Her blood went from cold to boiling. Maybe she could kill him.
With that possibility lingering in her head, she slowly eased off the washing machine, dropping onto the balls of her feet without a single tinkle from the bells. A light went on in the kitchen and she pressed her back against the wall beside the partially open door. Too many potential weapons in the kitchen. If she charged him, he would have time to pick one up. No, she would wait until he got close enough to the door and make her move.
What am I doing here?
Erin shook her head hard to clear the doubt. This was what she’d dreamed of. Confronting the face behind the whirlwind of fire. The man who’d made her helpless. Made her beg. She shouldn’t be considering slipping out the back door and returning to safety. To a man. That was weak. Beneath her.
The thoughts distracted her a second too long. She wasn’t prepared when the laundry room door opened and her stepfather walked inside. All she could do was act. The skillet rose on its own and uppercut Luther in the jaw. She couldn’t deny the satisfaction his shout of pain gave her as he stumbled back, hit the opposite wall, and crashed to the floor.
Her teeth bared themselves. “Ding dong, motherfucker. Someone just got their bell rung.”
He clutched his jaw, scrambling back against the wall. “You…” The pain of talking caused him to flinch. “You’re here?”
Fear. There was still fear at being this close to him, but she forced it into hiding. “Didn’t expect me, did you?” She twirled the skillet in her hand. “That’s the thing about crazy people. You can’t predict what the fuck they’re going to do.”
His head moved on a swivel, searching around him. Probably for something to use as a weapon or to block her should she swing the skillet again. Too bad towels were the only things in reaching distance. She saw the exact moment he smelled the kerosene, barely suppressed fear sparking and fading in his eyes. “What do you want, you lunatic bitch?”
Erin clucked her tongue. “That’s no way to talk to someone holding a weapon.” She ran her finger around the metal edge. “Someone with violent tendencies. Someone who you’re trying to screw out of a boatload of money.”
“She owes me that money,” her stepfather sneered. “If not for fucking around behind my back, fucking with my life, then at least for saddling me with her illegitimate brat.”
Can’t hurt me. Words can’t hurt me. “It’s too bad you see it that way. I don’t even want the money, but I’d rather send it gift-wrapped to the government than let you have it.”
“What are you going to do to stop me? Kill me?” There it was. The almost glowing evil that always transformed him. Made him appear to be a wax sculpture, frozen in hatred. Here she stood with the upper hand and his expression said, you can’t win. It was almost enough to make her believe it. Maybe he can’t be killed, she’d told Connor.
His confidence made her waver. What am I doing here? She tightened her grip around the skillet and battled back. “Yeah, maybe I am.” She took a step closer, felt her anger rising. “Don’t act so damn surprised. You don’t treat a human being the way you treated me and expect them to forget.”
Luther eyed the skillet. “Always blaming everyone else. Me, the system. We all have choices in life. We each choose our own path.”
“No. No.” The sound in her head started quietly, a beating of wings, but it might as well have been a symphony tuning up. It meant she was losing control, and that heightened the terror of being this close to her tormentor. “I didn’t f-fail. I have a job now, I’m—”
His harsh laugh cut her off. “How long do you think that will last? Look at you. You broke into my house to assault me. How long do you think it’ll take before they realize you’re just a broken toy?”
“No.” The wings beat louder. LOUDER. She heard a sound in the distance and realized she’d dropped the skillet. Her stepfather shot forward the retrieve it, jolting her into motion. They both grabbed on to the handle at the same time, resulting in a tug of war. Her survival instincts roared to the surface. Luther might be an evil man, but he hadn’t been in prison. He spent his days in an air-conditioned office, sipping Starbucks. She’d fought for her life behind bars. When you’d done it once, you never fought halfway again. Full throttle became your only setting.