Authors: Stephanie Whitlock
Elizabeth landed from her attack and poised herself for another, waiting for Moreano to right himself. She knew she should just end it, strike now while he was off balance, but the rage and growing need for violence within her was clouding her judgment. He couldn’t just die. She needed him to see what he had done, feel the pain he had caused her and all his other victims. Suddenly she was back in the park, the same cold, bitter girl she was, wanting her prey to put up at least a decent fight before she thrashed him into submission. Moreano seemed to realize he had become the prey. Still reeling from the kick she had delivered to his weaponed arm, he turned and fled rather than stand and fight. She snickered cruelly and bolted after him, completely entranced and forgetting all about Alex, Matt, and George. All that mattered was her revenge, and she would not be denied.
Moreano raced through the enormous house, slamming through closed doors into the sitting room, then into the music room. She followed his desperate flight with anticipation. The course he was setting for himself would only lead one place. As he charged through the last set of doors, he found himself in the one room from which there was no escape. At one time it had been a ballroom, large and open, with high ceilings hung heavy with several crystal chandeliers. Had been a ballroom, but it was no longer. When Elizabeth had shown aptitude for combat, Mark and Aggie had the room refitted to be a training studio. Her tutors and trainers came to her and this room was specifically designed as a fighting ring. The windows had been covered over and the floor redone to provide her with the best footing. As she moved through the door way she laughed coldly at his panicked look. “Aw, no where to go? It’s fitting you know, you winding up in here. This room wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for you.” He spun around to face her, still cradling his injured shoulder. She wondered for a moment if she had managed to dislocate it. “You forced me to become a fighter, forced me to learn to defend myself. I trained every day for hours on end in the hope that one day I would get to hurt you like you hurt me.” The wicked smile that broadened her face would have disgusted her on any other day. Since meeting Matt her outlook on life had changed. She had turned from her world of violence and cruelty and embraced the warmth and softness of his touch, but right now she was her old self. She forced the thoughts of Matt aside. He did not need to be a part of this.
“I’m so proud of you.”
You don’t sound proud
, Elizabeth mused. He sounded scared.
“Will you still be proud when I snap your neck?” She could no longer engage him verbally, the desire to hit, kick, batter him into submission, was beyond restraint. With a guttural cry, she leapt into action. Rushing forward she swung at his face. He managed only barely to lean out of the path of her fist, but the swing had only been a distraction. She spun quickly and thrust her left leg sharply, landing a lateral kick to his gut. The blow caused him to stumble and she quickly brought her elbow around to impact his temple. His leg gave way under him, as his knee slammed into the hard floor. Elizabeth allowed her attention to wain, taking a step back, intending to deliver a hard chop to his left kidney, but as she raised her hand high, his right arm, the one she had thought was out of commission, swept out ferociously and clipped her legs from under her. Despite all of her training, she was still a wisp of a thing and her small frame and light figure betrayed her. His sheer strength allowed the minor motion to completely unbalance her. She slammed hard into the ground. Rolling away quickly, she nipped up to her feet and readied herself.
“I’m not done yet, little Belle.” He charged like a bull out of his slumped position. Elizabeth leapt out of the way, of the initial charge, but as he rounded on her too fast, she could not avoid the punch he managed to land on her shoulder blade. The blow left her gasping as she quickly rolled away from him. Her chest stung with each attempted breath and it felt as if her lungs no longer wanted the air she was giving them, refusing to expand. “You’ve gotten weak, gone soft. I knew the bait program wasn’t challenging you anymore, but it seems it’s worse than I suspected.” He tisked her as he drew near. Firm determined steps brought him within feet of her. Unwilling to let him win, she screamed her lungs into action as she unleashed a flurry of blows on him. The first few he managed to block, but her speed soon overwhelmed. Unable to reign in her rage, she pummeled him, blooding his nose and lip and tenderizing his rib cage to the point that he began to grunt and groan with each successive blow. Her dizzying strikes began to be answered by wild flailing arms. His strength was far beyond hers but his skill was pathetic. She wanted to laugh at his effort.
Landing a rather devastating blow to his chest, she heard the rush of air leave him and knew she had knocked his wind free. In a moment of hubris, she straitened out of fight stance to look down at his crumpled and battered body. It was a mistake. Without looking up at her, he growled loudly and swung a massive fist at her. She tried to move out of its path but failed as it landed, hard, along the right side of her small face. The pain was blinding, dark spots dancing in front of her eyes. She stumbled backward before losing her balance and crashing to the ground. Her world was spinning, darkness swirling around her vision and a horrid ringing in her ears drowned out the room. It wasn’t until she felt the weight of his body flatten over her that true panic settled into her core. In spite of her lost senses, she struggled to free herself from his girth, but it was no use. He pinned her limbs under his massive form and stared down at her in triumph. When his right arm lifted to the small of his back, she tried valiantly to free herself, but was rewarded with the impact of his forehead along the bridge of her nose. White hot pain flashed over her face as the warm, wet feeling of blood washed over her upper lip. She moaned as her head lolled back heavily against the floor, a strange combination of excruciating pain and total numbness coming in waves to her crushed figure.
“There, there now, little Belle, it will all be over soon.” His dark, harsh, voice was in her ear as he produced another blade from his back. She hadn’t looked closely enough at him as she chased him. She hadn’t seen the sheath tucked into his pants.
So this is how it ends for me?
She thought, coldly as he flipped her limp frame over, his weight, sickeningly familiar, settling over her. She closed her eyes and prayed that it would end quickly, that at least now she would finally be rid of him. Be free of the nightmares she had carried with her since that day so many years ago when she had been inducted into his collection. Elizabeth gritted her teeth as his weight bared down on her. She wanted to fight back, wanted to live, but every effort proved futile. She was trapped, utterly helpless, under his strength. She despised the sensation, but her faculties were still too muddled. Resolution flooded over her as she felt him stretch, raising his hand. She squeezed her eyes tight and waited for the thrust, the flash of pain as the blade made its way into her flesh. His hips tensed, but before his arm could drive the knife into her, a shot rang out in the cavernous, empty room.
Matt watched as Liz disappeared around the corner after Moreano. Alex writhed in his arms, screaming and crying beneath the duct tape covering her mouth. He wanted to run after Elizabeth, but the woman in his arms, and the man lying bleeding on the floor, demanded his attention first. A pang of fear hit him before he remembered just who she was. She was his warrior, his fighter. She was more than a match for Moreano. Righting himself, he helped Alex into a seated position as Jack rushed into the grand hall from the entry. As Matt removed the tape over her mouth, Arrons slid to his knees next to the lifeless body of George.
“You have to help her! Go! Before he hurts her!” Matt had barely freed the tape before Alex had started screaming. “Go now!” She was frantic, clawing with bound hands at the side of Matt’s coat. He blinked down at her.
“Elizabeth is strong and well trained. I trust she can handle him.” Alex shook her head fiercely.
“I know she can fight, but he still has a knife!” Matt’s eyes went wide. He looked to his side where the knife from Moreano’s hand had slid to rest. “Yes, it’s there, but he has another. At least one more. He tucked it into his back when he was getting out of the truck, I saw it!” The surety of her fear pierced into Matt’s soul. Even if Moreano was armed, he was no match for Elizabeth...at least that’s what he hoped. Doubt started to well up in his throat. Looking over at Jack for help, Matt found the man trying to cradled a groaning George’s head.
“Okay, you help them, I’ll go after her.” Matt jumped to his feet. Before following after them, he turned and scooped his police issue off the marble floor.
As he turned and ran down the hall, he heard Alex’s voice call after him, “Don’t let that psycho hurt her!”
I won’t. I can’t
, thundered in his head as he barreled down the hall. A set of large carved wooden doors stood kicked open to his left. He ducked through them and followed the path of disturbed furniture and overturned decor to another set of bashed through doors. The sounds of fighting echoed out to him. He was close. Bolting through another set of doors he spied the only other way out of the parlor he was now in. Drawing closer he could hear voices. No, not voices, voice. A voice. A man’s voice. Moreano was talking, gloating. The tone was unmistakable. Panic gripped his heart and stole his breath. There was only one reason for Moreano to have triumph in his voice. Bursting through the last set of doors Matt came face to face with what he had been so sure would never happen.
Elizabeth lay face down on the cold floor, her arms and legs pinned beneath the enormity of Moreano’s bulk. His arms were raised over his head, the glint of the long blade in his hand flashing as he prepared to drive it deep into her back. Matt’s world went still. Time stopped. “NO!” He felt the word fly from his lips as the gun in his hand unleashed a round. He watched as the bullet left the chamber, traveling across the expanse and slamming into the large man’s side, just under his raised arm. The material of his shirt shredded and the rippled shock wave coursed over his chest. His whole body jerked with the impact, sending him tumbling to the side, and then the world returned to normal. Matt blinked for a split second before focusing Elizabeth again.
Moreano’s weight had slumped lifeless off to the floor, and his cry still thundered in the emptiness. Matt flew forward, seeing Elizabeth pinned face down had sent his heart into his throat. Suddenly freed, she scrambled to get loose, kicking at Moreano’s remaining weight on her legs. Matt reached for her, but when his hands landed on her shoulder, she turned on him, lashing out violently. Her eyes were wide and frantic and he could see the fear coursing through her. Realizing that she was lost, he tried as best he could to help her while dodging the random, weak punches she hurled into the air.
“Liz! Liz, it’s me!” He tried to grab her under the arms as she continued to swing wildly. He needed to get her out of there. Moreano lay bleeding on the floor beside her, motionless. The shot had hit him broadside, tearing through his flesh, but Matt couldn’t be sure that he was dead. Another shot would do it, but to fire at a man lying unarmed in a pool of his own blood, no matter that the man was a serial killer, would be murder. A crime Matt simply could not bring himself to commit. Reasoning that Moreano was down for the count, his only concern became Elizabeth. Managing to get a grip on her, despite her failing, he hauled her away from the still mountain that was once his boss. She railed against him, still trapped in the dark of hopelessness. “Liz!” He called her name again and again as he did his best to pull her writhing body against his. Holding her close he began to whisper into her ear. Slowly she began to calm. Finally, she stilled, turning her face up to his. A faint blueish hue had begun to settle under her left eye and the bleeding from her nose was slowing. Her eyes were still wide and panicked, but she seemed to know him now.
“M..Matt?” He smiled down at her as she went completely limp in his arms. Her hands clung to his shoulders as her body began to shiver. Emotion flooded over her as he swept her small body into his arms and turned to leave.
“Matt....Matt...” She couldn’t manage any more than his name. To have come so close to death, to have seen it’s approach and been helpless against it only to have been pulled free by the man she loved left her weak and trembling. Part of her wanted to leap from his arms, turn on the mound behind them and wail until what remained was unrecognizable, but she couldn’t. Doing that would remove her from the warm strength of Matt’s arms which felt more like home in that moment than anything in her life ever had. She buried her face into his shoulder, breathing his earthy smell in deep, filling the emptiness in her chest with him. “Matt,” was all she wanted to say. She nuzzled the taunt muscles along his neck and closed her eyes, mesmerized by the steady rhythm of his steps as he carried her out of the training room and into the music room.
They were almost to the doors when a visceral gnarling roar tore through the silence. Matt turned on his heels as Elizabeth’s head snapped up from where it rested against his neck. Moreano, badly wounded and hobbling, was charging for them, the knife poised over his head. Elizabeth could feel the handle of Matt’s gun pinned beneath her thigh and she realized the horrific truth—even if he dropped her, there was no way for him to draw on Moreano fast enough. Thinking only of him, she curled her body around his chest, trying to shield him from the blade plunging toward them with scalpel precision and desperate strength. She felt Matt tense, trying to shove her body free, push her aside so that she would be safe from the blow, but she simply wrapped tighter. Clinching her eyes, she prepared for the pain, but this time was different. She wanted it this time. She would be saving him, and that was worth it to her.
Matt’s whole body lurched to the side as two shots rang out. Elizabeth’s eyes flew open just in time to catch a glimpse of Arrons, crouching in the doorway behind them, his gun poised before him. Turning she watched in a mixture of horror and joy as Moreano’s chest soaked over with crimson, red blood pouring from the two new holes in his center mass. He did not cry out this time, but slumped lifeless to the floor, his eyes open wide, but unseeing. The knife that had been in his hand clattered to the floor and slid away from him. Matt slammed into the wall, still lurching away from the path of the knife that no longer moved. His grip around her tightened, pulling her even closer and thrusting his face into her hair. She curled around him, “Matt...”