Page 57 of Ripping the Odds

My fear melted away when Daria and Lennon each grabbed one of my hands and gave it a squeeze. He was wrong. We weren’t alone. We were facing the monster together. Suddenly, I wasn’t afraid anymore. I was pissed, and apparently, I wasn't the only one.

“Women,” my sister spat.

“Excuse me?”

“We’re women, not little girls, asshole.”

He whipped out a large hunting knife, grinning maliciously as he held it up in front of him. “It doesn’t matter what you are, you’ll bleed all the same.”

“Three against one. I like our odds better.” It took everything in me to keep my voice steady, but I had a plan. Sort of. We had to stall him long enough for the cavalry to show up. Once Zak realized I wasn’t in the kitchen any longer, he’d come looking for me. Hopefully that happened before I had to activate plan B, which was the little device I kept in my back pocket. Distraction was the key.

“You won’t get away with hurting us. Zak will hunt you to the ends of the earth.”

“He can try.”

The jackass took the bait, bragging about how Zak’s men hadn’t been able to find him these past few months. By some miracle, he didn’t seem to be in a rush to carve us up. In fact, he was so lost in his rant, he wasn’t paying attention to us. Lennon slid closer to me. Daria did the same on my other side and together we moved a fraction of a step to the right. Then another. We didn’t get more than a few feet before his beady eyes focused back on us.

Tapping the knife against his chin, he reminisced. “I was practically right under their noses the whole time.”

“If you were hidden so well, then why risk exposure by showing up at a fundraiser of all places?”

That’s it, Daria. Keep him talking.

“No risk. No reward.”

“What’s your reward?”

“For your friend there”––he nodded at me––“not a dime. Call it delayed gratification. Her boyfriend, however, is worth six figures.”

While she kept him engaged, I was mentally calculating the amount of time it would take the three of us to run to the church. Scar-face––since I didn’t know his name––was a big guy, which meant he might be on the slower side, or he could outrun us all. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten where he was in life by being all brawn and no brain. We had to be smarter.

“Enough chit-chatting.” Scarface growled. “Time to get a little payback.”

“Get ready to close your eyes and hold your breath,” Lennon whispered so quietly only we could hear her. I was confused until she gave us a glimpse of a silver tube, the size of lipstick, in her hand. It took one-point-three seconds for me to realize she had pepper spray. Considering the guy had a good six inches and a hundred pounds on us, this had the potential to go very, very badly.

“Any last words?”

“Yeah. Screw you.” Lennon aimed the tube at his face, then sprayed the toxic concoction with confidence.