The heavy banging on the door hardens my stomach. “Ivory, if you don’t open the goddamn door, we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
A chill sweeps down my spine. The banging stops.
I hold up a toothbrush and discard it for a hairbrush. What the fuck am I going to do with this?
“Here, kitty kitty,” Lorenzo calls, softly.
The hairbrush thumps to the floor as all the blood in my body rushes to my feet. No no no.
“Come on out, Schubert.”
His sickening sweet voice and gentle coaxing sounds twist my gut and flood my eyes with tears. Then he whistles, using the same cat call he’s heard me use for years.
Everything inside me curls up in horror. I fly at the door and press my palms against it. Run, Schubert. Oh God, please run.
My heartbeat thrashes past my ears as silence draws tightly on the other side. I stare down at the handle. Emeric would whip my ass just for thinking about turning it. But Schubert…
His long, pained howl penetrates the door and rattles me to the bone.
A sob rips from my throat, and violent tremors wobble my legs. “Let him go!” My hand falls to the door handle, squeezing it in a death grip. “Let’s talk about this. Just…please, let him go.”
Schubert lets out another keening scream, this one louder, more frenzied.
I yank open the door and stumble out, eyes frantically searching.
Lorenzo leans a shoulder against the wall beside the bathroom, his hand around Schubert’s neck as the cat’s body flails and contorts in pain.
“Stop!” I launch at him, screaming and shaking with hysterics. “You’re hurting him!”
He kicks me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me and sending me sprawling across the floor. His hand clenches around that tiny neck so hard Schubert’s back arches, legs spread out and thrashing against the restraint.
I scramble to my feet, fear tearing me apart as I throw myself at him again.
“Please, let go. Please,” I wail uncontrollably, clawing at his arm, unable to remove his torturous hold. “He can’t breathe. Oh God, stop!”
“Get on your hands and knees, ass in the air.”
Every muscle in my body locks up in terror as the vulnerable hole in my backside clenches in remembered anguish. I can’t. Not there. I can’t. I can’t.
“Do it!” he roars.
My head shakes on its own, taking control of my response. I want to be strong enough to do whatever is needed to free Schubert. But my jaw is glued shut, my legs so frozen I can’t feel them.
His entire demeanor changes, twisting and tightening, his expression transforming from rotten and ugly to horrifyingly evil. I see his intent coming a fraction of a second before it happens. But I move too slowly, too fucking weak to remove his hand from around Schubert’s neck, to stop his arm from swinging, to prevent my beloved kitty from slamming into the wall.
Schubert’s limp body drops to the floor, and something inside me breaks, detaches, and shrivels away. My ears hear him thump against the wood floor. My eyes trace the awkward, unmoving bend in his spine. But my mind refuses to accept it. He’s not dead. He’s not. He can’t die.
The floor rises up and slams against my knees. I’m screaming, but there’s a palm over my mouth. I’m crawling and reaching, but the heavy weight on my back pins me down. I’m sobbing, but I don’t feel the tears. Determination drives me, my arms straining for my little broken kitty, aching to hold him. He needs me to comfort him, to fix him.
But his head’s at the wrong angle. Eyes open. Not moving. Looking but not seeing. Oh God, why won’t he move?
The sane part of my brain knows. But I bury it, focusing all of my strength on reaching him, desperate to shake him awake, to hear his purr, to see him shift those unblinking eyes.
Until the press of hard flesh probes between my legs.
Dead, chilling darkness sits on my senses. Numbing the hand on my hip. Lightening the chest on my back. Muting the sound of hungry breaths.
“Scriabin,” I sob, fingers stretching and bumping against the soft pad of a kitty paw. “Scriabin.”
Just a few more inches, and I’ll be able to pull Schubert into my arms.
The forceful pressure against my core adjusts, realigning with the ring of muscle in my ass. I squeeze my eyes shut. Paying attention to my body will bring agonizing pain, so I concentrate on the notes in my head, the dissonant sonata, the deadening dark where I can hold my kitty.
Fight, Ivory. Emeric’s voice shatters through my mind. Fight and fucking win.
The erection pushes against my barrier, searing my nerve-endings. I twist my neck and sink my teeth into the flesh of Lorenzo’s bicep. Hard.
He bellows and rears back his arm.
Just as his fist flies toward me, Shane’s frantic voice echoes from somewhere downstairs. “Lorenzo! Man, where are you?”
The punch connects with my face.