"One of them is here," A rough voice hissed. 'Find her." Boots thumped. Glass shattered. Furniture was broken. And all the while, I heard the men calling to me in mockingly friendly voices.
I eased my phone out of my pocket, and the screen lit up. Searching through my contacts, I found the one called Emergency. My cousin had given me the number, telling me that it belonged to the people who had saved her. 'Don't ever lose it,' she warned, fire in her blue eyes. 'If the men come to get you, you call these people. They'll help you.'
I hit the dial button, and pressed the phone to my ear.
"Hello?" A male voice answered. Laughter echoed in the background, followed by a crashing noise.
"I need help. Please," I whispered. "They're here, they're in my house."
The man shushed his companions, and the background noise ended. "Address," The man stated brusquely, businesslike now.
"Royal Street. It's..." My voice faltered. "It's the only house."
"Hold tight. We're coming."
"Hurry," I breathed.
