Best Friends (New Species #15)(34)

Mel smiled, opening her own car door. “It sounds easy to clean.”

“Want to trade parents? Never mind.” Mary grinned. “For a second I forgot about your mama stories.” She waved, got into her car, and backed out of the parking lot.

Mel started her own car after buckling her seat belt and left the diner. It was a short drive home, and once more her thoughts were on Snow. It was tempting to see if the guards at the gate of Reservation would allow her in to see him. Instead, she parked in her spot, climbed out of her car, and walked to her apartment door.

She unlocked her front door, pushed it open, and closed it behind her. It was automatic to twist the deadbolt. Locking doors was one of the first things she’d learned since moving out of her parents’ house. She went to the couch, dropped onto her butt, and lifted her foot to untie her sneakers. Her feet always hurt after her shift. She removed them and her socks, wiggling her toes.

“Be free!”

She smiled, pulled the coffee table closer, and put them up with a sigh. A nice soak in her tub sounded nice, maybe watching a movie on the DVD player and eating a frozen dinner. She planned to do that right after she sat on her butt for a good half hour first.

Snow entered her thoughts yet again. She wondered what he was doing—

Sudden movement out of the corner of her eye had her jerking her head toward the hallway.

A big beefy guy wearing a black ski mask lunged toward her from the direction of her bedroom.

His presence shocked Mel enough to freeze her in place.

The man tried to round the end of the couch to grab her but slammed his knee into the coffee table instead. He grunted, losing his balance, his arms outstretched toward her.

Mel remained frozen in fear.

He fell, landing partly on the couch and partly on the coffee table. The cheap fake wood broke under his weight and her feet hit the carpeted floor.

The guy’s head ended up in her lap, one arm over the front of her legs, his hand by her foot. His other arm had landed on the cushion of the couch behind her.

That jolted her into action.

Some stranger had his face in her lap!

She screamed as he started to move, punching at his head. He turned, his weight shifted, and he slid off the couch onto the broken coffee table. Her legs were pinned between his body and the couch, but she kept punching him, screaming louder.

“Fuck!” He sounded pissed.

He threw his arms up, trying to protect his masked face, and rolled.

The movement freed her legs. She jumped up and turned to run out the door, but just as she twisted the deadbolt, he grabbed her ankle with a gloved hand and gave a mighty jerk.

She fell backward, landing on her ass, on the man’s back.

He grunted, his hold on her ankle loosening enough for her to kick free. She twisted, slid off his bulky body, and grabbed the first thing she could. It was a leg from the cheap coffee table. She rolled and started whacking him in the head again.

“You crazy bitch!” he bellowed, trying to defend his head again.

The cheap wood broke in two, and she ended up with just a piece of it in her hand. She scrabbled backward and got to her feet—accidentally putting him between her and the front door.

He sat up slowly. The mask had dark netting over the eye holes and the one for the mouth. She couldn’t make out anything about him.

She stumbled back farther, hating how small the living space was. She felt trapped in the kitchen now. He could lunge to grab her if she tried to rush to the front door, or even toward her bedroom.

She turned, yanked open the cupboard closest to her and grabbed the plates. She started whipping them at his covered face like frisbees.

He bellowed again, struggling to get to his feet. She grabbed the glasses next, pitching them fast, aiming for his face.

“Get out!”

“You’re coming with me, bitch!”

She grabbed the old toaster off the counter, yanked the cord free from the outlet and screeched, throwing it at him as hard as she could.

The man jerked back, tripped on the broken table, and fell onto her couch again.

Mel ran full speed toward the hallway and made it to her bedroom. She slammed the door, locking it as she threw her body against the surface.

He hit the door hard. Wood cracked.

“Get out! The neighbors heard me screaming,” she yelled. “The police are on their way.”

“You’re going to answer my fucking questions,” he snarled, hitting the door again.

The lock broke and the door pushed in a few inches. She shoved back, desperate enough to find the strength to close it. His heavy weight left suddenly, and Mel sprang back, out of the way.

He hit the door again, expecting resistance—but there was none.

He’d hit hard enough to come barreling in, smashed into the small table she had by her bed before crashing to the floor.

She darted out of her bedroom, down the hall, flinched as she stepped on part of the broken coffee table, but she didn’t trip or slow down. She made it to the front door, grabbed her purse, and yanked the door open.

Mel was panting hard as she ran toward her car. Her neighbors weren’t out there. It was possible they weren’t home, since no one had come rushing to see what was wrong while she’d been screaming and yelling.

She made it to her car and fumbled with her purse for the keys she’d tossed in there earlier.

Noise had her turning her head as her attacker came bursting out of her apartment. He spotted her, and she whimpered, her fingers finding the keys at last. He sped toward her, one hand holding part of his masked face near his cheek.