Shade Me (29 page)

If the blackout shades had made the kitchen shadowy
when I'd been in here last, it was downright cave-like now, the clock on the microwave glowing in gold, giving off little bursts of color. I saw shapes hulking tidily on the counters—coffeemaker, blender, toaster, knife block—and started toward them, working my way around a small oak kitchen table, hoping I could get to a weapon before Luna got to me. But I had only just rounded the table when I heard footsteps.

“What the hell? Luna!” Bill Hollis's voice.

I wanted to freeze. All the bones and muscles in my body wanted to turn to jelly. I wanted to put my palms up, surrender. But something inside of me told me there would be no surrendering here. Bill Hollis was not a man who liked to lose. I had to act.

I could just see the silhouette of him rounding the corner into the kitchen, and I slipped through the other doorway to the living room. I found myself at the foot of the spiral staircase I'd been up before. I couldn't see the steps very well, which was almost a relief, given how they'd danced under me last time.

Bill Hollis lumbered to the back door, assessing the damage to the doorknob. “Luna!” he called again.

“Nikki Kill! She's in the house!” I heard her call back, and my spine turned cold. Bill Hollis got very quiet. I could hear the light shuffle of his feet, but even that was so soft it was hard to tell where it was coming from. I tried not to breathe.

“Stay outside, Luna,” I heard him say, quietly, calmly. “I'll take care of her in here.”

I could see his form come from the den doorway across the room and stop. He seemed to be looking right at me, but it was impossible to tell for sure. He didn't move; I didn't move.

“I see you,” he finally said, in a regular talking voice, but it sounded like a sonic boom in the silence. “You aren't getting out of here, you understand? You're an intruder. I have every right to protect my family from an intruder.”

I swallowed, feeling his words all the way to my toes. My breath sounded incredibly loud to my own ears. I could sense, more than see, asphalt-like fear rolling under my feet.

“All you had to do was stay out of our business,” he said. “I might have even made it worth your while. Gotten you and your pathetic father a real house. One on the beach.”

I licked my lips. Tried to keep my footing on the roiling gray and black.

“But you just couldn't stay away, could you? Sleeping with my son, hanging out at Peyton's bedside all the time. Messing with Luna. With our house. I could have had you arrested ten times over. But now I'm glad I didn't, because I get to deal with you myself. Tell me, Nikki, was it worth it?”

Immediately, I thought of Peyton turning her head and smiling at me in her hospital bed. Her face faded into Mom's face, turning her head and gazing at me from the pool of
blood. The crimson surrounded both of them, and the memory nearly bowled me over. But I got to look into the eyes of my mother and my sister as they faced the reality of leaving this world. I got to see that they loved me. “Yes,” I said. “It was worth it. Peyton is my sister.”

“She is Luna's sister,” Bill snapped. I jumped. “She is Dru's sister. She is my child. A Hollis. Being a Hollis is a privilege. Peyton didn't appreciate the privilege, but she's learned her lesson. I've worked my ass off my whole life to have what I have. I can't let some snotty teenager take it all away from me, turn me into a laughingstock no better than some working-class family. You can bet Peyton won't be looking into your tramp mother again.”

His last words hit me like red—
ragemonster
—arrows to the chest. I felt my breathing get faster, my fists clench harder. “Don't talk about my mother,” I said.

“Truth hurts, doesn't it?” he said, and I could see his teeth flashing white from across the room. And then his voice went into a low growl. “Don't worry. You won't be in pain for very long.” His shadow shifted as he began to advance toward me.

I had to do something, but he was between me and the front door. Luna was outside the back door. Dru was God-knew-where. I wished more than anything that I'd called Detective Martinez before coming over here. The image of him finding my body, thinking that he'd repeatedly warned
me and if only I'd listened, having to tell my father that the only other person in this world who he loved had been murdered, too, was what finally loosened my feet.

I turned and bolted up the stairs, unsure what I would do once I was up there, but certain it was safer than where I was at the moment.

Or so I thought.

Waiting at the top of the stairs, her face peeled back in a snarl, was Vanessa Hollis.

“We tried to warn you,” she said, planting her hands on my shoulders. Letting out a roar, she shoved forward, with far more might than I would have ever expected out of someone so tiny, and I went reeling. My arms windmilled as I tried to regain my footing, but she'd pushed too far.

I fell backward, my legs snapping over my head and turning me into a backward somersault, and then another, and another. I was distantly aware of pain as my ribs cracked against the edge of a step, my head and shoulders and hips and legs bouncing off hard wood and wrought iron, neon green flashing behind my eyelids.

And then my head came down on the floor at the bottom, and everything went black.

A
T FIRST I
wasn't sure where I was. I was only distantly aware that I was moving. Or being moved, that was more like it. I could feel a burning wetness on my cheek, and my limbs throbbed. Colors wiggled and hopped inside my head, a shifting kaleidoscope of confusion. My side split with fire every time I breathed in. I pressed my arm into my ribs and nearly shrieked as they thunked and crunched together in an unnatural way. My other arm found its way to my head, which was foggy and disoriented.

“Get your things,” I heard. A command, but I wasn't sure what things I was supposed to get. “I'll take care of this and then we'll go.”

I opened my eyes, and that was when everything started
coming together again. I was being pulled by my feet, the back of my head sliding on tile. A stainless steel refrigerator hummed by my ear. When I turned my head to look at it, the surface was a shifting checkerboard of neon green and orange, the squares trading places over and over again. I closed my eyes and opened them again. The person dragging me had silver hair and was wearing a ring that glinted in the shadows.

“Okay,” a female voice said. “I'll be ready. Make it fast.”

All at once I understood what was going on. Bill Hollis wasn't commanding me to get ready. I was what he was going to take care of first.

He was going to kill me.

Come on, Nikki, move.
Gunner's voice in my head.
Defend. Get to where you can fight.

That meant I had to get up.

Summoning all the strength I had, I pulled my right foot free of his grasp and kicked at his knees, one, two, three times. On the third, I connected, eliciting a growl. He let go of my other foot and stumbled backward. My opportunity.

Clumsily, I pulled myself to standing, still pressing my arm into my ribs. My head ached and my eyes swam, and I could only take shallow breaths. I couldn't focus on anything other than what I was doing, except I was aware that Bill Hollis was coming toward me again. I backed up until the
small of my back hit the kitchen counter, and then I turned and scrambled for a weapon, blearily peering through my out-of-control colors. My hands landed on the knife block I'd seen when I'd first come in. I grabbed the first one I could get to and held it up in front of me.

“Get away from me,” I said, my voice coming out breathy and scratchy.

I saw a flash of teeth. The man was actually smiling. “You're an intruder,” he said. “A stalker. You had a weapon. I was scared for my life.”

He lunged toward me and I swung the knife at him. He dropped back, just barely missing the blade, and then came at me again, his hands outstretched to grab me.

I swung the knife again, this time making contact, slicing deep through one of his palms. He roared—a bellow that cleared my head a bit—and I instantly heard the patter of blood hitting the tile floor. I swiped again, this time catching his other forearm. He stumbled away from me, staring at his palm in shock.
Do what you know to do, Nikki,
I thought. I threw a front kick, closing my eyes from the pain that wrenched up through my knee with the movement. I connected somewhere solid—his upper chest, maybe. He let out a strangled cry and then went down, his head hitting the marble counter on the way. He was out.

I stood in the middle of the kitchen, panting shallowly,
watching him, my hand still gripping the knife so tight it was cramping, my hair stuck to the side of my face with drying blood.

I had to get out of here.

I would have to go the long way around, unless I wanted to step over him, which I didn't. I wasn't sure if I'd have the strength to fend him off if he were to grab my leg a second time.

But I had only taken two steps when I heard a scream to my side. I barely had time to react before Vanessa Hollis came barreling in from the living room, holding a brass statue in both hands. She said nothing intelligible—only that primal scream—as she came at me with it, swinging it down from over her head just as I had brought the paving stone down on the doorknob earlier.

I lifted my arm to block the blow, the crash making my entire arm instantly numb, my entire field of vision flash green. My fingers let go of the knife. It clattered to the ground, skittering away to where I could no longer see it. I cried out in pain, holding my throbbing arm.

Ignore the colors, Nikki. Put them out of your mind.

I glanced up, and Vanessa was still coming at me with the statue. All I could think was
cover your ribs, cover your ribs, cover your ribs
.
Holding one arm tight over my broken ribs, and the other up in defense mode, I bent my knees and waited for her, pulling up one knee at just the right
moment to connect with her stomach.

Vanessa Hollis flew back, landing on her butt, coughing and gagging from the wind being knocked out of her.
Go, Nikki,
my brain told me.
Get out.

But I had only turned halfway when Vanessa let out a yell. “You nosy bitch!” She threw the statue, and it hit me in the temple. I reeled, my vision going swimmy again, my head bursting with fireworks of pain. I felt warmth trickle down my ear, and when I touched where the statue had connected, my hand came away dark with blood.

Unbelievably, Vanessa was pulling herself up and coming at me again. I only had just enough time to sink back into my fighting stance, letting my training take over. As soon as she was close enough, I shin-kicked her to the knee and then pulled my arm back to use a technique Gunner had only shown me once and I'd never had a chance to try in practice—an ear slap. I cupped my hand and let it fly, catching her squarely over her right ear.

Her hand flew to her ear as she fell back nearly on top of Bill, who was just starting to rouse. I had no time. I had to get out.

I zipped through the back door, feeling the dread of knowing that I was right back at square one. But now that I knew what was inside the house, I knew my chances of surviving outside were at least a little bit better.

I slipped behind a bush next to the back door and looked
for Luna or Dru. I could see neither, though I could still hear both. I dropped to a crouch and ran to the side of the pool house, pressing myself into the shadows. I ran the length of the pool house until I found a corner with a trash can parked in it, then climbed behind it. I was covered, hidden, huddled in the dark, pressing my palms into my eyes, hoping for the confusing hues to stop battering me, hoping my ears and my head would clear so I could listen for Luna.

Every inch of my body screamed with pain. I was bleeding and broken, and every breath brought white lights to my eyes. I wondered if this was how Peyton felt the night of the attack. I wondered if she'd fought back as I had, if her colors had gone crazy like mine were doing, or if she'd just accepted her fate the way Mom had accepted hers. Or if she'd had a chance to even realize what was happening. If either of them had.

Peyton had called me before her attack. Maybe she'd been begging for help.

Maybe I needed to ask for help, too.

I pulled out my phone. I'd never programmed Chris Martinez into it, but I'd looked at his business card so many times, I'd memorized the color pattern anyway. I hoped I was remembering it correctly through my injured haze.

The phone rang for what seemed like forever.

“It's Nikki Kill,” I whispered, after he finally answered.

“Nikki? Are you okay? What's going on?”

“I need you,” I said. “Hollis house. Now.”

“Get out of there. I'm nearb—”

But suddenly I could hear Luna's and Dru's voices, so I ended the call and slid the phone back into my pocket. He would be too smart to call me back. He would know from the way I sounded that I was hiding.

He was the one cop I could trust.

Their words sounded like mumbles to me. I caught only partial sentences.

“. . . told her everything . . .”

“. . . don't know what went down that night . . .”

“Did you like jail? Because if you don't . . .”

“. . . has to be another . . .”

“Shut up, do you want her to . . .”

The voices went farther away, as if Dru and Luna had gone into the pool house, and I thought I could hear the sounds of things being moved inside. Maybe fighting, a crash here, a thud there. I straightened, shimmied toward a window, and peeked inside. Suddenly everything seemed too silent. I could hear everything and nothing. My ears were still betraying me. My cheek ached, and I could feel blood dripping from my chin. I couldn't think about it. I couldn't let myself see the color of that blood, that crimson, not even in my mind, or I would lose it. I needed to keep my calm. I needed to be aware of other things.

I thought I heard shifting leaves behind me. I tensed,
crouching into a ready stance, but the sound stopped, replaced by the beating of my heart.

A few minutes passed. Just when I began to think maybe I should come out of hiding, I heard them again, whispering. Fighting about how best to find me.

“I'm telling you, she's over by the gazebo,” Dru said. “I saw her go.”

“Bullshit,” Luna hissed. “She's hiding out here somewhere. I can smell the smoke on her.”

Shit. I'd never thought about that.

“Let's at least just look.” If I didn't know better, I would think Dru was trying to lead Luna away from where I really was, so I could get away. But Dru was not the man I'd thought he was, so for all I knew he was trying to find me right along with her.

“Chill. We will, but we're going back here first.”

“She might get away.”

“I'm the one with the gun, so we do what I say.”

“I'm going to look for her in there.”

“Fine. Go. I don't need you.”

The voices were getting closer now, and then the footsteps softened, swooshed through grass. They were coming right for me. Again, I thought I heard a swishing noise behind me, and realized it must have been a trick of acoustics. Their footsteps ricocheting off their privacy fence.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Luna sang,
and then giggled, sending chills rippling up and down my spine.

I crouched deeper, pressed my elbows into my sides, and strained my eyes, trying to make out the shifting shadows in the yard. My cheek itched. The kaleidoscope had slowed down, honing itself into a few colors—black hate, orange danger, so much red—that I could mostly ignore.

Just when I thought I heard a footstep behind me again, Luna's face popped up over the trash can.

“Boo!” she crowed, bringing the gun up to point over the trash can at me. “Found you!”