Chapter 1 - The Intruder
The heavy thud of boots on the driveway gravel snapped my naval instincts into high gear. Marcus’s younger cousin, Trent, was walking toward the front door, the tire iron swinging casually at his side. He didn't know I was home. He thought he was walking into an empty house to tie up loose ends.
"Mama?" Chloe whispered, her small fingers digging into my collarbone.
"Shh, baby. It's going to be okay," I murmured, my heart turning to ice. I set her down gently behind the heavy oak kitchen island. "Stay down. Do not make a sound."
I didn't have my service weapon, but fourteen years of military training had taught me how to weaponize my environment. I grabbed the heaviest thing in reach—a cast-iron skillet from the stove. I flattened my back against the wall beside the front door just as the lock clicked. Trent had a key.
The door swung open. Trent stepped into the foyer, his breath pluming in the cold air. "Little brat, you still breathing in there?" he called out, heading toward the back hallway.
He never made it past the entryway. I swung the skillet with every ounce of upper-body strength I had, catching his wrist. The crack of bone echoed through the house, followed by his agonized scream as the tire iron clattered to the hardwood floor. Before he could recover, I kicked the back of his knee, sending him crashing down, and planted my combat boot squarely on his chest.
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"You move, Trent, and I break your jaw next," I hissed, grabbing his phone from his jacket. Red and blue lights suddenly flashed through the front windows. The 911 call.
The police burst in seconds later. Trent was sobbing on the floor. I stood over him, my hands trembling not from fear, but from absolute, unadulterated rage.
