And then, it happened.
Brandon moved.
One second he was standing a few steps away, and the next, he was a blur—a shadow streaking through the dim light.
Billy barely saw the movement before a crushing force slammed into his chest.
The air ripped from his lungs as his body flew sideways and crashed to the floor with a sickening thud.
Pain exploded through his ribs, his vision spinning like a shattered kaleidoscope.
He tried to push himself up, but his arms gave out immediately. His strength was gone.
The chair leg rolled from his hand, clattering uselessly across the floor.
Above him, Brandon crouched slowly, his massive frame blotting out the weak ceiling light.
His grin was still there—wide, hungry, merciless.
"You see?" Brandon whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "You were never leaving this house alive."
Billy's breath hitched, his entire body trembling as icy dread sank into his bones.
He opened his mouth to scream—but the sound never made it out.
