Read Online Donna Joy Usher - Chanel 02 - Goons 'n' Roses by Donna Joy Usher - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Joy Usher
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from that, the room was empty. It had been too much to hope that Mum would be being held prisoner in this room. I looked back at Martine and saw the gleaming of the knuckledusters on her right hand. In her left she clutched a can I was assuming was her pepper spray.
We progressed slowly down the hallway, checking the rooms to the left and the right. The farther we went the darker it got, until finally I couldn’t see at all. I froze as I heard the floor above us creaking. The sound moved over us before finally stopping and I reminded myself to breathe.
Did I dare turn on my torch? What if I did and the first thing I saw was somebody watching me?
That thought did nothing to ease my anxiety and my terror continued to grow. My breathing got heavier and louder and I wasn’t sure if I could keep going. I really didn’t like the dark.
I took a few deep breaths and concentrated on my memories of Mum and eventually I managed to regain control of my limbs. I pulled my torch out of my handbag and switched it on, twisting the front till the minimum amount of light possible shone out of it.
The light bobbed and danced on the walls in time with my shaking hands and in its glow we could see a set of stairs winding up to the next floor. Did we dare? Did we dare to go up there?
I didn’t know if I were going to be able to make my shaking limbs climb them. I was willing up the courage, urging myself to put a foot on the first stair, when my phone started to ring.
‘Shit,’ I swore, digging frantically around in my handbag. ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ blared from its depths. Was it possible they wouldn’t hear it upstairs?
The sudden, rapid creaking of the floor above us told me we weren’t going to be that lucky. We both turned and sprinted back down the hall. I could hear multiple footsteps pounding down the stairs behind us as we raced towards the front door.
As I clutched at the front door handle, Martine let out a low growl. I heard the sound of her pepper spray discharging and a man’s roar of pain. Wrenching open the door, I turned to see her ram a three-inch-wedge sneaker into the middle of the man’s chest. I was guessing by the fact that he was clutching his eyes that her aim had been true. She kicked hard, sending him crashing back into the man behind him. Then the two of us raced down the stairs, across the car park, and straight into the firing arc of a shotgun barrel.
***
‘Fuck,’ I said, placing my hands in the air. The black SUV was back.
Martine dropped her can of pepper spray and shook the knuckleduster off her fingers.
The men who had been chasing us came down the stairs. One of them, a huge beast of a man, was still wiping his eyes. He looked pretty pissed. That couldn’t be good. He said something to the man holding the shotgun and for a moment I thought the fear had short-circuited my brain. Then I realised they were talking in a different language.
Oh shit. We had gate-crashed the wrong gangster house.
The tall one grabbed the back of Martine’s neck causing her to yelp in pain. He turned her and marched her back up the stairs and into the building. The one with the shotgun gestured with the barrel, indicating that I should follow. I thought about making a break for it but I couldn’t leave Martine there alone. And besides, I didn’t think my legs would have supported me in a mad dash to safety.
They took us into the house and back down the corridor to the foot of the stairs. With the lights on I could see that we had only made it halfway down the house before my phone had rung. Another corridor started on the opposite side of the small foyer, disappearing towards the back of the house.
Instead of going up the stairs they kicked a rug aside, revealing a trap door. The third man lifted the door and then flicked on a torch, shining it into the hole. I could see a set of stairs disappearing into the darkness and suddenly, I didn’t think our chances of talking our way out of
We progressed slowly down the hallway, checking the rooms to the left and the right. The farther we went the darker it got, until finally I couldn’t see at all. I froze as I heard the floor above us creaking. The sound moved over us before finally stopping and I reminded myself to breathe.
Did I dare turn on my torch? What if I did and the first thing I saw was somebody watching me?
That thought did nothing to ease my anxiety and my terror continued to grow. My breathing got heavier and louder and I wasn’t sure if I could keep going. I really didn’t like the dark.
I took a few deep breaths and concentrated on my memories of Mum and eventually I managed to regain control of my limbs. I pulled my torch out of my handbag and switched it on, twisting the front till the minimum amount of light possible shone out of it.
The light bobbed and danced on the walls in time with my shaking hands and in its glow we could see a set of stairs winding up to the next floor. Did we dare? Did we dare to go up there?
I didn’t know if I were going to be able to make my shaking limbs climb them. I was willing up the courage, urging myself to put a foot on the first stair, when my phone started to ring.
‘Shit,’ I swore, digging frantically around in my handbag. ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ blared from its depths. Was it possible they wouldn’t hear it upstairs?
The sudden, rapid creaking of the floor above us told me we weren’t going to be that lucky. We both turned and sprinted back down the hall. I could hear multiple footsteps pounding down the stairs behind us as we raced towards the front door.
As I clutched at the front door handle, Martine let out a low growl. I heard the sound of her pepper spray discharging and a man’s roar of pain. Wrenching open the door, I turned to see her ram a three-inch-wedge sneaker into the middle of the man’s chest. I was guessing by the fact that he was clutching his eyes that her aim had been true. She kicked hard, sending him crashing back into the man behind him. Then the two of us raced down the stairs, across the car park, and straight into the firing arc of a shotgun barrel.
***
‘Fuck,’ I said, placing my hands in the air. The black SUV was back.
Martine dropped her can of pepper spray and shook the knuckleduster off her fingers.
The men who had been chasing us came down the stairs. One of them, a huge beast of a man, was still wiping his eyes. He looked pretty pissed. That couldn’t be good. He said something to the man holding the shotgun and for a moment I thought the fear had short-circuited my brain. Then I realised they were talking in a different language.
Oh shit. We had gate-crashed the wrong gangster house.
The tall one grabbed the back of Martine’s neck causing her to yelp in pain. He turned her and marched her back up the stairs and into the building. The one with the shotgun gestured with the barrel, indicating that I should follow. I thought about making a break for it but I couldn’t leave Martine there alone. And besides, I didn’t think my legs would have supported me in a mad dash to safety.
They took us into the house and back down the corridor to the foot of the stairs. With the lights on I could see that we had only made it halfway down the house before my phone had rung. Another corridor started on the opposite side of the small foyer, disappearing towards the back of the house.
Instead of going up the stairs they kicked a rug aside, revealing a trap door. The third man lifted the door and then flicked on a torch, shining it into the hole. I could see a set of stairs disappearing into the darkness and suddenly, I didn’t think our chances of talking our way out of
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