The Stalker Next Door: 40. Smoke Between the Flames

The cabin smelled of iron and sweat. Blood stained the wooden floor, streaks dark and drying, a map of violence etched into the grain.

The First had fallen into a restless half-sleep, sprawled across the mattress with one arm flung over Mara’s waist as though his touch could keep her tethered. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his ribs no doubt cracked where the Second had struck. Even in sleep, his grip was iron.

Mara lay motionless, her body curled against his, but her mind seethed awake.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Didn’t breathe more than she had to. She knew what she wanted.

Slowly, carefully, she slid her free hand toward the nightstand, fingers brushing against the phone she had hidden there two nights ago. Not her phone. His. She had lifted it while the First was distracted with rage and whiskey, tucked it away under the mattress when he wasn’t looking.

Her pulse thudded as she eased it free. The First stirred, muttered something incoherent,