One Wrong Move by Shannon McKenna

pink forehead shone with sweat.
    Pockmarks twirled again. His spin slowed as he faced her closet. He took a step closer. Her heart juddered, but she held the focus. Nothing here. Nothing at all. She could smell his hot, sour breath as he swept aside her clothes. Knocked against the back closet wall.
    Brick wall brick wall brick wall nothing here nobody home Pockmarks backed away, but her tension did not ease, and in a moment, she knew why. He went into the adjacent bathroom, eyeballing the discrepancy in the recessed wall. He started to laugh. Then, a light tappety-tap-tap, a taunting riff that said, I know you’re in there. A redoubled prodding, the mental hand, groping for her.
    It made her squirm. Despair spread, cold and sickening. He would drag her out and cut her to pieces, like Yuri. Slowly and horribly.
    Calm down. Don’t freak. Stay behind the wall. Her blocking technique seemed to settle her nerves, so she ramped it up.
    Pockmarks swaggered back into her line of vision, grinning.
    “Quiet Nina,” he chortled. “Nice hiding place. But I hear you.
    You know what I hear?” He flung the doors wide, his grin showing his tobacco-stained teeth. “I hear your quiet! I’ve never heard quiet so loud! It’s deafening me! Funny, huh? You looking at me through this hole, Nina? You like what you see? You haven’t seen anything yet. How about this?”
    Nina jerked behind the boxes of books, as his pistol swung up.
    He fired three times, at the level of her knees.
    Bam, bam, bam, the instant he was going to pull the trigger.
    Three shots from upstairs. Shit. Already?
    Boom, his breaching round blasted through the lock. He kicked the door open, breaking the chain, and shot straight through the door.
    He peered in. A man sprawled in the foyer had taken a face and chestful of buckshot. Bloodied and silent. Aaro kicked the weapon from where it lay near the man’s hand, then spun to shoot up the stairs before the sound even registered in his conscious mind.
    Bam. The shotgun slug hit the guy dead in the chest. His back hit the staircase wall. He was big and fat, and made a lot of noise as he toppled and slid, stumbling to his knees, then his face. His body snagged, lodged sideways horizontally between banister and wall.
    Bam, splinters and plaster flew. Aaro dove for the entryway to the dining room. He peered around the corner, blasted a few more shots up there with the Saiga . Bam, bam .
    “Fucking shit,” someone hissed from above. “Who the hell . . . ?”
    A door slammed. Furious voices, from the direction of the gunshots. Up, to the right.
    Nina gasped for air. Was she shot? She’d feel pain, right? Heat, stinging? Her blood pressure was as low already as if she were bleeding out. Don’t faint. Don’t puke. Hang on. Hang on. She did.
    By a thread.
    More gunshots, from below. Who? Police, already?
    “You asshole!” The snarl of the balding guy. “Your guys downstairs are both dead! Did you tell someone about the simax? Who did you tell? Who the fuck is that guy down there with the shotgun?”
    “I don’t know who he is! Nobody knew about this!”
    “Well, somebody fucking knows now, so let’s get gone quick, before the cops show! Out the window!”
    “But the girl? She’s in the fucking closet! Right here!”
    “Out!” the bald guy bellowed. “You first! I’ll watch the door!
    Go!”
    “But the girl—”
    “Forget the girl!” the bald guy howled. “I’ll take care of the girl!”
    A screech, as the warped window sash was wrenched up, and the bald guy peered through the knothole, his lip contracted into a sneer. “Bye-bye, sneaky bitch,” he said. “Too bad we couldn’t party with you.”
    She dropped sideways as she sensed his intent, wedging herself tight behind the boxes—
    Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam Bam. Bam. Bam. Bam. Each shot that hit the boxes was a punch, pummeling her, crushing her against the wall. The ones that had hit above the boxes pierced holes. Dust and smoke swirled lazily in the