly my fingers turn white as I run over who I can call--no police, these men are above that. My dad is missing, I can't reach him. He gave me an emergency number for a safe house, but--Shit. I forgot to grab the secure phone, and if I use my cell, it'll be traced. What do I do?

I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants, and pause at the lump in my pocket. Keeping as quiet as possible and listening for footsteps, I pull the crumpled sticky note out of my pocket and dial the number.

It picks up after one ring.

"Hello?" he answers.

"Jack," I say, my voice frantic. I freeze as the footsteps reach the bottom of the stairs, my breaths rasping into the receiver.

"Isla?" he asks. "Isla, what's wrong?"

"They're in my house," I whisper, and then clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle my trembling breaths as the footsteps enter the kitchen. Two men. I don't dare breathe.

Across the line, Jack doesn't either.

They sweep the kitchen and then open the door to the basement, their footsteps vanishing down the wooden stairs. I hear the click as they arm a gun.

"Isla, talk to me," Jack says, his voice deadly calm.

I take a deep breath and press my hands against my knees to stop them from shaking, and when I speak again my voice is steady. "Three inside, at least three outside, fully armed, highly trained. And Jack—"

I freeze as another set of steps reaches the bottom floor.

"Isla, where are you?" he asks.

I don't dare answer. A minute passes and I close my eyes, my other hand finding the knife at my side and clutching it with everything I have. "Kitchen," I finally whisper when I can no longer hear them. "Under the sink."

"Can you get out?" he asks.

"No," I say.

"Stay put, I'm almost there. Stay on the phone with me and hang tight."

I nod even though he can't see me, swallowing hard against the dryness in my throat. "Come in through the back," I say. "There's one man by the door and two in the basement. Go through the hedge and take him by surprise."

A long pause, heavy breathing, then rustling. "I'm there," he says.

I open my mouth to respond when the cupboard scrapes open and a rough hand yanks me out, sending me sprawling across the tile floor. I stifle my own scream and cling tight to the knife, slashing at his ankle. He jumps back and slams my head into the tile, scowling as he presses a gun to my head.

I freeze.

I vaguely register Jack saying something into the phone, cut off as the man crushes it under his boots.

The man reaches back and pulls out a cloth, pressing his knees against my back as he places it in front of my face. I hold my breath as he shoves it to my nose, a mangled sound coming out of my throat as he wrenches my head to the side and pushes harder. Black spots appear in my vision.

"Breathe," he growls, twisting me harder.

My body spasms but still I hold my breath, my chest threatening to explode, and my fingers curl around the hilt of the knife. In one final surge of adrenaline, I wrench free of his grip enough to twist my neck further around and sink my teeth into his hand.

He lets out a cry and pulls back and I press my advantage, drawing on everything I can possibly remember as I feint left and dive right, aiming for his weak spots. But what I remember can't possibly match his training and he overpowers me in seconds, slamming me against a wall. My head connects with a sickening crack and for a second all I see is black, losing my balance as my knees give out until only he is holding me up.

"Jack!" I shriek as the cloth comes down again and this time I can't fight back, breathing it in as a haze descends on my body. As they drag me out the front door to the van waiting outside, I hear someone answer back, followed by gunfire. The voice nears and my body hits the ground hard as the men reach for their weapons, but my eyes flutter shut and my brain closes down, sending me spiralling into endless black.