Biting her lip, she held in a cry of panic. There was every chance that the zealot would kill Tyler no matter what, but maybe she could buy Tyler enough time to get the two of them out of here. Right now, it was her best hope. She couldn’t sneak out, even if the squeaky door let her, and leave Tyler to die.
Slowly, she pushed the door open. Predictably, the creaking alerted Primpton to her presence. He whipped his gaze around. The gun followed.
The councilman stood near the back door. Tyler was lodged just in the open doorway, flat on his back, his entire body boneless and lax. Was he passed out? Had Primpton hit him on the head? Drugged him?
Not two feet away, Hunter lay on the floor, blood pooling under a bullet wound in his shoulder. The red puddle seeped across the floor, spreading across the blue T-shirt that stretched across his wide chest.
Fear gripped her throat, choked her. Dear God, she’d always known Primpton was whacked, but a murderer? He’d truly come here to kill, and she was at the top of his hit list.
“There you are, looking as fetching as always. You’re the devil’s own, put on this earth to tempt men to sin. But I must stop you. I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve taken my own flesh in hand with thoughts of fornicating with you. For that alone I would punish you. But now . . .”
Blech. The mental image of Primpton masturbating while fantasizing about her nearly made her ill. Wait! Had he been the one to break into her house and ejaculate all over her lingerie?
Likely, but not important now. How many steps to her office? Could she make it and lock the door before he got down the hall? What would he do to Tyler if she tried? What would he do to her if she didn’t?
“Now,” he went on. “You must be stopped before you ruin more good Christian men and destroy their marriages.”
Alyssa eased a step closer to her office, and popped out a hip. Predictably, Primpton’s gaze followed the motion. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms across her chest, plumping up her cleavage. “Meaning?”
“My God-fearing assistant, Randall, has spent so much time here and lusted after you so impurely that his wife has filed for divorce. You led him astray.”
Randall. The one who paid top dollar for the nastiest lap dances every Saturday night, then attended church every Sunday to repent for his sins?
Leaning yet closer to her office, she gave a pouty shake of her head, a moue of disagreement. “God gave these men free choice.”
“You’re the temptation no man can resist. I cannot allow you to keep luring them into sin.” He raised the gun a bit higher.
“You’re just going to shoot me? Here? Now?” She ran a hand up her thigh, lifting her skirt a fraction to show off her red garters.
Primpton choked. “I won’t fornicate with you, whore!”
His erection made it clear that his urges had other ideas, and somehow she had to use that against him.
She dropped one shoulder, and the strap of her tank fell down her arm, revealing her black lacy bra strap and additional cleavage. An instant later, his gaze was fused to it. “I would never ask you to go against your principles. And I’m a married woman now.”
“A sham! I’d stake my life you fornicated with that bouncer of yours and probably this one, too.” He pointed at Hunter.
Primpton was fucking delusional, and she had to get to her damn phone fast. Hunter was losing blood every second.
Alyssa edged closer to her office door under the guise of shifting her legs, sticking one out for his visual feast. It creeped her out to have the psycho leer at her, but she’d done worse in the name of survival.
“You’re flaunting yourself!” he accused.
“I’m standing here while you hold a gun on me and I plead for my life.”
Immediately, he shook his head. “This club needs to end. You must die. These are the missions God has given me. I am his Christian soldier.”
He was going to strike—at any second. Alyssa would have liked the chance to move a bit closer. As it was now, she had to hope he had no ability to sprint and couldn’t hit a moving target.
Behind him, the wind howled and the back door flapped open, crashing against the wall. Primpton whirled to the sound. Using the distraction, Alyssa dashed to her office, running much faster than she ever had on stilettos.
Just before she shut the door and threw the dead bolt home with shaking hands, she heard Primpton yell. “God will damn you, whore, for tricking me. He’ll damn you to hell, and I am the sword by which you will be consigned to burn for eternity.”
With that pronouncement, he shot the doorknob. The handle jiggled, wiggled—something clinked on the other side of the door. Had he dismantled the handle on the other side? Carefully, she approached the door and examined the handle. It hung loose and she could see a crack of light through the hole it left in the door.
Then he shot the dead bolt. She leapt away from the door, her heart thumping erratically. A scratching sound reached her ears next. A scrape, followed by his maniacal laugh. What the hell was the psycho up to?
Before she could begin to figure it out, she heard Primpton’s rapid footsteps as he prowled up and down the hall, heard a faint splashing sound. Liquid?
What the . . . ?
Frowning, oddly terrified with the door separating them, she panted. More of the splashing she’d heard earlier sounded again, this time closer.
Then the smell of gasoline hit—strong—a wave of petrol that burned her nose, her lungs.
“You’ll burn, whore. Right now!” Primpton shouted.
In the next moment, she heard an ominous whoosh, the sound of starting fire. The bastard meant to fry her alive.
Heart kicking into overdrive, she tried to open the dead bolt and escape the room before the licking flames she heard got any higher. It wouldn’t budge. It was jammed. Disabled. Something. How the hell was she going to get out?
Alyssa grabbed the dangling door handle, but the metal was already turning hot, and she yanked her hands away.
She tried not to panic. 911. She’d call them. Her cell phone was on her desk. Hopefully they’d get here in time.
But when she turned to her desk, her phone was no longer there.
ALYSSA woke by degrees, too afraid to open her eyes to the pounding headache crashing between her temples. She was someplace that smelled like rubbing alcohol. Whatever she was wearing twisted around her. The bed—clearly not hers—had scratchy sheets. Every muscle in her body screamed.
She took a deep breath—and immediately started to cough. Her lungs burned as if she’d smoked a whole carton of cigarettes in a day.
Her eyes flashed open in reflex.
“Easy,” Tyler whispered as he reached out to take her hand.