In The End Box Set | Books 1-3 Stevens, GJ (story books to read TXT) 📖

I fell on top of him, stars sparking across my vision from the new-found pain in my chest.

I closed my eyes but soon opened to find his closed, too; long enough for me to hover the screwdriver over his left eye before it opened.

I thought the skin around his eyes would break as they sprung wide, his pupils darting between the point of the screwdriver and my face as it hovered just above his.

My concern turned to Cassie, but I couldn't move my attention away, knowing he'd have me on my side if I flinched even the slightest bit. But there was no sound of a struggle. I had to know.

“You okay?” came her hurried voice, before I had a chance to give my question.

I lurched the screwdriver down to his neck, pushing just enough so he knew I was serious. I looked back to see Cassie with her foot on the short guy's neck, the crowbar in a double-handed hold poised above her head. We'd got them and all without making a noise, but now we had to do something with our advantage.

My first thoughts were to tie them up and shut them in the cupboard, but we already knew they were getting impatient outside and would quickly find them, then come hunting for us.

My second thought was for a more permanent solution, but I couldn't stomach an intentional act; I couldn't take someone's life in cold blood.

“What now?” said Cassie, her voice matching my worry.

“I don't know,” I said. “Either way, we're fucked.”

“We have to kill them,” Cassie said.

The short guy whimpered, but the skinhead's face seemed to harden at the words.

“I can't,” I replied. “And nor can you.”

“Then what?” she said, her voice calm.

I sensed her gratitude for my words. We all had enough to worry about; already had enough to regret when we closed our eyes.

“We'll shove them in the cupboard, barricade the door. They'll be found soon enough,” I said. “And we'll be gone.”

“But they're going to the house?” Cassie said, a new tension in her voice.

“You going to be a good boy? Leave us alone?” I said, turning downward. I didn't believe him for one moment as he replied with a nod.

Still holding the screwdriver tight to his neck, I let myself slide from the TV and down to the floor. Keeping an even pressure, I got to my knees, trying to not reel from the pain in my chest.

“Push it off,” I said, motioning to the TV.

He slid it to his right, holding his head as still as he could.

“Put your hands in your pockets,” I said, and he pushed his hands into his skinny jeans. Leaving a thin red mark, I pulled the screwdriver back whilst keeping it poised, hovering and ready to strike.

A muffled gunshot shook the building. I couldn't stop myself from turning around to the window, my gaze meeting Cassie's at its side.

I watched her eyebrows rise with alarm, but too late I realised my mistake.

The screwdriver snatched from my hand, pain searing in the side of my chest.

57

As my head swung back, I watched the screwdriver twist in his hand. He'd hit me with the handle and relief rained down; I wasn't about to feel the delayed effect of a puncture to my chest.

There was still a chance, despite the pain, which was strong enough to force the breath from my lungs and to hamper my fists as they balled. I swung out my left arm, moving to block a second blow.

His grip was poor and the tool went spiralling under the bed as my arm swung wide against his.

Smashing my right fist against his cheek, he reacted with only the slightest flinch, barely showing the pain searing up through my fist had been of any worth.

A second blow and his hand was up at my head, clubbing my temple again and again with a speed I had no hope to match.

With each strike I felt the weight of my fist lighten, the edge of my vision blacking to form a circle like a Photoshop filter. The blows kept coming and so did mine, albeit slower.

He angled me side on while I fought to find a soft spot on his skull. His aim went wide, catching the back of my head.

My legs gave way and I rolled to the side with blackness falling all around, but I still felt the floor rise to jar against my back.

My eyes were open, but I hadn't missed time. He was rising to his feet, his face bloodier than I remembered inflicting. His features screwed up with rage; anger pouring in my direction but, rather than coming straight at me, he turned.

I followed his gaze to the short guy on his back. Him and Cassie were each holding the crowbar with both their hands, each trying to turn in the opposite direction and twist away out of the other's grip.

The skinhead had moved, twisted around and was launching himself away at pace. He was going for the baseball bat laying on the bed.

My gaze dropped to the floor and I saw the screwdriver nestled in the thick pile of the carpet underneath. I rolled, barrelling my way with my arms tucked up in vain, but still with every rotation, every twist, the darkness closed in around my dizzying vision.

Stopping only as I hit his feet, I reached out but before I could make contact under the bed, a size ten boot smashed my legs together just below the knee.

My hands reeled back and I rolled away; a vision of Cassie still locked in battle cycled past my view.

Hitting the wall, I once again stopped and saw the skinhead holding the handle of the bat in both hands, raised high above his head,