Bound to Her - Deborah Pin (books for 9th graders .TXT) 📗

She was pretty. She was also bizarre. Angry one

second, weird the next. He’d definitely caught her staring at him in the

parking lot and then…well then she tried to start her already running car

and sped off as he stood there staring after her. She was …quirky.

Quirky hot. He liked quirky hot. What the hell was he saying? He did not

like her.

He left Seth there for the night with plans to come over for breakfast

the next morning and he went to bed alone. He went to bed alone every

night. Even when he was getting laid on a regular basis he still went to

bed alone. It wasn’t as though he had any opposition to a real

relationship but it was complicated. In his line of work, there was little time for it. With a son in the picture there was even less. Commitment was a thing of the past. Fucking was not, even if his dear sister was ready

to see him settle down again.

* * * * *

By the next morning, he was helping Molly in the kitchen. He was really just standing around moving things about when she wasn’t

looking so she’d get tripped up. More than once he caught her pointing

to the spot on the counter she knew she’d left something just to find it on

the opposite counter. It took her a good thirty minutes to catch on to that

one before she kicked him out with a stack of dishes to set the table. He

left midafternoon with Seth in tow to do laundry. By that night there was

a good possibility Seth would be back. Dillon would be on call and there

was little chance that wouldn’t turn into something. It was Seattle after all. Plenty to keep him busy.

Chapter Three

 

“No, I don’t personally think there’s anything wrong with pairing

stripes with plaid…if you want to look like a total dumbass.” She was holding her cell phone between her cheek and her shoulder while trying

to unload her groceries from her car. Imogen was going on and on about

her latest fashion ideology.

No one but Imogen would actually see the art behind her vision,

including Katrina, but it wouldn’t stop her dear friend from trying to convince her anyway. Imogen was an arts teacher and drama coach. That

meant she directed pretty much anything theatrical in their school.

Couple her creative streak with her charming British accent and she was

quite the character.

“Listen, Imogen, can I let you go? I’ve got an arm full of groceries and

I can’t find my keys.”

When she reached the side door, she struggled to drop her cell phone

into her hip pocket before she reached into the side pocket of her tote bag

to grab her keys. She was cutting off the circulation to her hand thanks to

about three times more grocery bags hanging from her wrist than what

ought to be humanly possible but damn it, she was not making a second

trip the whole ten feet from her car to the side door of her house.

As she snatched up her keys quickly, she fit the key in the lock, pushed the door open and then hoisted the bags onto the counter just inside the door. She let out an exaggerated sigh, turning to pull the storm

door shut behind her and that’s when it hit her—or not so much it as him.

The man, dressed in black, flew toward her. He was large and he

looked like an ominous shadow descending on her as she fell back onto

her kitchen floor. Terror was seizing her heart like a shrinking box that was squeezing in around her.

Katrina started scampering backward across her floor like a belly-up

spider. She knew she couldn’t move quickly in this position but she was

too damn afraid to turn away from him. He was closing in on her and she was panicking more than she even imagined possible. She’d left the

light on in her living room but it helped her little. The man wore a mask and there was nothing of him to see aside from his cold blue eyes. They

were wide with what looked like fury but for what?

Katrina was being quiet. She’d not screamed, not yelled, not said

anything at all and she knew she should but she couldn’t seem to get herself to breathe, much less get her throat to move. She was going to die.

She was going to die alone in silence in her home with this madman.

The thought was gut-wrenchingly depressing and a sob finally passed

her lips as the picture of just how awful her death might look and feel hit

full force. This man was going to hurt her. He was going to hurt her in all

the ways woman feared a man might. Her worst nightmares were

coming true as she scrambled away from this monster saying nothing.

She wasn’t even trying to defend herself. She was simply crab-crawling

across her floor.

His mouth opened, showing surprisingly normal-looking teeth. She

almost assumed he was a monster under that mask but it didn’t much matter what his dental habits were as the snarl that was firmly planted on this man’s mouth made it clear he meant business.

“What do you want?” She’d hit the edge of her brick fireplace mantel

and she could go no farther. Her forearm rose in front of her face in defense and her mouth finally worked. “Please. I’ll give you whatever you want. Please…please don’t hurt me.” She was begging and she could

feel the tears dropping from her eyes as she waited for him to do something. He was towering over her, glaring down. He was frozen like

a large statue and all she could do was wait.

When he reached down for the collar of her shirt, she shrieked and the sobs that she’d failed to stifle turned to wails of desperation. Snot was running from her nose and when he jerked her to her fee she tried again

to hold her hands out in front of her. She had to fight back but she was

too terrified to even move. Her hands were crossed at her wrist only a few inches from her face as though she could make him disappear if she

could just block him out—keep him from killing her if she couldn’t see him.

“Please…please…please…” Her breath was hitching in her throat as

she pleaded with him.

His other hand shot out and slapped her hands away from her face

before grabbing her by the throat. He squeezed and her panic built further. He was panting and she was trying to sob around the

constricting pressure on her throat. When her phone suddenly rang from

her pocket, she grabbed at it without much thought in her head.

She hit the answer button as she pulled it from her pocket and before

he could even react, she yelled as loud as her garbled throat would allow.

“Help! Help me please!” It was all she got out before he backhanded her

across the face. Her head exploded in a light storm of colors that flashed

in the back of her eyes and she started sobbing again. He snatched at the

phone and she threw it away from her.

When his eyes returned to her, they were searing her through like daggers. His snarl had turned animalistic and she watched as if in slow

motion as he raised his hand and punched her. It sent her head sailing in

the opposite direction toward the fireplace behind her and he let loose his grip on her throat as she was sent toward the rough hard surface of

the mantel.

Her head hit the brick just above and outside her right eyes, scraping

across the surface after smacking hard into it. She fell down, collapsing on the corner of the brick ledge surrounding the fireplace. It knocked the

wind out of her, pulled her shirt up and scraped across her stomach as she rolled down to the floor.

Her back was to him and as she finished rolling from the fireplace, she caught only a glimpse of his hulking figure as he darted out her still-open side door and into the night. She started sobbing as she crawled toward the door and it was only once she’d pulled it closed, locked it and

collapsed back to the floor that she heard Imogen’s voice screeching to her from her abandoned phone on the floor.

She crawled to the phone, afraid to stand up from her place on the ground. She tried to catch her breath as she held the phone to her ear. But

as she gulped down air her voice started to hitch and the sobs took her

over again.

“Okay…okay…I’m okay, Imogen.” She had to force her throat to

tighten and control the sobs so she could get the words out.

“I’ve got 911 on my landline. They’re on the way. Are you safe?

What’s happened? Please talk to me!” She was trying as hard as Katrina

to control her voice.

“Someone broke in. He’s gone. I’m okay. But I’m scared, Imogen.”

And then she was sobbing again.

Katrina could hear Imogen relaying information to the 911 operator

and she stayed on the phone with her. Katrina pulled her knees up close

to her body as the panic washed through her in waves that would

subside and then reinvigorate. But Imogen was there, soothing her, while

she waited and occasionally reassuring the 911 operator that Katrina was

okay. Imogen stayed on the line until Katrina could hear the sirens approaching.

“I’m okay now. I can hear the sirens.” Her voice was still shuddering

and lurching as she spoke and Imogen remained there at the operator’s

insistence until the police pulled into her driveway and started pounding

on her door.

“I’m on my way. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Imogen disconnected

quickly.

When she pulled the door open, two men in uniforms stood by with

their guns drawn as others swarmed around the back of her house.

“Miss. Miss. Are you alone?”

She nodded. “He left out this door. He’s gone.”

“Miss, your head’s bleeding. Do you need an ambulance?”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital. I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” She nodded.

The officer was young and he looked nearly as scared as she felt but

she wasn’t alone anymore. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking, trembling

as though her core was quaking. “Miss…”

“I’m Katrina. Please…just call me Katrina.”

“The officers outside are securing the area. The detectives are on their

way and we’ll get crime-scene techs here to process the scene.” Her home

had become a scene. What the fuck? “Can you tell me what the perp might have touched?” She indicated the doorjamb and door they were standing

near and she shrugged beyond that.

“I don’t think anything else really. I opened the door and he shoved

me inward. He very likely didn’t even touch the door. I think it was still

standing open when he left.” The officer nodded and pointed to the sofa

in her living room. She sank into the softness of her vintage moss-green

velvet couch, grabbing a throw pillow and clutching it to her chest.

She stared at the edge of her coffee table. It was sitting at an odd angle

on the rug—it had no doubt been pushed aside during the attack. “What

the hell did he want?”

She didn’t even realize she’d spoken the question out loud until the officer responded to her. “I’m sorry?” She just shook her head. “Can I get

you anything?”

“No. I’m fine.” The poor officer seemed to have no real idea what to

say to her.

She could feel the spot above her eye, searing as though she had rug

burn on her forehead. Her head was throbbing, her eye socket was

aching fiercely and her throat felt as if she’d gargled with gasoline. She

zoned out, waiting. She wasn’t sure what she was waiting for, only that

she didn’t want to bother trying to talk to the officer who seemed to be

more nervous than she was.

She could hear a man approaching, though she could hear nothing of

what he said, and the officer moved to meet him at her side door. The officer pointed at the frame of the door, wordlessly telling the man to avoid touching it. When the man stepped through, her jaw dropped

before she could stop it.

“Detective Adler.” The officer nodded to him, but the man who

suddenly appeared was far too busy staring at her just as intently as she

was staring at him. The officer started giving him a rundown, but his eyes continued