No Going Back (Sawyer Brooks #3) - T.R. Ragan Page 0,1
his sock, tossing them aside. He tried to pull his foot away, but his leg wouldn’t budge.
Nick had read about people who’d been tased. If he recalled correctly, the effects didn’t last long. He needed to wait this thing out. As soon as he regained his strength, he would get control of the situation. The bitch wouldn’t stand a chance.
She held up a syringe.
Something wet dripped down Nick’s thigh. He’d peed himself. “What are you doing?” His question came out sounding like one long squeal as the needle was inserted into his big toe. A burning sensation swept through his body.
He’d been injected.
With what?
His limbs tingled as the effects of the Taser began to wear off. He waited, glad she turned and walked off. When she returned, he had regained enough strength to lift both legs and slam his feet into her knees.
She stumbled backward, overturning a chair and crashing into the nearest wall.
Nick struggled to get to his feet. His adrenaline was off the charts as he lunged for her and took her to the ground. They rolled across the floor. His head hit the wall. Another chair toppled over. He reached blindly for the woman, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling hard, surprised when the silky locks slid off her head.
Beneath the wig, she wore a skintight cap.
She pushed him away, jumped to her feet, and reached for the Taser lying on the table.
Nick’s heart pounded against his ribs as he staggered to his feet. He needed to get outside and shout for help. He felt dizzy and nauseous.
What is happening?
He reached out for something to grab hold of, but it was no use. He toppled over like a newly felled tree. His head crashed into the floor. He was on his back, once again unable to move. Whatever had been injected into his system was taking effect. “What do you want?”
She hovered over him, her face inches from his. Her wig was crooked now, her red lipstick smeared and looking like blood. “I want to know if you ever once regretted what you did to me when you were sixteen and I was only ten.”
Sixteen? Twenty years ago? Do I know this person? His erratic breathing slowed until he found himself gasping for breath. His chest drenched in sweat, his throat constricted.
“You and your friends treated me as if I were inhuman,” the intruder said. “You threw bottles and trash at me and kicked me every chance you got. You called me Cockroach. I begged you to leave me alone. Your friends laughed when you tied me to a tree and raped me. And now you’re being punished.”
Nick struggled to breathe. He needed air. His mouth was dry. What had she given him? “Thirsty” was the only word he managed to push out of his mouth.
“Yes,” she said. “You must be thirsty. That’s one of the side effects.” She squinted at him as she leaned closer. “Your pupils look like tiny pinpoints.”
Nick’s hand came to his throat. He tried to beg for help but choked instead.
“There it is,” she said. “That gurgling noise is what they call the death rattle. Your lips are turning blue, just as I read about.”
“What—you—give me?”
“Karma. I gave you karma. Oftentimes karma simply happens, but in your case I decided to give it a nudge.” Her brow furrowed. “You ruined my life. I did all I could to ‘let it go,’ but every single day, I think about what you and your friends did to me. I can’t let you get away with it. You must be held accountable for your actions.”
Nick’s mind was muddled. All energy had drained from his body.
He was dying.
As he struggled for each breath, he heard her walk away. There was no mistaking the sound of a bedroom door being opened, followed by the pitter-patter of dog feet against the tile floor.
Maybe Rocky would save him—alert the neighbors or bite the intruder.
The refrigerator door came open. The woman was in the kitchen. “What’s this, Rocky? Looks like leftover steak from last night’s dinner.”
Rocky barked with excitement.
“Let’s cut this up for you. And how about some nice fresh water? I bet you’re thirsty.”
Rocky whined.
“Such a good dog. Maybe I’ll bring you home with me. Would you like that?”
Nick’s mind traveled back in time to when he was sixteen. He’d done a lot of bad things during his teen years. Too many bad things to count. He’d taken a bat to hundreds of mailboxes. He’d stolen cars,