Chapter 3

I burned with rage and heartbreak!

When I opened my eyes again, the number on my arm had dropped from 3 to 2.

I was back standing right outside the bedroom door, gasping for breath. The first thing I did was check on my daughter.

She was fine!

Her little porcelain face wasn't impaled by a steel spike, and she wasn't butchered under the killer's blade!

Lily looked up at me, calling "Mommy" in her sweet, babyish voice.

I checked the clock. There were only ten minutes left before the killer found us.

Christian walked out of the bedroom with his usual lazy swagger, his chest covered in fresh bite marks and scratches. "Does it take this long just to buy a box of condoms?" he sneered. "What's with the zombie impression?"

I stared at him coldly, forcing my breathing to steady.

"My dad just called. He's pulling up outside right now. Do you really want him walking in on you and your little side piece?"

My dad used to run with street gangs in his youth. Ever since our wedding, he had despised Christian.

He had beaten Christian black and blue more times than I could count.

If he caught Christian in bed with his mistress in our marital home, he'd kill him on the spot.

Christian clearly remembered those beatings. A flash of panic flickered across his face. Dropping his cocky attitude, he hurried back to urge Chloe to sneak out.

He didn't miss the chance to throw insults at me, though: "Why didn't you say so earlier?! Did you plan this so he could see his precious daughter begging on her knees?"

He let out a cold smirk, leaning down toward my face. "If you acted more like these younger girls—sweet, obedient, and soft—maybe I'd actually have an ounce of desire for you."

I ignored his bile. I didn't have time to trade insults. I shoved my way past him, taking over the master bedroom.

Before shutting the door, I warned him, "Neither of you should step outside. There's a killer out there."

Even now, I couldn't be sure whether the killer was only targeting my daughter and me, or if he was slaughtering anyone in his path.

After locking the bedroom door, I slid the balcony door open and stepped outside.

Taking a deep breath, I carried my daughter over the seventh-floor balcony railing, climbing across into our neighbor's terrace.

With seconds ticking away, I ignored the neighbors' horrified expressions, begging them desperately to keep my daughter safe and hidden, no matter what happened.

The neighbor nodded firmly.

Lungs burning, I slipped back out into our hallway and sprinted for the fire escape stairs.

Within seconds, the masked killer had arrived at my front door. The heavy sound of his machete hacking into the wood echoed through the hall.

The vibrations rattled my ears.

I scrambled upward. Our building was in a quiet, isolated suburb with barely any traffic or people. My car's brakes were already sabotaged, so fleeing by car was out of the question.

Pushing my burning muscles to the limit, I made it to the rooftop and bolted the heavy fire door behind me.

Curled up in a freezing corner of the roof, my heart pounded so hard it threatened to crack my ribs.

With trembling fingers, I dialed 911.

"Hello, dispatch? I'm on the roof of the Westridge apartments! The killer is right below me!"

I kept my voice down to a ragged whisper, but my terror bled through.

"Ma'am, please stay calm. We've received multiple reports and units are en route. A cruiser has entered your district and should arrive in approximately ten minutes."

Ten minutes...

That number gave me a tiny sliver of hope. As long as I survived those ten minutes, the police would save me...

I pressed my ear against the metal door, straining to hear.

At first, the rooftop was dead silent.

I held my breath, afraid to make a sound.

BANG!

A violent slam rattled the door, hitting my chest like a sledgehammer.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Heavy, rhythmic blows rained down.

Within moments, the killer had... tracked me all the way to the roof!

He was battering the lock with brute force!

My mind went completely blank.

How was this possible?

This building had over twenty floors. How could he have known to head straight for the roof?

A horrifying thought flashed through my mind.

With another deafening crash, the lock gave way, metal shearing apart.

The heavy fire door was kicked wide open.

The masked killer stepped through, machete raised, locking his gaze entirely on me.

Then, he spoke. "Where is your daughter?"

The blood in my veins turned to liquid nitrogen.

He wasn't a random serial killer.

He was specifically hunting me and my daughter!

Behind his terrifying mask, he stepped forward—and with a single, vicious swipe, he slit my throat!