The Carrero Solution (Carrero Book 3)

The crowbar connects with the base of his spine instantly with a magnificent self-satisfying crack, a body-vibrating shudder runs through him to me in a flash and suddenly I’m flung backward at his shock of the connection. I am flying in slow motion down the stairs, disconnected from him, and surprisingly fearless. He cries out with a deep throaty gurgling scream of pain echoing around us in the dark space.

I hit the stairs sharply at an odd angle and I’m tumbling backward as my ankles turn under me, the stomach-churning crunch and burning pain in my left foot lurches through me. I yelp loudly, gripping onto bar as tight as I can because my life depends on it. I catch it across steps, trying to stop myself from sliding backward down the steps, my butt wedged over the edge and my head pressed to a wall from behind. I’m balancing crazily just below where he is on the stairs and my senses are finally coming to, my body on high alert. This is my one chance at saving both of us and he’ll have to pry this bar from my cold dead fingers to get me to relinquish my weapon.

He’s falling toward me in the dull light, brighter down here nearer the white marble hall because of the wide long windows and white reflective flooring. He trips down the steps trying to regain balance, attempting to catch the banister with one hand while his other is on his back. He’s moaning out loud, grappling and struggling to regain his equilibrium as I shuffle backward to get some purchase on the floor with my butt and legs, trying not to wince at the pain coursing through my body, pushing away the searing agony.

I am ready and waiting as soon as he stumbles close enough, sheer fury coursing through me, fear giving me strength; my body numbing out the pain as adrenaline spikes in my blood.

I swing hard as I can with both hands grasping the bar at the very base, right at his knee level giving it all that I have left.

The crushing, gnawing sound of crunching, snapping and splintering bone echoes before his scream, and he crumbles over the top of me like a sack filled with deflated air. His heavy weight crashes down on me, winding me. His big arms and disgusting stale sweat entangle me in panic and jolt my body down with his. He’s pulling me off balance and down the last few steps in a tumble as we roll the last distance in an entangled mass of limbs, grunts, and groans. His sheer smell and feel brought back nausea in my throat and the realization I am about to throw up …

My stomach is my only concern and my child within. I curl into a ball holding tight with the bar in my arms against my breast; one hand protecting my baby, and fall into darkness with him, at astounding speed. My eyes are closed, willing myself to hold on tight to what is most precious to me. The vision of Jake and our baby in my mind giving me strength to keep going.

Our harsh marble floor landing is softened by his body at the base of the stairs and we come to a sudden stop. I uncurl around him, realizing I’m on top and can get away if I shuffle backward on my butt. He’s too focused on grappling at the floor, writhing in agony and whimpering pathetically. I’m empowered by the groans and moans coming from his hunched-up body and drag myself away from him, turning on my knees with only the thought of getting away, crawling to safety, and getting help. His vice-like grip comes out to catch my broken ankle, causing excruciating pain to course through me, resulting in a high-pitched scream. I bite out and catch my breath trying to hold myself together but I’m not stupid. I’m still holding the crowbar, clutching onto it with the fury of a woman unleashed. I know what I must do. I know he will keep coming for me, keep pursuing me unless I disable him properly. I bring the bar down with perfect precision and great clarity over his skull and the force of a desperate and terrified woman.

There’s a deafening thud, an echoing and eerie silence as a breath escapes him and then nothing. His body lies motionless, his hand on my ankle drops loose over my injury and I kick it away with my other foot hastily.

I’m crouching at an odd angle, still gripping the bar so tightly that my nails have pierced my own palms, breathing so hard it’s painful and making me dizzy. I turn to stare at the bulky form in the dusky light and something inside of me snaps. All fear and flight go out of me and emotionless clarity and sense come over me; a dark sense of quiet calming stillness, followed by a moment of completely detached pause and I listen to the long slow steady breaths from his almost lifeless body.

If I leave him this way to go and get help, he could get away, he could wake up and run or he could catch me before I get anywhere. He will never stop coming for me if I always run from him.

I hold up the bar and contemplate hitting him again, but he doesn’t appear to be conscious and I know in my own heart I don’t have the stomach or the willpower to kill a man … Even him … Even if I could justify it to myself, justify it to the world, I could never look at myself in the mirror the same way again. Jake would never look at me the same way and how could my child?

I scramble around on the floor trying to find something to help me figure out what to do. The pain in my ankle is hot and burning through me intensely but I push it down and claw my way across the space, dragging my leg behind me like an injured animal, slowly and surely. My head is a scrambling mess, my emotions all over the place and a hard tension growing in my pelvis is making my body rigid. I can’t begin to analyze how I really feel I’m just spurred on by the breathless anxiety of knowing that I am not out of danger yet. He could wake up at any second and the pain in my body is weakening me with every movement.

My vision is blurred by sticky liquid in my face and my mouth is full of the taste of blood. My head is pounding and swelling across my brow at an alarming rate, bringing back the deep nausea and dizziness once more. My body is giving up on me and I need to save myself before it does.

My eyes wander to the phone on the unit and I crawl to it, yanking the cable right out of the wall like a crazed woman, biting into my hands and slicing my palm with the strength of my force. I pull it from the base of the phone stand and crawl back to him. I’m determined to do this, the overwhelming trembling of my body going into shock is slowly creeping up from my toes, so I need to be quick.

I’ve never restrained a person this way before, but sheer fear and adrenaline has me looping his hands behind his back and tying as tight as I can a multitude of complicated knots. I don’t care if I cut off all circulation, the feel of his rough skin is making me recoil internally, the stench of his musky body is choking me, but I keep tying the cord hoping that this will be enough.

His breathing is shallow, so he’s alive, and I can make out dark liquid oozing onto the floor by his head. I injured him in the way he hurt me, and somehow, it starts a tiny spark of strength deep inside me, a calm that sweeps up through me, giving me focus and determination.

I take a deep breath, and sit back to look at my handiwork, taking a moment to calm my crazy body and reeling thoughts. He’s strung up at the back and I’ve run out of cord to do more. I hope it’s enough and his knee is too smashed to be able to use his legs should he want to come get me.

I need Jake. I need help. I need the police. Get help, Emma … Go.

I realize my phone is in my bag upstairs and I must’ve dropped it with his assault. There’s no way I can muster the ability to get up that steep winding staircase and I’ve just disabled the only landline nearby.

Fuck’s sake, Emma. Well done.

Stupid. Stupid. Okay, look around, Emma. Look! What can I find? What can I do? How can I get help?

I grab at my temples and knock my head, trying to think. My eyes wandering around the room desperately searching for something to help me get comfort.

Calm, Emma, be rational. Sylvana is right next door.

The street … Get to the street.

I try to get up and my ankle gives out completely, another sharp agonizing pain, wooziness hitting me with ferocity and a dampness now coursing down my chin as a fresh wave of blood pulses further down my face. I’m shivering, my body is shaking so badly that my hands are becoming unusable.

I trace the warmth of the liquid up to my forehead and realize he’s cut my head open with the force of my collision into the door upstairs. My brow is swelling, and my hairline is crusting with blood.

“Jake is going to fuck you up!” I snarl at his motionless body, suddenly enraged at what he’s done to me, what he intended to do to me! The anger I used to harbor kicks free and claims me with a fury I normally keep locked up, like some seething crazy past Emma.

This will not be over if the police take him away. He will bide his time and come back. He’ll wait in the shadows again until we least expect it and lash out in a new, more horrendous way.

I look down at my stomach and recoil in sheer fear and terror.

He will come for our child … I know he will.

Something in me tells me he would, that his level of patience and craziness means he will be a threat forever, one that even Jake can’t keep us safe from.

I need to get to Sylvana. She will know what to do. Mathews will come back, and he can do something with this piece of shit while Jake comes to me and figures out what to do. Jake always knows what to do.

I try to stand again, with more determination, to walk out of this house but my ankle bites at me in pain and I crumble in screaming agony; nausea washing through me so fast I can’t contain it, and I throw up on the floor; finally giving up the contents that had been threatening to expel all along.

I lean back in disgust and grab at my swimming head, spitting blood and sick out of my mouth and use my sleeve to wipe at it. I clutch at my stomach as a tremor of ache courses through my lower abdomen, a prickling of anxiety at the fear that maybe my baby might be damaged in some way; that this physical encounter has hurt her. The ache hits again, low and winding, like a punch in the gut and it strokes panic in me once more.

The sheer force of deep-rooted fear at the possible loss of her hits me, consuming everything but the need to get help for her … For my baby.

He will not take you from me. He cannot win.

The tears start pouring down my face and I can’t take much more of this pain soaring in my heart; every aching assault on my abdomen comes in waves and is like a piece of my heart being sliced away.

I lift my chin defiantly and drag myself onto my knees, moved by the power inside to get my child the help she needs to stay with me. My belly is aching and twisting inside of me, and tears flood my face, diluting the blood and mess and leaving a trail across my shirt and neck.

My arms are aching, and my body is shaking violently. I crawl purposefully, ignoring everything else but the need to save her, my beautiful little green-eyed girl. I want to see her smile back at me. I want to hold her in my arms and know the smell of my little one against my face. The feel of her delicate skin and soft breaths. I won’t lose her now; I’ll grip onto her harder than I’ll ever grip onto anything in my life.

I crawl to the front door, trying to haul myself to my feet to reach the handles, crying with every single effort and calling out in pain. My eyes are screwed shut, and my fists are clenched to get my body to move upward.

I won’t let him do this to me. I won’t let him destroy any chance of happiness or take away our life in this way.

I reach up, hauling at the handle in one last desperate effort, trying to get enough purchase to open the door and shove myself up further against the screaming pain.

I connect with the handle and tug, the door opens enough to catch with my fingers in the crack and sob out loud in relief, grappling manically and slumping back down onto my knees, relieving the excruciating pain of my ankle somewhat.

I pull the door back as far as I can against me, shifting my weight out of the way to accommodate the opening of the door. It is less than a second before the alarm engages at the disruption.

My home turns into some flashing beacon of lights and wailing sirens, overwhelming my senses in a terrifying assault. Crying for help in deafening proportions, I make out the blurred lights near the front door, blinking in time to the brain-fogging ringing around me. Knocking the last of my senses into oblivion.

I did it. I signaled for help and now I want to lie down and curl around my child and hold onto her for a little longer. My body is giving up on me while my brain tries to find the calm in the chaos all around me.

Stay with me, sweetheart. Hold on for just a little longer. They’re coming. Daddy will come. Please, baby …