Chapter 7 - The Debt Collectors
The three massive men walked purposefully across the illuminated lawn toward the front porch.
The motion-sensor lights cast long, terrifying shadows across the frost-covered grass.
Are those the police, Ethan asked hopefully, clinging tightly to Lauren's leg.
No, buddy, those are the men who want to hurt Uncle Chris, I whispered, forcing myself to remain calm.
Chris groaned in agony on the floor, his face turning the color of wet ash as he lost more blood.
They came to collect the debt, Chris wheezed, his eyes rolling back in his head.
Megan let out a terrified sob and buried her face against his bloody chest.
Lauren, take the kids and hide in the basement right now, I ordered, grabbing the heavy wooden dining chair.
I am not leaving you up here alone, Lauren argued, her voice shaking with fear.
You have to protect Ethan and Tyler, go, I yelled, pushing her gently toward the hallway.
Lauren grabbed both boys by their hands and sprinted toward the basement stairwell.
I dragged the heavy dining table across the room and shoved it aggressively against the locked front door.
I knew the padlocks would hold the door shut, but the hurricane glass in the windows was a different story.
The glass could resist a blunt impact from a chair, but it would not withstand a point-blank shotgun blast.
I crawled on my hands and knees in the dark to retrieve my mother's revolver from under the table.
I checked the heavy cylinder in the dim light and saw only two bullets remaining.
Patricia watched me from her spot on the floor, her eyes gleaming with absolute malice.
You are going to die tonight, Daniel, my mother promised with a sickening smile.
Those men don't care about my debt anymore, they are here to ensure you die so I get the insurance payout.
My mother hadn't just hired them to blackmail Megan into poisoning the food.
She had hired them as a heavily armed backup plan in case the poison failed to do its job.
A deafening blast shattered the silence of the night, echoing violently through the neighborhood.
The heavy blast of buckshot completely annihilated the hurricane glass of the front bay window.
Shards of thick glass rained down across the living room carpet like deadly hail.
A second shotgun blast destroyed the wooden window frame entirely, creating a massive opening into the house.
A large man wearing a dark ski mask climbed through the ruined window, holding a heavy steel crowbar.
He stepped into the dining room, his heavy boots crunching loudly on the broken glass.
I aimed the revolver directly at his chest, my hands trembling as the adrenaline surged through my veins.
Don't move another inch, or I will shoot you, I warned, keeping the gun perfectly steady.
The masked man didn't stop, and he didn't raise his crowbar to attack me.
Instead, he looked entirely past me, locking his eyes onto my mother sitting calmly on the floor.
May you like
The job is done, ma'am, the masked man said in a deep, gravelly voice.
Where is the rest of our money.
